There was a woman that dragged herself from the clutches of the winter sea, and Viđarr can see her coming on. The hill upon which he stood gave him a solid vantage point. She took towards him with a three beat gait, swift, as if to eat the ground with her hooves. Graceful. His head cocks to the side as she closes the ground between them.
Forward, as if she wished to press into his space. The man wouldn’t take a step back, wouldn’t concede. She had to be cold, having just come from the sea. “Can never be too careful.” His words are careful, a low, accented rumble that seeps from his chest. This is not his mother tongue, and that much is clear. Viđarr takes stock of her, as she does him. She’s trying her best to look elegant, or so it seems. Was she trying too hard? Yet to be seen.
A frigid winter breeze kicked up from the east, and Viđarr took a step forward to block it from the damp mare. It was only polite. He was parallel to her, space between them more than enough to keep him safe. “Nowhere.” The word falls from his lips, gaze falling on her face to judge her reaction. Was it dangerous information to share? Probably. Viđarr cared not, for he could always retreat to the safety of the bachelor herd that he’d smelled upon this very island. It wasn’t ideal, but if there were wolves at his heels Viđarr could make a difficult choice.
There is no violence in Viđarr, not in these moments. “Why do you ask?” His words are careful, though thickly fogged with northern accent. His gaze flickers to the sea, the horizon once more. No, he could never be too careful.
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