Blackfeather Woods death gazes in all directions, as curious as a hand, with blind eyes

“So why is it called Blackfeather Woods?” He inquires as he glances around, reminding himself to focus with his good eye and not the eye that it nearly rendered useless. He is not entirely blind in it but he might as well be, and he thinks ( not for the first time ) that it is a good thing he’s never feared the unknown or dark. “or is it’s name more metaphorical?” He thinks of Stavanger Bay then and how it’s name related to the territory: staff of ash bay. A bay whose woods was made up of ash trees; a sacred tree. Saplings of Yggdrasil itself. “Hm,” The northman draws, contemplative as she responds that priestesses are not as revered in her culture as they are in his culture. “That’s a shame.” The ásabragr murmurs. “but I suppose it’s a good thing I have a penchant for breaking rules.” He purls with a beguiling smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. Authority and Atli very rarely ever get along; a fact that many would attest to; but he’s always been entitled, rebellious and selfish; and that was likely never going to change.