Frostfire Ridge i mean create again this place

i'm so sorry for the wait on this. ;-;

gleipnir ponders the plausibility of being able to take down a mountain goat on his own. he thinks he should be able to do it, not yet suffering from the famine that plagues these wilds; has not been here long enough for it to yet gnaw at him and whittle him down. a small pile of feces is found — narrowly, the berserker avoids stepping in it. it is fresh, still warm; he is close. excitement and anticipation at the thrill of the hunt resounds thru him like the vibration of a church bell. he would take it down and bring it back to sakhmet and together they would dine upon it. to allow her to eat like a queen ( at least a queen of a small kingdom ), to impress her; both.

the sound of footfalls approaching to somewhere of the left of him cause ears to swivel, shoulders to tense and body to haunch down, guard hairs bristling as he processes the steps as wolven and the scent as unfamiliar. upper lip curls back from his teeth, exposing the pearly gleam of ivory fang; head whipping around as his hunt is interrupted. instantly, thoughts flee like birds in flight to sakhmet and ponder her safety.

but the stranger is here ...providing she is alone and hasn't been stalking him and the valkyrie of whom he is wardog. without her presence to reassure him that not everything needs to be hostile and untethered aggression gleipnir's head whips in the pale stranger's direction, glacial eyes locking upon her.

hver ertu? he asks sharply. hver ertu! he repeats more demanding than the last; forgetting to use the few common sentences sakhmet has managed to enforce in his vernacular as they exchange native tongues.