Ravensblood Forest grillwalker

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. “I do not doubt it,” Ragnar spoke finally, lips stained with his amused smirk parting to allow the words to spill roughly off his tongue. His native tongue sounded much smoother to him than this crude common tongue but it seemed to be what most if not all of the canines spoke around here and he was forced to accept it and accordingly deal with it. “So you are alone then?” It was rhetorical question because it was obvious to the Northman. Or, at least, as obvious as such a thing could be. For all he knew the boy’s parents were lurking some where nearby. “I am Ragnar,” The Northman introduced himself to the boy, leaving out the whole bit of being Jarl or Alpha of Stavanger Bay because that information wasn’t needed. Yet.