Stavanger Bay with the salt on our skin

The mood was infectious, the feeling of celebration replaced with something formal and deep. Home, it screamed. This was not one of the traditions of her own people but it was close to their culture, something that meshed to make her feel a hybrid between the two. 

The Viking did not hesitate when Doe spoke, plunging her own muzzle into the strong scent of the congealed blood. It was thick, reminiscent of war paint. Lagertha paid no mind who she was rubbing it on, moving in circles to help cover everyone familiar or not. 

When it was done and she was plastered with the blood, Lagertha stood, solemn for once, and padded away without any words of her own.

The rocks were not hard to find in the moonlight, seeming to glow faintly like beacons as she smeared the blood on them with reverence.