Týrr watched her reaction to his very obvious statement with stoic eyes, not sure that he trusted her. She reminded him of some deviant creature, slippery like oil, cunning as a venomous snake poised to strike him at any moment. Týrr was not sure what it was about the woman that gave him those particular feelings, and though it was hardly unfair for his gut feelings to paint her in such a light when, in reality, he knew nothing of her, it did not change the fact that she made him feel uneasy. Not that the Rekkr had any intention of letting her clue into that fact. She asked him sweetly “who was that”, a sickeningly sweet tone that he truly didn't trust; though it was for the sake of not appearing ignorant that he did not respond to it right away. Týrr wasn't entirely sure if she had thought that she had seen someone or if she was inquiring who it was that had given him such a burdensome name. Because Týrr had not seen anyone, not even a shadow, contented that they were quite alone here he took the leap of faith that she had been inquiring about his name. My father,
He responded simply, shrugging his shoulders as if to say 'that it something that the God should take up with him'.
Something our fathers do not have in common, it would appear,
It was redundant, of course, for she could very well figure it out for herself. He shifted his gaze to the landscape around them, out of habit more so than anything else before it fell back upon his strange coy companion. Do you belong to a pack around here?
She scented of many wolves and yet of none in specific and Týrr was not so pompous as to assume. Perhaps her case was similar to his own with Duskfire Glacier. He had pledged his loyalty and hung around the lands that Tuwawi and Njal had intended to claim while they returned to Swiftcurrent Creek to make their final preparations. Their scent had clung to him but it wasn't strong enough to have made him easily identifiable as a pack wolf at that time, either.
a crime so old as the sky and bone