the clouds hang thick and dense; the salty brine of the air sharp as it whips ‘round gungnir’s platnium silver pelage; lashing against his scarred muzzle. glacial gaze studies the frothing sea churning like a völva’s cauldron. it is a violent churning; seaweed and other bits of jetsam and floatsom drudged from the sea bottom as it crashes against the land bridge; spraying him with cold, unforgiving seaspray and making the rock underpaw slick. though no stranger to traversing slick surfaces: from the icy fjords of his birthland to the seaslick cliffs; gungnir sees the brewing storm as a ill omen and quickens his pace all the same. he is a strong swimmer but he does not have the ability to survive under the water and he is not sure even solidify would work to chill the vengeful sea in her violent mood. no doubt the force of the waves would be enough to break any sort of ice he managed to conjure.