Ivar is surprised by the look of Fern at first but it soon fades. He just figures this is a skogvættir, a forest spirit from the Norse faith, and doesn’t question it any further. There are some advantages to coming from a religion that has so many strange things already in the cosmos and fabric of it.

“Yes. I only just arrived. There was a letter but I don’t read the alphabet the Saxons use.” Only Norse runes and that was hardly going to help him out here in town.

He beams at the compliment about his weapon. Taking it off, he flips it around in a casual manner, grabbing it by the hilt when it spins around. Not an easy thing to learn if one wanted to keep all their fingers intact and especially with Ivar being more conscientious of his hands than most. If he lost use of them, he’d truly be helpless. “A shame I arrived here with only one. And no knives at all.” He sounds nearly scandalized at the thought of going around without seven or eight knives at all times.