Barrow Fields blood and wine

“That's good,” Kjalarr conceded when Floki responded to his question. The most important thing was that Floki was alive and that except for the gauntness that the famine had left in Kjalarr himself, he looked well. Although, Kjalarr suspected he would feel if Floki had departed the land of the living — midgard — in favor of the Great Halls. Their strange and celestial connection to one another was one that would stand the test of time. It did not know , nor acknowledge their disagreements or the distance between them. “Just north of here, actually.” Kjalarr responded, an offer to take Floki there dying on his tongue when he noted the change in his twin's posture. Floki hissed a word at Kjalarr and the viking followed the sharp gesture of his twin's muzzle, his mouth gaping open in equal parts shock and awe as his monochrome gaze flickered to the moose in the distance. Saliva began to pool in his mouth at the sudden desire to sink his teeth into the magnificent beasts' tender flesh. Kjalarr licked his chops to collect the drool that had begun to dribble from the corner of his lips at the thought, as unbecoming as it was.

“The Gods have smiled upon us today, brother,” Kjalarr chuckled lowly to Floki, careful to not disturb the moose, though his mirth was quickly snuffed out when he, too, noticed the coyote lurking around the moose. A low rumble of muffled outrage resounded within Kjalarr's chest, his first thought that the coyote was going to steal the twins' meal from them. Yet, bizarrely, the coyote did not appear to attack the moose, neither did the moose appear at all frightened of it. “Why is it not attacking it? Why is the moose not afraid?” Though Kjalarr expected no answer from his twin. He couldn't wrap his mind around it but perhaps Floki could offer some better insight to the baffling sight that had unfolded before Kjalarr's eyes.

It didn't matter, Kjalarr decided a moment later. Though admittedly, the two of them weakened by the famine probably wasn't enough to bring down the moose, and whatever chance they had decreased dramatically with the unexpected and unwelcome presence of the coyote. “What do you say, brother? Do we take our chances?” For as much as Kjalarr wanted to charge into the hunt, into the battle, he sought Floki's council so naturally that he barely recognized it's significance.