Silver Creek a traitor is never just a traitor

the creek leads him to a fork that gives way to a courtly woodland fit brimming with cedar, fir, oak and silver maple, carpeted by moss. glacial, caribbean eyes skim over the impressive woodland laid before him with a well practiced sweep of impartiality; but he is, indeed, impressed. it is vastly different from odinn's cove: where the salt water runs frigid all year around and encases in salt ice during the harsh months of winter. it's a harsh land that breed only the harshest of wolves and after a moment's consideration ragnarr considers that this territory, while fit for a king, appearing rich in resources is too posh. good for raiding for it's resources but too luxurious for a beast that craves the challenge of harsher living. a low snort escapes his flared, leathery nostrils moments before the inkjet raven flying in lazy circles overhead lets out a cry that the northman likens to boredom.

the sacred bird had latched onto him after ragnarr, whom didn't dare invoke the potential wrath of odinn by chasing him off, shared a kill with him. after two whole days of being trailed by the raven ragnarr begrudgingly consented to their companionship. not that the bird he calls mimir when he's being particularly tolerant gave him any sort of choice in the matter. "fugl. hitta." ragnarr calls in the guttural language of his homeland to the feathered beast before he bows his head to lap at the refreshing water of the creek, letting out a low hiss of pain and snaps his jaws over his shoulder at mimir, sending droplets of water flying as his head rises quick with the abrupt motion, as the birds sharp talons dig into plush platinum silver pelage and pierce his skin. mimir is not gentle as he finds purchase upon the junction of ragnarr's shoulders and he bears numerous scabs and scars hidden beneath thick fur as proof.

Colt wasn't exactly positive where he was heading next.  Upon leaving, he had called to @Feidhelm, hoping that Fern might be in the area and be willing to join up for a bit.  Safety in numbers and all that, yeah? But she hadn't answered, and he wondered where she had disappeared off to in the move.  

He'd keep trying, to be on the safe side, but currently was wandering south.  Despite the turn these last few weeks had taken, he felt... ok?  He tended to bounce back quick, and his only real regret now was bouncing on Fin.  At least she'd taken the news sorta kinda well, and he was free to stop by again sometime.  And at least if he did howl for Finley, it wasn't likely Towhee would come.

These thoughts brightened a bit also, and thirsty, he headed towards the nearby river to grab a drink and sort out his next move.  North? East? West?  He wasn't sure.  Or he could head back to the Blackthorn family locale, but that seemed like a last resort.  Maybe he needed a break from too much family.

Leaning down to take a drink, he spotted a figure from the corner of his eye.  He lifted his head to appraise him a minute, then shrugged and continued.  Probably another loner like himself, as he didn't scent any claim here.

over the soft babble of the creek as it moves over stones smoothed by the constant flow of the water, ragnarr is abruptly aware of the sound of approaching footfalls upon the earth. his unscarred, right ear swivels to the side to better analyze the sound and attempt to gleam whatever information he can from it. there is a distinct lack of clicking of joints so he knows it's not ungulate. too heavy to be a small woodland creature but not too heavy to be that of a bear. mimir lets out a soft noise and ruffles his feathers from his perch upon the northman's shoulder junction. a quieted alert, as if ragnarr is not already aware that they will soon have company. the northman lets out a low, annoyed huff at the bird — he does not need mimir to be his eyes nor his ears as his all function well enough — but mimir does not seem to care ...or perhaps he simply enjoys grating upon ragnarr's nerves — he has yet to deduce the actual answer and often fluctuates between the two alternatives.

it does not take long for the stranger — male and presumably lone — to approach the creek a bit away. ragnarr's head cants in the stranger's direction, studying the earthen colored male unabashedly before deducing that there is no immediate threat. he returns to his drink, first interrupted by the raven and continued by the approach of the other. mimir lets out a series of caws and ragnarr rumbles a low, warning growl in his throat to the bird. "þǫgn fugl." the northman snaps with annoyance at his feathered companion. the less attention they draw to themselves, the better. or so that is the mindset that ragnarr's been determined to keep and mimir — obviously on a very different page — is hellbent on ignoring.

He didn't notice the bird until it cawed, and he stared when he did. "Does everyone and their brother have a damn pet bird?" He muttered, mostly to himself.  So he only had seen two now, sure, but it was two more than he had expected to see.

"You deaf too? Or is that just for looks."  He indicated the raven, though likely overhearing his previous comment would clue that in.