Truly, it had been a stupid question. How could she be okay in a state as she was? Viđarr didn’t have a way with words, and he truly never had… it only made sense that sometimes he’d fall short. Still, he’s gentle, careful as he approaches the mare with one further step. Viđarr’s eyes were soft on the splashed mare, his breath steady and warm where it may reach her. The shadow’s ears flickered forward, a gentle interest.
No, and she was breaking. Viđarr does not regard her with pity, but a sort of gentle understanding. Though concealing emotion had always been his wheelhouse, the stallion can only remember how he felt upon losing his youngest sister… the one he’d been sworn to protect, the one he’d needed to live for. And she’d passed away anyway. The feeling of being unable to save the one that you loved most… it’s anguish. As the stranger stood beside him, heart breaking, Viđarr empathizes.
How does someone move on from that? In truth, Viđarr didn’t know. He feels compelled to break his silence, taking one more soft step forward. “Det finns inga ord,” the words are soft, breathed in his mother tongue. Viđarr positioned himself to break the sharpness of the autumn wind from the mare, looking from her to the sea. “I don’t know either, but I can look out for you if you would like to rest.” Despite his towering stature, he was soft. It was the best he could do to offer comfort for now.
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Translation:
Det finns inga ord: there are no words; commonly used to express condolences in informal situations
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