Týrr had a moment of, not embarrassment per say, but modesty when she seemed pleased with his work. He'd only been trying to do something, loathing the idea of not doing anything. It was small, what he contributed, but he figured every little inch would help them in the long run. He did what he could, not being able to do anything with Swiftcurrent Creek to aid them. He had taken the initiative to start something that he thought was critical, after all, he knew caches would be relied upon heavily in the winter when the prey grew scarce from their migrations. Caches could mean the difference between life and death and though he was no true hunter, as had been painfully and humiliatingly pointed out to him shortly before Týrr left Swiftcurrent Creek he was adequate enough to fill up caches and keep himself alive.
Týrr was contemplative and politely silent as Tuwawi spoke her offer. He could meet them half way, that she could howl for him. It would allow him to explore a bit so he didn't feel the need to coop himself up in the territory the Njal and Tuwawi intended to claim, while giving him a place to be. Crystalline eyes left her for a moment, taking in the vast stretch of greenery and the rise of the mountain, tall and glorious in a way that Týrr could not find actual words to explain. He was taken with the territory, even if he could not distinctly place why. It had always been like that, though, for as long as he could remember. He would get the distinct feeling of deja vu when he did something, the solidification with an absoluteness that he had done that before when he knew he hadn't. It was similar with his initial exploration of the treacherous heights, any apprehension he had harbored, fear of slipping to his death had been absolved when his body seemed to know exactly how to balance it's weight. Týrr had no explanation and wrote it off as nothing more I would be glad to meet you half way,
He spoke having realized that he had yet to answer her. It had only been a short pause but in the wake of his wandering thoughts had made him feel sheepish in regards to the pause, nevertheless.
I don't mind helping you pick out a den,
Týrr told her with a soft smile, desiring a break from hunting for a bit, and not wanting her to see his shamefully mediocre hunting skills. Real estate is pretty important,
He spoke with a soft laugh, her good mood infectious. He, himself, had yet to pick out a den but he'd been enjoying sleeping beneath the stars, the nights cooler against the oppressing heat of the days. Ok, so what should I address you as, then?
The Rekkr posed the question to her as she gave him a amiable shove forward. On the physical invitation the Rekkr moved forward with a laugh, feeling a little odd to be taking the lead when she was his leader. Gentlemen of Winter, hmm?
He teased back at her. He had always been more refined than his Scandinavian brethren, much more refined than his father. He didn't know why and it wasn't something he had ever thought about until one of them had begun teasing him about it. Týrr had always liked using formalities, especially when addressing or speaking to the fairer sex, finding that he was more willing to follow a woman than a man though that odd preference had never made much sense to him. Still, it was a secret that he coveted, figuring that it just made him like the black swan in the group.
Did you have a specific kind of den in mind?
He inquired of her seriously, knowing that she, as a mother, probably had a much better idea of what she was looking for a den than he, himself did; then again he didn't need much.
a crime so old as the sky and bone