Raven's Watch In his corpse lies the seat to his soul.

Stoic, as always. Cool and collected, with a dry sense of humour that Rökkvi himself had always carried. To look at the pair of them together, one would likely not know that they were siblings, but their small similarities were known only to those who knew them best.

The ironborn regarded his comment with an amused huff of breath, a smoky plume from each nostril in the crisp Winter air. He didn't have anything else to say on the matter, so moved to welcome Stjörnuàti as the gilded sibling reached to bring their crowns together. With a dip of his own raven-tipped muzzle, Rökkvi pressed his forehead firmly in a brief acceptance of his affection. 

"Likewise," he answered gruffly, eager to be rid of the vulnerability he felt in sharing that sentiment. He carried on: "so this is it?" Yours. Ours. He stepped aside to better regard his brothers' assumed dwelling with an upward tilt of his chin to look upon the higher slopes, satisfaction in the gleam of his pale eyes.