Ravensblood Forest run devil run

To Ragnar his words were familiar, meaningful and in that moment with a swell of nostalgia, dearly missed. It had been too long since he had used his native tongue and they flowed from betwixt his teeth like a caress. The Viking appraised his companion for a few moments, unable to understand her hesitation at joining him for the drink. Heiðrún was a generous God, his ale for all of those who had made it to Valhalla and the Hall’s valkyries. He had initially assumed she was a shield maiden but not revisited that assumption instead deciding that he was in the presence of a valkryie. Admittedly, when Ragnar had imagined them they hadn’t been so…cold. Slowly, his silly grin began to diminish like a flame slowly suffocating until it was gone all together. Caribbean blue eyes stayed focused upon her - or rather as focused as they could be considering they were glassed over with his intoxication, his pupils blown wide. The valkryie demanded of him if he was seeing things which did not, exactly, make sense to Ragnar (though in truth he his senses were too far dimmed). What in Valhalla did she mean was he seeing things? Of course he could see what kind of stupid question was that? “I have eyes don’t I?” He sniped at her, irritated that she had not agreed to his invitation. “If you will not drink with me then leave Heiðrún and I be. Go back to Odinn and the others.” If she wasn’t going to share in his mirth then she could leave him be to it, surely.