Keeping up with Kenna’s twins had been much more difficult than Sköll had originally perceived it to be; granted if he wouldn’t have opened his big, fat mouth and promised a near impossible feat to Kenna he wouldn’t have even been in this mess in the first place. It much too little, too late to change his mind now, however because he had lost them. They had been well behaved for the first week of their journey, had generally listened to Sköll and as soon as the Flokisson let his guard down they were gone. Sköll had even waited three days to see if either of them would return and yet they hadn’t and had been left to assume that they had snuck away to ditch him and continue on without their ‘babysitter’ because he was pushover. The only thing that Sköll had going for him was the fact that it was their eldest, half brother Ragnar that they sought. Everyone seemed to be deflecting under Váli’s poor rule in search of the once Jarl, even Floki had mentioned numerous times about going elsewhere. Elsewhere.

It was this horrific elsewhere that Sköll had gone, braved now knowing nothing of their culture or even, language. Ragnar had tried to teach them, their family the common tongue multiple times but Sköll, and his parents had only ever accomplished a few words. A few words that would either condemn him to death or hopefully save him. Sköll was as good a fighter as any Viking was, had to be to survive but he didn’t like fighting. He liked …peace. Healing, not killing. He had taken to his father’s trade with relative ease — with an ease he wished he could say he had picked up the common tongue.

There was a slim chance that he would get lucky and would stumble upon Ragnar’s pack; Sköll doubted his luck was that good after all he had managed to lose the twins in a matter of what was probably seconds. If Kenna ever found out she would tear out his lungs, which was why Kenna could never find out. Either the twins were already here and had beaten him or would find their way to these Elsewhere lands. Or…they would be killed by the Wilds. With a shake of his head he dispelled those thoughts. There was nothing he could do now except try to bumble and stagger his way with the piss poor common tongue words he knew into a pack and wait. Throwing his head back he let out a howl calling to the wolves that resided on the Isle — he could hear them and smell them even over the salty brine of the ocean that separated them from the mainland wondering how he could potentially scold the twins when he didn’t even know what he was doing.

It did not take long for someone to begin to approach, crossing the sandbar the lands offered for easy traverse between the Isle and the mainland. Sköll observed the earthen colored male. Both were tall creatures but like his father, Sköll was smaller in the aspects of brawn, lacking the broadness that lined the approaching man’s masculine features, instead boasting a willowy and gangly shape, having earned his nickname justly: the tiny Viking. Height alone only got them so far. While Sköll could certainly hold his own in a battle (had trained too since he was old enough) he had been built for stamina and speed instead of brute force like most of the Northmen were. Eyes adverted, respectfully, as the man’s lips parted to speak and words came tumbling out. There was a quicken of Sköll’s heartbeat at the forced realization that he knew only two words Majesty had spoken: Hello and Friend, leaving out the bulk of the question. The only reason that Sköll was able to tell it was a question had been because of the tone. The tone had not sounded hostile or demanding but it held clear connotations of expecting something from him and Sköll was left in an internal state of panic wishing the twins wouldn’t have bailed on him. Left him alone to this Elsewhere whose common tongue he could not speak or understand.

“Hello,” Came Sköll’s timid mimicking of the greeting Majesty had began with, masculine voice thickly, heavily accented. Sköll hesitated, visibly then, lowering into submission before Majesty, wondering how he was going to possibly communicate that he couldn’t speak hardly any of the common tongue, nor really comprehend it but in small, albeit broken bits and pieces. “talar Þu forna Norse?" Sköll asked in a hopeful tone that was lined with trepidation suspecting that the answer was going to be ‘no’. Ear slicked back to his skull as he considered the extremely awkward position he found himself in and how big of an earful he was going to give the twins when ever he saw them again. For torturing him by making him worry relentlessly about their welfare and for making him stumble in a otherwise hopeless situation that Sköll could only hope didn’t end with his lifeblood staining the sands crimson.

Just when Sköll thought that things couldn’t possibly be worse a stranger approached, a loner, like him, joining them making a trio, oozing a confidence that made the Tiny Viking jealous. She began prattling in the common tongue, her words as foreign and as alien as they could get to his ears making him, abruptly, feel overshadowed. He bared his teeth and growled lowly at her figuring he would let her know his displeasure at her intrusion and acting as if he wasn’t even there trying to get in the pack, too. Since he couldn’t speak to her he trusted basics to assist him in the manner. He was not a violent creature (despite what his culture boasted of) but he did not like being stepped on like a doormat because he was still there and this awkward joining process was supposed to be his awkwardness. He inhaled deeply and let it out before he looked back to Majesty, hindering on if he should just turn around and leave or not. He stayed, if only to out of curiosity to see what would happen. With him and with this other loner.

The earthen kissed male did not answer Sköll’s presented question in his native tongue and this left Sköll with the only assumption that he could presently make: Majesty did not speak Norse and therefore they would serve to have a major issue. Orange eyes stared back mercilessly when the woman glared at him when he growled at her making Sköll feel like he was mentally being accused of being in the wrong for baring his teeth and stating his displeasure without putting it into words. The Tiny Viking let out a sharp snort, eyes going back to Majesty when the leader of the Isle known because of the dominate puff of his chest which had been maybe a little unnecessary since Sköll felt like it meant he needed to submit when he was already submitting in the first place, when the man fixed the woman in an impassive stare, his tone suggested chiding though his words were lost upon the Northman.

