i'm fairly local, i've been around

Hope you don't me or Tyrr! :D

Týrr understood well enough the potential consequences that might come to rise for him venturing out of the Duskfire Glacier while his wounds were still healing. They were still fresh but there was medicinal things plastered to his neck, tangled in the fur that still remained matted with his blood ...and the blood of the man whom had faced him and thus the Rekkr could not bring himself to give much more of a consideration towards it. Perhaps it was the testosterone in him that made him unconcerned for such things but he was not in a mood to find the energy to care. He felt trapped within the confines of the Glacier as a patient, and hated being checked on every handful of hours to have the medicine reapplied and rudimentary wrappings changed. Women fussed too much, in his opinion, and considering he was one of the few (if not the only one, Victoria hasn't checked in a bit) males in the Glacier at the moment he felt it. His interest was only in one of them, of course, the Glacier's wildfire queen, but even so it wasn't as if he could avoid Manauia who would, he had no doubt, hunt him down to make sure he wasn't dying from a festering wound.

He wasn't, and endured the aspiring medic's routine checks with surly reluctance, not so unsure that he didn't want it to scar. Scarring was likely unavoidable, and while once upon a time he had been vain enough to mind such a thing, he was no longer that child. The scars that would remain of this battle was physical evidence of what he was willing to do to protect the Glacier, and the wolves that it harbored. It was a testament to his victory, and someday when he had children of his own they would become a source of an epic saga to tell them; and how proudly T[size=small]ý[/size]rr intended to tell it!

Still, he had needed to extract himself from the claimed lands of his home, even though he only intended for his absence to be little more than a handful of hours at most. If he did not get out he felt he might go stir crazy. His venture did not take him too far from the Glacier, it's peak still visible in the distance, he noted as he paused to glimpse over his shoulder, visibly cringing at the action pulled at the wounds and dried “bandages” on his neck. Not for the first time, he yearned to tear them off and allow the cool air to soothe the itch he felt every now and then. It was as he contemplated this, biting with frustration at the matted fur around it – careful to avoid the rudimentary patch up job despite his urge – that a scent wafted his way. He recognized it immediately, as Stavanger Bay though the wolf that carried it was not the little spitfire he had fooled into thinking he was Ragnar's mysterious god Odin. 

Curiosity having won over the itch, successfully distracting the Rekkr, he made his way towards the other letting out a low chuff to announce his presence when the other – male, Týrr noted absently – came into view.