Týr had taken note of Fox’s - his dróttning - wounds that seemed relatively fresh to him when she accepted him earlier. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so observant but it was hard not to notice what he could smell as wounds even if he hadn’t looked. Idly and silently, he wondered what had happened to her even as he had diverted his eyes for not wanting to be caught or considered rude for staring. It had not been his place to inquire as to where her wounds had came from, for in reality, Týr assumed that it was not any of his business. As it was, this did not sate his curiosity, instead leaving it rather unsatisfied. Battle wounds were something any Viking was proud to bear - a testament to her strength, and her power - never mind how she received them. There was a crunch of bone betwixt his jaws as he clamped down upon the surprisingly plump hare’s neck, siphoning the life from it effortlessly, feeling it grow still under his paws and chest where he had cornered it. The lifeblood of the hare was warm as it spilled into his mouth. Releasing his grip upon it he rose his head, salmon pink tongue licking the gore from his lips in attempts to give him a less macabre appearance.
Despite that he did not know much of Fox, and likewise, he aspired to change that, and though they had briefly discussed his skills upon the borders when he had been seeking sanctuary within her borders, she had mentioned to him about gathering food the hare he had caught was not for the caches. Neither was it for him. No, the plump hare nestled between his paws, growing stiff with death was a gift - not because Týr was trying to be a kiss ass, or likewise, trying to say that Fox wasn’t capable of hunting for herself even with her injuries. Simply, he wanted to be thoughtful. A call rang out, familiar in that he recognized it as Fox’s. It was a summons for another, but grasping the hare in his jaws, Týr rose and headed in her direction nevertheless, now that he had a general idea of where Fox was.
He would not stay long. Only long enough to give her his gift in good faith and be on his way.
He found her after a while, and paused, lowering his body into a submissive pose, laying the hare gently at his paws. “Dróttning,” Týr greeted her respectfully in the tongue of his people. “I brought you a gift,” He explained after a few heartbeats of silence, waiting for her to acknowledge him or speak (whichever came first). “I will not intrude long, I promise.” He assured her, nudging the hare towards her with his muzzle, though if she chose to accept it or reject it was solely up to her.
a crime so old as the sky and bone