Preparations for winter were enough to keep Víðarr busy. Moving. Always in motion, always trying to stay ahead of his to-do list. Trying to handle the things that were most important, and delegate the rest. Maybe this should have fallen under the latter category, but it's important to him. Víðarr would take care to prepare the space where they received their guests, a small hollow at the base of the mountain. It was a harsh landscape, and the act of preparing, the act of caring for their guests-- it's an act of religious importance, not just political.

It's a warm, early-autumn morning, as he sets to work. Beginning with emptying the contents of the cave onto the lawn before it, carefully stacked so they could be returned later. Dragging the rugs and furs out next, hanging them over a low tree branch with a grunt from the effort. They'd need to be properly beaten out later. With a grumble, Víðarr called for help. Any of the kids that weren't in lessons or otherwise occupied could help him with this.

"Víðarr"

Movement down the mountain caught Steig's attention from higher up. The rattle and roll of things being taken out into the grass. His light head tipped, green eyes gleaming. What on earth? Not one to leave things be, lengthening legs made short work of the downhill trek, as surefooted as the two donkeys that often followed him around.

His tail beat steadily at his back as his father emerged, carrying something or other from the receiving den. Not one to make an old man do all the work, the boy dove in, fetching a pelt and dragging it out to join the rest. If emptying was the order of the day, he wouldn't need to be told to pitch in, it was what a good kid would do.

“Speech”