Blacktail Deer Plateau That Little Fallen Angel

Kjalarr watched, stoic, as she moved nearer to him closing the distance that had once been strung between them; though she was sure to leave a respectful distance between them. The scarred northman took a moment to study her, noting that she was coated in all ebony; nothing particularly uncommon about her. She returned his previous greeting with a nod of her head and an aversion of her eyes. It was a sign of respect, one that was often extended to a superior though and not between two strangers. Regardless Kjalarr accepted it with a slight swell of contentment in his chest. It was hard for him to discern what age she might be but if he had to guess they were of a similar one...though unlike his father that seemed to have a great penchant for women younger than him, Kjalarr seemed to be opposite and divulged in women older than him. With age came experience, they claimed, and he had not left Freyja disappointed; not that he truly had any other experiences to compare it to, mind.

“I could ask the same of you,” Kjalarr inquired with a slight mimic of Ragnar's accent and the perfected coy smirk tugging at the edges of his lips, complete in his father's mannerisms with a bird-like cant of his head. It was clear that the viking was teasing her (or so he thought he'd made it clear enough anyhow). “I am exploring,” The Scandinavian offered simply, albeit truthfully.