Greatwater Lake and so the drum beats on

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Vaati corrects him when as Kjalarr asks what he is doing so far from his home. The Dark Woods, as the boy calls them with a nod of his shoulder and Kjalarr’s gaze follows the direction with a spark of unbidden curiosity in the polar depths of his irises as he studies the general direction contemplative. He knows of Blackfeather Woods — to have been born in these Wilds and spent all two years of one’s life in them and not know of the older packs that inhabit it is nothing short of ignorance in the viking’s opinion. The newer packs that crop up and then disappear months after their creation (sometimes weeks) are much harder to keep up with. The ranger-to-be thinks that he should really strike out more, to at least meet with each pack and gleam whatever information they were willing to offer him because knowledge is power. It is the ultimate power. Odin hung himself from Yggdrasil for nine days and pierced himself with Gungnir and sacrificed his eye all for the plight of knowledge. Knowledge required sacrifice but if the Allfather was willing to succumb so very close to death before Ragnarok for it then surely, surely it is worth it. “Good.” Kjalarr’s lilting accent makes the word gruffer than he intends as it comes from his lips on a breath that is nearly a grunt. It could almost be mistaken for affection though of course he feels none for the boy who is a stranger before him. It is simply because he does not wish to have to deal with a lost boy…or so that is what he tells himself before dropping it like it is a poisonous snake that is about to strike and inject him with deadly venom.

The norseman’s brows rise as the boy states his desire to go there, gesturing with his muzzle to what stands behind Kjalarr and the viking peers over his broad shoulder, scarred muzzle raised to point towards Sawtooth Spire where it looms like the threatening spearhead of Gungnir in the distance, casting it’s shadow far and wide. A shiver ripples it’s way down Kjalarr’s spine as he admires it’s magnificence. “It is called Sawtooth Spire,” Kjalarr offers Vaati in case the boy does not know the territory’s name. “Why?” The viking prods the boy for his reason for wanting to visit the Spire. If this boy is his son does that mean that the call of the northman blood is stronger than the blood of his enchantress mother — if his mother is the goddess and nameless (to him) woman he slept with so many moons ago. There is a brief desire to offer to take the boy to Sawtooth if he agrees to take Kjalarr to his mother to solve and sate the viking's burning curiosity about this boy.

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