For a stretch of moment, it seemed to the Viking both were contented to simply appraise one another from afar though afar was not the right word for it. They were closer than ‘afar’ made them seem, though there was a comfortable distance of space between them that neither man nor boy seemed over eager to close. Ragnar rarely liked wolves too close within his proximity of space, the exceptions being his children and his wife, because there was always exceptions. Ragnar was not someone anyone would ever exclaim as being ‘overly friendly’ because just the idea of those words being applied to him in any sense was laughable. He wasn’t friendly, not by a long short. His life’s mission wasn’t to make friends, either. He was slow to trust and slow to respect because both things he felt were better off earned than freely and foolishly given.
Comfortably, the Viking settled upon his haunches, scarred ear twitching towards the boy who stood across from him when he spoke. Ah, the typical answer of ‘I can take care of myself’. It wasn’t, entirely, an unexpected response to Ragnar’s prying inquiries but not the answer the Viking had been looking for, nevertheless.