Viđarr is steady, alert and concerned but doing his best to ease the mind of a panicked mother. He knew of the bond between mothers and sons, and it sends a pang through his chest. Sons… no, he wouldn’t elaborate on that thought right now. He would not think of his own, only the task at hand. Only the situation at hand-- Viđarr had to help her.
“I will help you look,” his words are quiet, voice deep and steady. The large, dark creature hopes that if he quiets, then maybe the frantic shouting will come back to a more manageable volume. “What is he called? What does he look like?” Once more, trying to calm the mare with his voice alone. Though Viđarr longs to touch the woman and hold her about the shoulders, he realizes that it’s likely not the time. There was no telling how a distressed mother would react, after all.
Cullen is a name he knows not of, and that’s fine. Still, the gravity of the situation isn’t lost on Viđarr. The viking stallion picks up a floating, liquid trot beside the mare as she moves. “I’ll go with you, we’ll find him,” his words are meant to be a comfort. He’s fast moving overland, but he tries to moderate his pace to the mare. If Viđarr had any say in the situation at all, things would be okay.
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