Ravensblood Forest grillwalker

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Atreyu responded that they would be hunting crabs as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. In hindsight, it did seem fairly obvious now that the Viking had a clear idea of what they were hunting, however, the idea of crushing a crab was an odd one. Not because he gave any spare thought towards their lives or their pinchers (he was used to pain), but rather because he wasn’t sure what Atreyu was going to eat out of them when they would be crushed. Ragnar had eaten fish plenty of times but crabs? Never. It didn’t even matter that this hunting was for Atreyu alone it was still a bizarre thing for the Viking to wrap his mind around. The boy’s words went in one flicked ear and out the other, briefly acknowledging the ‘good pickings’ as his eyes followed the tiny shadows that scuttled and scurried along the ebbing and flowing of the high tide. Ragnar frowned at the tiny shellfish wondering how many of them, exactly, he was going to have to stomp in order to give Atreyu any sort of sustainable meal. The question burned at the Viking’s lips but he quelled it for the time being readying himself to…well pounce. Atreyu began to dig and the crabs emerged from their holes like a swarm of shadows and Ragnar slammed his right paw down on the nearest bunch crushing a couple in one shot, the crunch and give of their shells splintering under the force behind his paw was satisfactory before he slammed his right paw down on a few more and repeated the processes wondering what kind of fool the Jarl looked liked as he crushed crabs for this pallid youth just because his parental instincts couldn’t leave him knowing he was hungry.