The barks and gestures towards the Isle did not work to communicate all that well with Sköll either, though it was not for a lack of trying on either man’s part. The twins were most decidedly in for the worst chiding of their short lives when Sköll got a hold of them. …If they ever made it to the Teekon Wilds, that was. Sköll was not used to such jovial and easy going expressions and therefore was, in his frustration, unable to make any sense of what was just barking and gesturing to him. He had once been praised for his high level of intelligence, by his father, by Ragnar who was the most clever of their pack but now he wondered if they had been lying to him because he didn’t feel very smart at that moment. Instead he felt really, really stupid.

When the woman whispered to him in his native tongue forgive me, low so that Sköll assumed only he had heard the Tiny Viking recoiled as if she had reached out and slapped him across his muzzle. She hadn’t but the shock of hearing those two words in his native tongue left him in a bit of a stupor coupled with the begrudging realization that she might be able to translate for him. Of course the idea of relying on someone else (especially with something so vital) was spurred instantly by the male pride Sköll exhibited. Not to mention he did not know her and furthermore couldn’t trust her to even translate correctly for him. It wasn’t as if he could understand much of the common tongue and therefore would be relying, solely upon another creature. He didn’t like it …not one bit but he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Majesty and him weren’t communicating effectively and slowly the Tiny Viking rose out of his submission and glimpsed from the earthen colored male offering him what little he could. “Sköll,” The wolf that would eat the sun in Ragnarök. Not him personally, but it was from the god-like creature the Tiny Viking borrowed his name. “I am Sköll.” He spoke each word slowly, the confusion on his face expressing that he wasn’t really sure if he was using the correct words to tell Majesty his name.

It was only then that he turned to the rude woman who spoke his native tongue fixing her in his stare. “geturðu Þýtt?” It stung him to have to stoop down to the level of desperation he had reached, having to trust a rude stranger to translate for him. It was a tentative trust that would either be broken or made depending on what she did in return. “getur Þú sagt honum að ég leita til að taka Þýtt pakki hans?” He paused and then added, softly, “vinsamlegast.” If she refused he would figure some other way out. He wasn’t groveling and he would never beg her (he wasn’t that desperate), but he figured that asking usually didn’t ever hurt.

The other male introduced himself as ‘Majesty’ though the name was still just as foreign and weird to Sköll as almost every word the other man spoke. Sköll mimicked Majesty’s nod of understanding because he wasn’t even going to attempt to say his name very aware that he would butcher it if he did. His eyes went to Ypres as she spoke that she could translate and would help him. An apprehensive relief surged through Sköll at the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to stumble, blindly, through this process. It was humiliating that he had to ask for a stranger’s help of course (male pride and all) but he was unsure what else he could do. Majesty and him could not effectively communicate with one another and it was becoming the problem that Sköll had, in something of a prophetic manner, feared it might be. “þakka þér” Sköll told her though his body was as tense as a taunt bow string because he had to put a blind faith in her to not tell Majesty that he was some rabid monster who came to eat the children — because it wasn’t like Sköll could tell the difference. The common tongue was more or less, just a bunch of useless babbling and gibberish to him.

Sköll watched as Ypres turned to Majesty and began speaking their gibberish, a heavy breath leaving him as he waited for some kind of verdict hating that he did not know the woman who could easily condemn him if she wished, could easily, too easily lie to either male, in reality, if she translated wrong or just wanted to be vindictive. It was an unfair assumption for Sköll to make but the Tiny Viking was suspicious when it came to trusting absolute strangers with delicate situations. She looked back to Sköll then and offered the Tiny Viking a smile before she spoke in the gibberish tongue once more and patiently, Sköll waited for the translation of whatever Majesty had to say come through.

The words that Majesty and Ypres exchanged between one another were many and continued to go unknown to the Tiny Viking who fidgeted where he stood feeling …nervous. He wasn’t used to having to trust the translations to a stranger. That wasn’t to say that Fenrir or Hati couldn’t have easily, with intention at that, messed up the translations purely in jest but at least he knew Kenna’s twins. At least he held some authority over them. He held nothing of any sort over this woman and was left with the uncomfortable knowledge of unknowing. Sköll did not like not knowing what words were being exchanged between the other male and female, his brow furrowed in confusion as he tried and inherently failed to make sense of their gibberish.

The female spoke to him again, however, breaking the feeling that he was being ignored in their exchanges, telling him that the Alpha …Majesty…wished to know what Sköll was good at. “ segja honum að ég er góður á lækningu, og að ég get barist” Sköll spoke back to Ypres knowing that compared to most it probably wasn’t that impressive and he probably should have mentioned that he generally disliked fighting and tried to avoid it if possible. He was a healer, not a killer though the distinction was, indeed, a very fine one.

Sköll watched the woman, Ypres, shoot him another genuine smile and he managed to twitch his lips in some sort of likewise response. He still didn’t trust her fully, of course, but considering he had to rely on her to communicate between Majesty and himself he was truly stuck between a rock and a hard place; without much of a choice in the manner of things. The sigh Majesty gave caused the Tiny Viking’s blazing orange gaze to settle back upon the alpha of the Isle, weary. The sigh had been a heavy sound, with, maybe a twinge of impatience …it wasn’t easy for Sköll to tell emotions without tone (after all he wasn’t used to not being able to communicate) but sometimes things were obvious enough in the body language department for him to be able to make a rough assumption. They were not always correct, of course, but Sköll did the best with what he had to work with, which in this situation, wasn’t much.

Ypres spoke to the Alpha in their shared language, Gods, he hated the common tongue with a fiery passion and, foolishly, when he had set out for this place, to Ragnar with Hati he had counted on the ex-Jarl’s sister to assist him, and hoped that more wolves would speak his native tongue so that it wouldn’t be the problem that it painfully was. Awkwardly, the Tiny Viking stood there, waiting for Majesty so speak so Ypres might translate for him, missing the woman’s ginger look in his direction because he was boyishly oblivious at times.