Ravensblood Forest I'll take your breath away

Whatever slim hope that Sköll had possessed that she hadn’t noticed him at been abruptly crushed when she called out to him. Of course her words were entirely foreign to him, sounding like nothing more than a bunch of prattling gibberish, indefinable and nonsense to the Northman. All except for one that was. Help. Hjálpa. On that word, the consideration that she might be in distress though she had not looked like she was a maiden in distress, the Tiny Viking visibly hesitated in his steps, body lurching as he was physically torn between the urge to keep going out of the simple desire to avoid what was likely going to be an awkward social interaction and the complicated desire to want to help her. While other of his ilk wouldn’t have stopped, or in a rather crude turn of events would have tried to help her into their beds (so to speak) Sköll was in the business of helping distressed wolves. Mostly this did not have a reason to extend pass injuries but he knew, even as he deliberated, that he could not abandon her as long as she was in the need of his help.

That wasn’t the kind of man that he was.

Where that particular value came from he couldn’t really say but it was there, nevertheless. Sköll turned to face her, abandoning his obviously futile attempt at sneaking away, as she approached and he let his eyes move over her again. Silently, he assessed her coming to the conclusion that, once more, she did not appear to be in any sort of distress. Even as he thought that he glimpsed around them though his flared nostrils told him that it was just the two of them here. “Help?” Sköll attempted to make the word a question, trying to ask her ‘with what’ without using the words, assuming that she could not speak his native tongue; voice heavy with his accent. It was with the consideration that he probably sounded extremely childish that he offered her something of a sheepish expression.