Sawtooth Spire light be sinister

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Kjalarr is soaked now — possibly to the bone — but thankfully the day is not cold and though it is humid with the dampness of the rain there lacks a chill. The longer tendrils of his guard hairs and nape have begun to curl in the heat and wet but he hardly pays any attention to these things now. His avoidance of the rain has been rendered useless when he had moved out to greet her. The scarred northman cannot say that he regrets his decision. Though they have different perspectives he harbors an inclination to believe that though different they can be compatible enough to align. He is not certain of it, however, but a tentative willingness to give it a try is better than shutting it down because he is a greedy and believes that he is right. He is not always right — and he is trying to learn from his hubris as it has only brought him trouble in the past. “I will heed to the will of the Gods.” Kjalarr tells her. The Æsir are superior to him as they have always been, as they always would be and he would see to their demands personally. “I have no intention of being idle.” He informs her with a flick of his tail against his back hocks. On that, Eshe did not have to worry. “What of you?” He asks her, subtly inquiring as to where she will go (or, rather, if she will stay) and if she does stay what role she will take for herself.

He listens intently to her response and after a few more minutes of conversation the pair split to go their separate ways.

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