There was a small measure of relief that swelled and washed through Týr’s chest when Fox did not take offense to his gift, but instead accepted it. A soft smile tugged at the edges of Týr’s lips, glad. Fox was smaller than him, but her approval was the most important, she was the crucial essence of the pack; and though Týr did not know her well, he certainly respected her nevertheless. She seemed to be a worthy leader and he would follow her with the devotion she required of him, exactly how he had followed Ragnar. Týr watched absently as Fox tucked the hare away, presumably for later, and for a few seconds he lingered there, slightly awkward not sure if he should take his leave then and there. In truth, he was not all that eager to leave - merely he did not want to intrude, especially since she had called for another. As it was, Týr was willing to linger for as long as she wished for his company. After all, it would be hard to get to know her as his leader if he never interacted with her. So long as she was willing to give him the time, that was.
“I am glad,” Týr offered her with another soft smile. He supposed he could be as brutish as the stories told the Vikings as - but there was more to him than fables, more than his accents, than his bulk and tones body. There was always more than met the eye - as in the case with Fox, Týr felt. She was small but at the end of the day the size of her body didn’t mind. She had the respect of her pack - including his own - and seemed like a more than worthy leader. “Dróttning,” Týr repeated, even though he knew that was the word she was inquiring about. “It is ‘old’ Norse; it's meaning is Queen.” It was the language of his people - at least those of Odinn’s Cove. Languages was something Týr had always been good at, mastering both the common tongue and the old Norse at roughly the same time in his childhood. Or so Ragnar had boasted at any rate - it wasn’t as if Týr could really remember much of his childhood.
a crime so old as the sky and bone