Raven's Watch you only understand the language of the sword

What a sight to behold, the roost of the raven's a sign of good fortune to the man of the North. Lips curling upward slightly into a smile, the familiar cry of the birds filling his soul with what he could only call joy; many memories of his fair-feathered friends swirled into though now, though no single recollection was settled upon. There was no point to dwell on such things, not when the sound and sight of the intelligent creatures was present in the here and now.

A sound akin to a croon left Stjornuati's throat, eyes searching the trees for a few moments before looking to his blood-and-soul brother. ]Sannarlega. Við —

Fur spiked along his ruff and spine, ears thrusting forward pointedly as his posture became defensive, dominant, and aggressive; Stjornuati had never appreciated surprises and, in his enthrallment with the birds and his brother, the appearance of another had set him on edge. Liver colored eyes trained on the annað, noting many things all at once before addressing him, using words to delay what might be a similar, more aggressive response from Solpallur.

Nefndu sjálfan þig, The Nordic man demanded of the creature, before repeating himself in the common tongue for the benefit of the stranger. Name yourself.