Totoka River sacrifice

Sköll had been watching the pallid and scarred figure, his Jarl and once mentor (besides Floki of course) with trepidation that tightened the thinly corded muscles beneath his coat of bleached bone, orange eyes holding his visible hesitation. Torn; he stayed still. For a minute, an hour? The Tiny Viking really wasn’t sure. He wanted to go to Ragnar, to seek out the familiarity that he would willingly offer him but also he didn’t because he was afraid of the other man. Afraid of his reaction when Sköll admitted that he had lost Kenna’s youngest children. Ragnar’s half siblings. Hiding and skirting around it was entirely cowardly, Sköll understood and yet he had procrastinated it for so long what was a little bit longer? Yet, would he get another chance to speak to Ragnar alone? Directly? Face to face. Man to man. Probably not, and with that knowledge accepted with a soft, near inaudible sigh the Tiny Viking slid from his coverage just as the sun broke free of a cloud and lit up the space between them.

“Ragnar,” Sköll called to the other Viking timidly, lowering his body into a position of submission, eyes adverting respectfully as he was used to greeting the other man. They were like family but he was still the Jarl in Sköll’s mind even if he no longer held the official title. He was still favored by Odinn and though he had not asked for it, he had Sköll’s submission among his respect. "I have something to tell you," Sköll spoke to the other in their native tongue with ease and relief glad that someone would finally be able to understand him perfectly.