Ragnar watched as the boy dipped his head with what he took to be respect and though it wasn’t exactly necessary, given that they were on free territories, Ragnar simply accepted it with silence and an acknowledging nod. At Atreyu’s question another soft, coy smirk tugged at the edges of the Viking’s lips as he glimpsed around at the forest that had once been more or less a Gods’ wood to him. The lands did not hold the sacred feeling to him they once had, for he had felt that the Allfather had blessed Stavanger Bay’s lands instead with his presence. There was still a fondness for the darkness that lingered here though, for the ravens whom he mistook to be Huginn and Muinnin. “No,” Ragnar responded after he inhaled deeply and let it out in a soft exhale. “It almost was, once,” The Northman spoke with the fondness associated with his brief nostalgia. “Stavanger Bay is to the south west of here, much closer to the coast and away from these surrounding packs.” That was another thing Ragnar didn’t miss: the claustrophobia that not only the Isle wolves provided but the pressing of the Plateau and Silvertip as well.
The boy spoke that he would consider the offer and Ragnar accepted it with another silent nod, though his brow furrowed slightly when the boy stumbled over his name. “Rag-nar,” He offered in what he thought was helpful but then realized his accent probably didn’t help pronunciation any. While the Viking couldn’t say he was particularly thrilled about the nickname the juvenile had settled for in the stead of his name scarface he figured it was better to simply accept it and move on. It was a keen observation, nevertheless. “Good,” Ragnar smirked. “Lead the way,” The Viking offered since it was, essentially, the boy’s hunt and so it was his choice as to what they hunted.
