Northstar Vale a chest filled with diamonds and gold

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Odin did not hear his prayers and if the Allfather did he chose to ignore them. A pin-prickle, the awareness of being watched began at the nape of his neck where his guard hairs bristled upon instinct. His steps ceased as the sound of uneven footfalls caused his ears to thrust forth, twitching to the sides before they slicked back to rest half mast atop his skull. Her scent soon followed, she was wounded, he could smell them on her and the unevenness of her gait, he assumed as he turned to face the one whose eyes he felt (though unknowingly the eyes of the whole rested upon him), was likely a limp. His bi-colored gaze swept over her, taking her in. Petite, creamy white with fascinating copper markings. He took in the disapproval in the set of her lips, her overall posture demanding and resolute. The strength and will she must have possessed to keep her posture, to engage him despite her condition! Rigr found it ...admirable.

The devourer's own posture lowered into submission. For what else was he to do? He was not here to aggravate her, he had no interest of raiding or starting a war. For once, he trespassed because the vale was nestled like a well protected fortress between the mountains and by the time the norseman had realized his mistake it was already too late. He could have attempted to climb back the way he came but he was loathe to backtrack, all of those hours wasted. “I mean no harm,” He broke his silence, the common tongue heavy upon his lips, accented as he spoke outside of his native tongue. Despite his words of assurance, Rigr did not expect her to take him at his word given the circumstances. He certainly would not believe such a thing told by another if he would have been in her place. Then again, if he'd be in her paws he'd have attacked by now. “I only meant to get to the other side of that fjöll ah-,” He struggled for a moment, having lost the common tongue word for mountain though he gestured to it subtly with his muzzle. “-mou ...monnin... mountin...” He grew frustrated with the word. He was out of practice and it showed. “mountain?” He settled, cursing his rusty common tongue. How was he supposed to claim Ragnar's legacy when he struggled to speak their language?

Of course that was to assume he made it out of this alive. One or two and he might stand a chance but his Berserker rage and training would only see him so far and he doubted the odds were in his favor. While he did not fear death he did value his life and it's worth. That was enough to try to appeal to this situation peacefully.

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