The Skardians moved with purpose beneath the looming sky with Fjora at the head, her colossal club resting across her shoulders. Skalr trudged alongside her, his boots squelching in the mud as the faintest frown rested on his face. Above them, the storm's intensity had waned into a steady drizzle punctuated by distant thunder. A distant reminder that the gods were watching. Or meddling, depending on one's perspective.
"Do you reckon Exile enjoys showing off, or is it just part of the job description?" Fjora mused, her voice loud enough to be heard over the patter of rain.
"Both, I suspect," Skalr replied dryly, glancing up at the cloud-arrow that still hung above them. "Though I can't say I appreciate being guided by celestial doodles."
