Stavanger Bay Life's a little sideways

This peace between them was nice, Kjalarr found, and there was a rise of hope within him that the damage Kjalarr had caused and the bridges he'd sworn he had burned were not unable to be repaired. After all, Floki had been unfortunate to be caught in the cross-hairs of Kjalarr's ongoing war with Charon and it had never been his twin or his mother whom he had wanted to disassociate with. Only Charon. A soft acknowledging grunt left Kjalarr's throat as Floki informed him that Thistle knew of the destruction done to their father's grave; yet, perhaps insensitively, Kjalarr did not inquire how she had taken the news. There was nothing he could do for her, and in some selfish ways he didn't want to know how it hurt her. Or worse yet, if she felt nothing at all. Some things he thought, he was better being ignorant to.

Floki's eyes averted and he admitted that he wasn't doing well — something through the strange connection that kept them bound together intuitively that Kjalarr had felt in a manifestation of restlessness — and the viking ghosted a step towards his brother as if he meant to physically comfort him but held himself back for the simple desire of not pushing that tentative bridge they were building here. “I am sorry, truly,” Kjalarr spoke, trying to puzzle out in his head what would make Wildfire leave Floki. For a moment, without knowing anything other than the very vague information Floki had provided him with, there was a swell of rage towards Wildfire in his chest — the desire to protect his twin rearing strong within him, despite that the damage had already been done.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” But it was an open invitation and thus allowed Floki to decline if he wanted.