Qeya River outstretched arm, and upturned hand

ever since his first trip to these wilds where the common tongue was spoke in full wardruna has learned to relish silence. a lot could be said without words and it was better than embarrassing himself as he stumbles over the common tongue and all their words. the northern language did not have quite so many and one word in his native tongue could mean several different ones in common. it all depended, he'd learned, on how he intended to use it. he keeps imrithal to his left in her peripheral vision as they travel. he does it out of what he feels is necessity, liking to assure himself that imrithal is still with him ...not that he expects him to abandon him. still, it is a fear that wardruna lives with. despite his best efforts not to, the northener grows attached to his companions.

they move alongside the snaking qeya river, their heading due west as imrithal chose. wardruna's not sure what they're going to find ( if much of anything ) but if he's learned one thing it's that these wilds are always in a state of constant flux. regimes rise and regimes fall ...it appears to be the natural state of life here. wardruna catches the silent question imrithal asks with a look as chunks of ice float along the river as they pass. "a jökull," he makes a noise in the back of his throat as he searches for a way to communicate 'glacier' between the tongues. it should translate easily enough but wardruna struggles to grasp it's common word equivalent. "big ice. what is the big ice called?" he's been to duskfire glacier before and he points in it's direction with a gesture of his muzzle, trying to hide his frustration at his inability to translate between the tongues as well as he'd like to.