Ankyra Sound why do we care about the rumors baby

The sound of approach was not hidden, and Kjalarr's ears perked as he partially turned, struggling for a moment to find her shape in the shadows though he knew immediately who had joined him from her scent alone. A low greeting rumbled in the Viking's throat though he did not translate the wolfish noise into words. This was not his first time visiting these chambers — no the first time he'd had one of “the” dreams. Not of Ragnar but as if he had possessed his father's body in Valhalla. It had been strange and exciting all at the same time, and it had been a while since he'd had one. He didn't know what they meant — those dreams — without the proper teachings of a Seer he probably never would. Though Kjalarr was unaware of the chamber's true purpose he enjoyed this place. It had a surreal feeling to it, mystical, even and inexplicably the viking was drawn to it. Because it felt sacred he did not visit it often, not wanting to disturb it's aura with his prolonged and frequent presence.

“I like it,” Kjalarr admitted his previous thoughts aloud to Caiaphas at her inquiry. “even if it is strange.” He couldn't help the grin that tugged slowly at his lips as he spoke it. “What were they used for in your old pack? What kind of ceremonies were held here?” The only ceremonies he knew of were the ones Thistle had told him that Ragnar had conducted in the name of his faith and gods; and while Kjalarr considered himself a Viking he was not as committed to the faith as his father before him. He believed in the Gods and the Norns and the Æsir plenty but his father's rituals were left untouched by his son who couldn't help but think he was better off not attempting it because he didn't even know how to properly hold them anyway. His gaze settled upon his coywolf queen as he awaited her response, a curious rise to his brow.