Firefly Glen verast

the name lands heavy. sólhárr. not understood in full, but felt. raedwulf nods—slow, respectful. his gaze sharpens at the word forneskja, brow twitching with faint recognition. ah!
his tail twitches, just the beginning of a welcoming wag. turning towards the man with welcoming body language, his face warming with a jovial smile. unveiling one poking canine tooth, the other cracked short and fleshy. āh, þū eart cyning! eorl!
then more words—too fast, too fluid. but he hears north, and god, and something in the tone tells him it is not mockery. something clicks, and ears perk upwards. þū eart norðmann. raedwulf watches the man touch his chest in turn and he lifts brown eyes to his amber. iċ eom seaxe!
he cannot grasp the rest—only tone, only offer. he looks to the trees, then to sólhárr. he offers him hearth, raedwulf thinks. once more a glance to look around, observing their area, and nodding with a faint acceptance. it was a beautiful lands; the warrior saw no reason to decline! and he was also bleeding once more, the second time in just a few days—healing and rest would be in demand.
ġe, ic wuna. accompanied by a nod. then, gesturing with a leg, for the man to take the lead. show the way!