Duskfire Glacier from the chaos of your kingdom

Wardruna’s black, leathery nostrils flare as he scents above the pungent scent of blood and the aroma of his kill: another wolf. He lets out a low pant around the corpse of his opossum as he searches, ears twitching and pivoting as he hears a grumble that he presumes is the rumble of a stomach and instinctively his jaw clamps tighter upon his kill, driven by the possession of a man who knows it may be a full day before he eats again. Hunger is something that Wardruna understands but he is not a creature of sympathy and has no intention to share. Damaged eye searches in futile for that which it will never see and he turns his head ever so slightly to give his right eye a wide view of everything, his pupil narrowing as his jack-o-lantern gaze finally settles upon the fellow canine.

“hvað viltu?” The northerner demands in his mother tongue only after setting his kill down at his paws. As for the answer, Wardruna can make his own deduction. It is only after a heartbeat that he realizes he has not demanded in common and with a slight roll of his eyes repeats himself: “What do you want?”