King Elk Forest heart the keeper

aw for warhall peeps <3 potential formation thread

there is something forlorn about these lands, something the englishman can't place. the trees reach tall and wide, shadowing above him in thick and glorious canopies. the sun does not touch aside from in places where those canopies part in wide glens or small openings, giving way to golden rays.
the land is thick with health. despite winter's nip, there is a flushness. ripe with prey, herds of elk big and small roaming in and out from between trees and frostbitten foliage. his mouth practically salivates.
raedwulf walks with thundering pawsteps, though draws to a stiff pause when there is a distant disturbance. the loud scrape of tine upon the harsh bark of tree, loud, grating, large.
the wolf gawks in mild alarm. what sort of huge beast lurked?

The salt air was far behind her now, yet the taste of brine lingered on her tongue, a phantom memory of the coast, and of the man the ocean had swallowed whole. She had run until the pads of her feet were raw, fleeing the suffocating velvet of her noble house. They would have sold her off again, traded her like a piece of fine silver to the next suitor, but Belinda had chosen the unknown over a cage. Now, the forest loomed around her, thick and glorious to eyes that knew only manicured gardens and the stark, grey sea. To her, it felt vast, overwhelming.

She was tired, bone-tired, and the hunger in her belly was a sharp, twisting knot. She had paused to rest near a thicket when the thundering steps of a stranger vibrated through the frozen earth. Her body froze, almond-shaped green eyes widening as she spotted the large male moving with a confidence she envied. He seemed made of this land, sturdy and flush with health, while she felt like a brittle leaf blown inland.

The grating noise of tine against bark shattered the silence. It was loud, heavy, and spoke of a beast far larger than a wolf. She saw the stranger freeze, his alarm mirroring the spike of fear in her own chest. Belinda shrank lower, her belly fur brushing the snow, making herself small. The breath hitched in her throat, and words from a life she had just lost tumbled softly, instinctively from her lips.

„Hvað er þetta…?” she whispered, the norse vowels round and trembling in the cold air. She looked from the shadows toward the stranger, half-fearful of the unseen monster in the trees, half-fearful of him. „Er det... et skrímsli?” The woman did not know the beasts of this deep wood; she only knew the monsters of the sea. And in this moment, the towering shadows felt perilously alive.

raedwulf turns a passing gaze unto the woman who appears just as he, body language drooping into a softness. he can smell the fear upon her, stricken by the great beast of these woodlands, and he would not have her thinking he too among it.

though his hackles lift, tail stiffening behind him as he turns his broad head toward the trees, ears pricked hard forward. this is no wolf. no bear either. an elk stag, fully-grown—perhaps beyond such—and bull-proud, raking his antlers to mark himself king of the nearby glen.

his lip curls faintly over the gap of his missing fang.

eolh. he chuffs to the woman. a rough-hewn voice thick upon his tongue. his time in forneskja, alongside the great chieftain @Solharr had let him garner an understanding of the northern tongue. though, he himself still could not speak it.

he takes a few steps closer and looks to her with blue eyes, gesturing for her to come out from the thickets. hit is siccu.