In exchange for his own name, given out of what he contorted societal obligation to be his own free will, she gave her own. Finley. It was rather simple as far as names went which wasn’t, Bragi reflected, necessarily a bad thing. He tended to stumble over names that were not Nordic in origins and his pronunciation of many words was altered and twisted by the accent in which he spoke with. It was otherwise unnoticed to the young rekkr who had became desensitized to it until it clashed starkly with the different accents of other wolves, each of them varying to him; or until he tried to pronounce names or words and they did not come out sounding exactly the same. Bragi watched as she strode to the bank of the creek and peered down into giving him a view of her body that without realizing he was doing it, he took the liberty of observing for a few moments glimpsing at the sky just a few seconds before she turned back to him.
Her inquiries were a little bit personal but the casual way in which she asked them made him see past that with an errant shrug of broadening shoulders. “From the North, a place called Odinn’s Cove,” The Scandinavian wasn’t sure if she would have heard of it or not. In retrospect it all depended upon where she was from. The pack was rather notorious for their raids and battle skills up North. 'They fight like demons, like men possessed, with no fear of death…' had always been Bragi’s particular favorite description of them sounding almost poetic which was ironic given that he was named for the Norse god of poetry. “That depends on if you want the reason everyone tells me I’m here, or if you want my real reason for being here,” Bragi responded with a coy, albeit wry smile though his weight shifted in slight agitation at the unwelcome barrage of memories and what he thought might be a mutual dislike between Ragnar’s wife and himself.