Silver Creek a traitor is never just a traitor

over the soft babble of the creek as it moves over stones smoothed by the constant flow of the water, ragnarr is abruptly aware of the sound of approaching footfalls upon the earth. his unscarred, right ear swivels to the side to better analyze the sound and attempt to gleam whatever information he can from it. there is a distinct lack of clicking of joints so he knows it's not ungulate. too heavy to be a small woodland creature but not too heavy to be that of a bear. mimir lets out a soft noise and ruffles his feathers from his perch upon the northman's shoulder junction. a quieted alert, as if ragnarr is not already aware that they will soon have company. the northman lets out a low, annoyed huff at the bird — he does not need mimir to be his eyes nor his ears as his all function well enough — but mimir does not seem to care ...or perhaps he simply enjoys grating upon ragnarr's nerves — he has yet to deduce the actual answer and often fluctuates between the two alternatives.

it does not take long for the stranger — male and presumably lone — to approach the creek a bit away. ragnarr's head cants in the stranger's direction, studying the earthen colored male unabashedly before deducing that there is no immediate threat. he returns to his drink, first interrupted by the raven and continued by the approach of the other. mimir lets out a series of caws and ragnarr rumbles a low, warning growl in his throat to the bird. "þǫgn fugl." the northman snaps with annoyance at his feathered companion. the less attention they draw to themselves, the better. or so that is the mindset that ragnarr's been determined to keep and mimir — obviously on a very different page — is hellbent on ignoring.