Týr had tried to go to Tuwawi as quick as he could without appearing that he was too desperate to appease her — after all he wasn't a fan of wolves kissing up and that was the last thing he wanted to be; but he tried to always be punctual. Ragnar had never condoned tardiness when he had called for his eldest son, not that it had ever been much of a problem as to where Týr was concerned. The young Rekkr hated being tardy on basic instinct. He hated to be kept waiting and likewise would never want someone to wait for him for long and unnecessary periods of time. He offered Tuwawi a soft smile when he felt the touch of her nudge against his crown, ears lowering to stand at half mast atop his skull for a few moments before they cupped forth to hear her murmured words carried on a soft breath. They were close enough that it was impossible for him to not catch them, never mind the exceptional hearing of their species.
Yes, I am still here,
Týr murmured softly, demurely. He hoped that his lingering presence despite that the lands were not officially claimed did not make him seem over-eager in any way that resembled obnoxiousness. He had never before assisted in founding a pack, assuming that he had been born into Odinn's Cove and had simply drifted when he had finally set out upon his own path, eager to appease the All-Father and his own father at the same time. Not to mention the weight of the burden he bore upon his broad shoulder of living up to the glory of the God whose name he shared. Why Ragnar had ever thought naming his son after a God was a good idea Týr did not know. It was an honor, he knew, and he was honored but with honor and glory came a hefty encumbrance to bear. That was how it simply was. I wanted to assist you and Njal in what I can so I have been creating caches and filling them. I have two started already,
He admitted to Tuwawi, sharing with her what he had been doing. He itched to explore a bit more and while he trusted his sense of direction did not want to risk being too far out and missing anything of importance.
When she parroted the Norse word back to him, his lips twitched as if he were trying to hide his smile — which he was — for this situation was strangely reminiscent of the first time he had really gotten to speak with Fox, though the woman that stood before him was vastly different than Fox had been. It means Queen, in my native tongue.
He had always considered that his words sounded much better in Norse than they did in the common tongue if only because it tended to sound more poetic to him. Even so, he understood the lack of knowledgeable Norse speakers and so settled contently with the common language.
a crime so old as the sky and bone