Call him cliche (though there were many less flattering traits to go before that one), but Kondo liked to wreak havoc in mood-appropriate weather. The rain heightened awareness of scent and danger and set lions on edge. Dark clouds in the far away sky promised to give him a good run if he chased them. Kondo's father had told him the weather was the only leader he should truly follow from the depths of his heart and Kondo agreed.
Until now.
Njal was very much in good standing with this particular captain. Freyja, his -- his something -- was sick of hearing about it. Kondo was not the type to adulate and that he would take to the grave; however, he praised Njal aloud more than anyone in his entire life, save his own father.
The superstitions that sometimes influenced the Vikings did not hold sway over him. Yet, he would accept it was fate that he should see Njal just as he decided today was the day he ventured out with his reavers.
In truth, they just-so-happened to cross paths in the pride's most frequently populated living area.
Kondo nodded upward. The only lion he bowed his head to was his father, no matter what. It was a different kind of respect he had for Njal, but respect none the less. "Warlord," he greeted, friendly by Stormborn standards. Downright conversational even. "I'm taking some of the reavers out soon."
