King Elk Forest ᛒlóð hunt

jarl does not lift his head right away.
teeth still buried in the gut of the spike, steam still rising from the opened belly, blood slick along the ridges of his muzzle and the thick fur of his chest. he’d been half-deep in the work of it when the chuff of a woman came. feminine but no lingering weakness.
her tone is sharp through Odin's woods, close enough to not flag him as cowardice; and this, slow, draws the attention of the norseman. he turns with muted pawsteps and a crimson-smeared face.
frost eyes sweep over the stranger woman, who appears young; though she is noticeably muscled. already an improvement in comparison to the only other woman to come upon warhall.
easily impressed, not too picky, he gives a low chuff back.
komdu til stela my kill? draugr rumbles with a swipe of his tongue across his bloodied maw and a toothy, yellowed, unfearing grin. stepping away from the half-gutted spike carcass, the jarl widens his stance and puffs out his chest. it is mocking, all feigning bravado.
he chuckles then, false threatening posture relaxing. letting chilled eyes settle on the woman who enters his glen and giving an inviting jerk of his large, blocky head.
komdu, woman, feast.