His steps are confident, easy. Nothing can shake Viðarr, not in the way he thinks or the way that he moves. He's exactly the man he's meant to be. Though hulking, he moves through the trees easily. A ladder of sorts seems to spread out before him, and he won't turn that down. With careful steps he climbs, finding easy footholds and broad branches to step upon. They don't quiver beneath his weight, instead, they boost the man higher and higher with ease. Viðarr's muscles were still sore from the previous days' hunts, and he doesn't want to push it-- not now.

No, for now he's content to find a comfortable place to land and to rest. He's not that high up. Ten feet, maybe? A high garden wall, something that would be jarring to leap down from but not too dangerous. A space where the limbs of three separate trees grew as one, coming up from the ground. It was comfortable, with something broad and strong to rest his back upon. To himself, the shadow began to hum as he rested. A haunting, comforting lullaby, something that had come from his mother. Not loud, but also not holding back either. Viðarr was at peace as the sun began to set slowly in the west, bathing the sky before him in the most beautiful reds and golds.

"Viðarr"

Southern summers were miserable. Hot and humid. More and more Úlfr took the time to wander north and relax in what he considered more reasonable weather. Thankfullly, the pirates were loose in their rules so he could wander as he pleased without worry of repercussions. yet more and more he felt out of place with the pirates. He enjoyed raiding but the lack of honor and discipline among them made him feel like an outsider. Life was one big party to the pirates. They were loose, care free, and lackadaisacal in a way he just wasn't. After his mothers' passing and his encounter with the viking woman of the north he found more and more he wished to experience more of that culture. Wondering if perhaps that was where he would feel more of a sense of belonging.

He worked his way through a strange forest, full of twisting and turning trees. A shadow above, and a strange tune, caught his attention and he looked up to see a dark-pelted wolf. "Hail there, I do not mean to intrude upon your forest."

Industrious as they are, they also understand the value of rest. Viðarr much prefers that rest in the height of the summer afternoons, when he'd be a panting and uncomfortable mess in a few minutes flat. No, that wouldn't do. Instead he would take the time to watch the world as it passed by beneath his perch. If he was lucky, maybe some poor soul would arrive on the battlefield to issue a challenge. Those were the best days, when he could study how the others here fought. It was maybe a bit less fun without his sister's commentary, but she'd busied herself differently today. The shadow would simply sit and hang out on his own.

On his own, at least, until he heard the voice of another. "It is not my forest, and you do not intrude." It was not his forest yet, though that was the intention. Soon, things would come into place. Soon, he'd be able to call this forest his own. No, for now, he stakes no claim. Viðarr needed to bide his time for just a bit longer... ah, still. "But I welcome the ah..." ah shit what was the word. He paused for a moment. "Company," right, there we go. Viðarr peered curiously down at the man from his perch, chin resting on his paws.

"Viðarr"

The dark-pelted male assured him he was not intruding and Úlfr noted the strange familiarity of the man's accent. He spoke much like the woman Úlfr had hunted caribou with a short time back. Úlfr's ravens landed in the trees above his head and deciding it was worth a try he spoke in the same tongue as the woman he'd met, curious if the language would spark anything in the man. "Do you speak this language? I met a woman up here, Iðunn, some time back from a land far to the north. I wonder if you are from there as well." If he recalled correctly she had travelled to these new lands with a small group and it was possible this man was part of that group. He was curious to learn more about them.

Surprise rings clear on the shadow's features as the man before him speaks. His head cants to the side, and he can't help but let go a brassy chuckle. Though a man of few words regardless, it was far easier for Viðarr to speak in his mother tongue. Far easier, far more comfortable. Things were good this way. A smile plays on his features, broad, comfortable. Everything about him is comfortable, or at least trying to be.

"Iðunn is my cousin." He confirmed it with an almost apologetic smile. Of course, he'd have met the strangest of them first. "I am Viðarr Trygg," an introduction, dazzling smile still playing on his face. No, he wouldn't drop that. He had no reason to. "Do you want to come up and talk instead? It's more comfortable." The shadow supposed he could come down, but it was easier to watch the world from where he sat within the trees. Easier to watch, easier to make sure nothing unsavory was headed their way.
"Viðarr"

Úlfr blinked for a moment in surprise. The woman he'd hunted with turned out to be this man's cousin and he introduced himself as Viðarr Trygg. What luck! "It is good to meet you, Viðarr. I am Úlfr Finnvi." He tested his own name on his tongue, taking the surname of his more religious mother, as neither of his parents surnames had really been assigned to him. They were an unusual family unit, but he had often got the impression that last names were important, particularly to the Finnvi clan. The Thyre's seem to be more relaxed in this regard.

"I would like that." Úlfr leapt onto the lowest branch of the tree then carefully maneuvered himself farther up until he could rest on a branch opposite Viðarr. "I am glad to meet you. My mother Ásvor was from the far north, from a tradition similar to yours. She has passed. I am sad to say I did not get a chance to learn as much of her culture as I would have liked."

The importance of names... the importance of surnames had never been lost on Víðarr. There was a reason that they'd come together and chosen something new. Trygg. Trustworthy, they'd chosen. Faithful, they'd chosen. Devoted, they implied. It was the way in which they regarded each other. A family unit that was most unusual, most incredibly strange. Siblings, cousins, banded together by something that most would recognize as shared trauma. They'd gotten out. They'd survive. Bound together by their morals (loose as those morals were), and something even greater. Yes, something that was far greater than even blood. It's not blood that makes a family, after all. They understood that better than most.

Víðarr watches the man as he carefully climbs the tree, this Úlfr Finnvi. The familiarity of the name, of the sounds, is enough to relax him considerably. "As I am to meet you," the words were quiet, but sincere. "There is comfort in knowing others like us, so far from home." Viðarr clarifies, settling to listen to the man before him speak. Úlfr speaks of the passing of his mother, and the shadow offers a bit of comfort in his tone, in his gaze. For the first time in what feels like too long, his own mother crosses his mind, and then Sanngriðr's.

"Did she ever tell you of Fólkvangr?"" Viðarr thinks of each field, each hall, in turn. Sure, Valhalla was reserved for warriors, but everyone knew Valhalla. Fólkvangr had been the comfort for his elder sister, and it's the comfort that he can offer in a moment like this. If Úlfr wanted to learn of their traditions, then the shadow was happy to pass them on. When it came to his gods, he was happy to teach.

"Viðarr"

Úlfr mulled over the word in his mind, searching for the source of it. He was certain his mother had uttered this word before but with each passing day her voice seemed to become more distance and it frieghtened him. Perhaps that was what pushed his increasing interest in the lands of his heritage. Even if he was not her child by birth he was her child by spirit. Mother Valdís had been roguish and ethereal, seeming to belong nowhere and to no one but his mother Ásvor. Ásvor of the Finnvi and the distant northern tribes. It was she that had taught him what he knew of the gods but in his youth his mind was far more interested in other things. How he regretted not giving more thought to her lessons. Growing in him was a greater desire to head back to Ásvor's home land. To learn from those that had taught her.

"Only a distant memory. It dances on the tip of my tongue but I can not speak it. I wonder, will you enlighten me?"