{j} perfectly reckless

Sköll watched the woman, Ypres, shoot him another genuine smile and he managed to twitch his lips in some sort of likewise response. He still didn’t trust her fully, of course, but considering he had to rely on her to communicate between Majesty and himself he was truly stuck between a rock and a hard place; without much of a choice in the manner of things. The sigh Majesty gave caused the Tiny Viking’s blazing orange gaze to settle back upon the alpha of the Isle, weary. The sigh had been a heavy sound, with, maybe a twinge of impatience …it wasn’t easy for Sköll to tell emotions without tone (after all he wasn’t used to not being able to communicate) but sometimes things were obvious enough in the body language department for him to be able to make a rough assumption. They were not always correct, of course, but Sköll did the best with what he had to work with, which in this situation, wasn’t much.

Ypres spoke to the Alpha in their shared language, Gods, he hated the common tongue with a fiery passion and, foolishly, when he had set out for this place, to Ragnar with Hati he had counted on the ex-Jarl’s sister to assist him, and hoped that more wolves would speak his native tongue so that it wouldn’t be the problem that it painfully was. Awkwardly, the Tiny Viking stood there, waiting for Majesty so speak so Ypres might translate for him, missing the woman’s ginger look in his direction because he was boyishly oblivious at times.