Arrow Lake my feelings are too loud for words and too shy for the world

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The woman with a pelage the colors of the earth notices him, though he thinks he is hard not to notice. Pelage of platinum silver does not offer him good camouflage and the vivid red of scars long healed offer something even more distinctive to the eye. Kjalarr thinks he notices her posture stiffen despite that she has yet to rise from the sand of the bank but that does not matter. He is not sure why he breaches the silence to make contact with her. Perhaps, he thinks, not everything has to have a reason, a defining force behind it. Or perhaps it does. Perhaps it is just the basic, archaic instinct of survival. Though he can hold his own in a fight a lone wolf finding himself in spars — for food, for shelter, for having accidentally startled — will begin to spell disaster after a time. Kjalarr is arrogant but he is not ignorant. To his surprise she greets him back and his velveteen ears cup forth atop his skull, cradling the sound of her voice as it breaches the distance between them. “Hey,” The scarred Northman returns with a twitch of his lips. “You look lonely.” He observes lightly in an attempt to make small talk because he feels it is an obligation that he must fulfill all the while subtly offering her his company for a time.

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