Qeya River they sent me away to find them a fortune

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The sound of footfalls upon the snow laden ground of the river bank drew to the devourer's attention to the other's approach but the viking did not immediately respond. Instead, he favored to continue to sate his thirst first deciding if they stuck around then he would turn his attention to them. Black, leathery nostrils flared as the scent of blood and meat filled his nostrils as he took a last few laps of the icy water, feeling it's progression down the strong column of his throat to where it settled in his stomach before his head rose and his salmon pink tongue drew across his jaw, upper lip and nose to catch any wayward droplets of water before his golden eye fixed upon her almost lazily. He sensed no immediate threat and a singular glance told him this intuition was true.

He turned to face her in full, bi-colored gaze taking her in with earnest now and beheld silence. She was not full wolf, the her long ears tapering off with tufts he could tell despite that they blended in with her inky coat with her submission. Her subservient posture greatly satisfied the devourer more than he thought it would. In Svartalfheim her status as half-breed would have seen her as a thrall. Oh but what a striking and ethereal thrall she would make. A thrall with her beauty would have made him the envy of all his fellow Berserkers. Not that Rigr had much stock in their envy. He'd only ever wanted their respect and their fear. But to have such a lovely creature as she as his! The idea was enticing to the devourer who drew nearer to her, his interest not in her food but in her.

If she let him Rigr would seek to investigate her, to smell her to judge what he truly sought to know: if she was healthy, if she belonged to anyone, her age.

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