Ankyra Sound Call me home but don't let me in

“Well,” Kjalarr let out a breath when the stranger told him that he needed a place. “the good news is Saltwinter is a place.” The Viking grinned at his own (lame) attempt at humor, his tail wagging a few times. Uh, yeah. That was lame. Obviously, Kjalarr was not meant to be a comedian and probably shouldn't quit his day job for it. “Ah, that was meant to be funny,” But clearly just because he'd been tickled by it didn't mean the boy would be. The Viking's brows furrowed then, settling back into a serious expression. “You have a name, lad?” Kjalarr inquired, having not recalled hearing one given between repeating Saltwinter and bluntly coming forward with him needing a place. Kjalarr was all for not beating around the bush but the Viking was left to assume that sociable wasn't something that this kid was.

Customarily, Kjalarr would inquire if he had any skills he could offer Saltwinter but he was still a kid and though old enough to offer contribution to the pack he wasn't sure if he had any sort of specific skills and didn't really expect it. So, he would have to improvise while being honest. “Saltwinter welcomes all, so long as they contribute to the pack. There's no freeloaders here, kid. As long as you can help fill the caches, or piss on the borders, or intercept strangers at the borders or something you're welcome.” Really, Kjalarr didn't ask too much and tried to stay true to Saltwinter's beginnings: when they were a band of loners just looking to survive the winter. Contribution was key to success and it had seen them through this long, so far.