Sequoia Coast Come speak with me

Basically Icelandic/Old Norse is pretty much the same language. :P lol, I think Sköly-poly has a little crush on Thistle, lmao.

“Hello,” Sköll returned the common tongue word sheepishly, meekly, if only because it was probably the only word he had perfected. Hello. For a moment, he was reminded with his first ever meeting with Majesty …for he had felt the same way then as he did not in the presence of Thistle Cloud: meek and sheepish. She was beautiful and strong, and even to the Tiny Viking, in some ways intimidating though she had been nothing but absolutely friendly to him, even allowing him the trust to watch her children without her presence. It was easy for Ragnar to trust him, Sköll understood, because they had known each other for a long time, since Sköll had been born. Thistle did not have that same courtesy and he was still half expecting her to mistrust him. Sköll smiled wryly knowing that if Floki and Helga were here they would have liked Thistle immensely but for whatever reason his parents continued to suffer Váli’s bad leadership …likely in some doomed attempt to keep it afloat because if it fell to ruin generations would be lost.

A pack wealthy in intricate family trees and with culture and knowledge would be entirely lost for no doubt they would scatter. It was sad, when he thought about it.

Sköll was brought out of his thoughts when Thistle spoke to him again, this time using his language, though her words were a bit broken and unrefined. Of course, this was to be expected and so far she was doing much better with learning Norse than he had ever gotten trying to learn the common tongue; then again she had every incentive to learn it. Her husband spoke it natively, her children were learning it and catching onto it quickly, and he …though he was nothing but a caretaker to her, he understood, but he spoke it. It was not an advantage they shared when it came to languages. “Já” Sköll agreed with an enthusiastic nod of his head. “ Ég mun skiptast lærdóm norrænnar fyrir lærdóm af plöntum” It would be good to learn what was indigenous here and what wasn’t. Things were different from the North, this much had became abundantly clear to the Healer.

For a moment he stared at his paws before he lifted his face, shyly, to look at her, blazing orange eyes brightened by the blackened crimson markings painted under his eye, striking down his cheek like centered tears of mud and blood, that Ragnar had painted there using an eagle’s talon they had plucked from the bird before burying it in one of the caches of the Ridge. It was a silly thing really, a tradition his father and mother practiced but it made him feel like he belonged again, and made him feel closer to his parents. “Þakka þér, konan mín” He dipped his head to her, and waited patiently though the gangly Tiny Viking was eager to get started.