Totoka River We'll be sailing,

She did not relent or thrash against his grip—a wise move on her part. To do so would have only done her more harm than good; it was the mark of a smart warrior to know where they had been bested, even if the quarrel was far from over. He felt the urge to keep going, to make it painful for her, but there was little enjoyment in that. If she were as loosened to the world as he was, an injury out of her reach would only fester and for as late as the season was it had every possibility of sending her into a decline.

A good drengr did not spill blood needlessly.

It would not be worth the misfortune reaped from sowing a grim victory.

He held her down with force, daring to place his feet on her enough to lessen the hold he had on her to spring away and spin about. An ugly grin spread on his face, conveying clearly that he was pleased in his own success. It was here that he hoped to open the dialogue he had denied her moments ago, and launched into such promptly.

“You fight well,” he managed out in that stilted, ugly common tongue. “This one is Solpallur af Stormskýli. This one honored in meet of another drengr.” He shook out his coat. “Your pack is proud to have you.” A concession of sorts, though his guard did not lower itself, he had no interest now in pushing and testing her limits now.

“Nafn? Name?” he asked then, eyes alight with renewed interest.

sorry for holding this up