Dragoncrest Cliffs you wished to transform the flesh and ascend

the familiarity of the wilds is a feeling that is a bit of a mixture of unbridled nostalgia and exoticness. it has been some time since he'd last stepped paw in the lands of his birth and his uncertainty of what has changed and what has remained is high. kjalarr does not expect company, but at the appearance of another — though it would appear that kjalarr had been the one that had crossed the threshold of distance so that their presences became known to the other — his steps slow to a cease all together. the wilds was not like the glacial and isolated north, he remembers now, where he could walk for what felt like eons and never run into another soul.

the sandy colored woman across the way didn't move, didn't make any attempts to communicate. instead, she just stared at him, tense. he was used to being mistaken for ragnar or floki but ragnar has been dead for a long time and floki ...well, perhaps his brother made a reappearance but he'd always been kjalarr's better half. kveðja. the hardy, stalwart northman offers the verbal greeting to her when it becomes obvious that she is not inclined to do the same. kjalarr does not realize that he has spoken in his father's native tongue, even afterwords. it's been a long time since he has last spoken anything in 'common' and the switch might prove to be less seamless then he'd probably like.