Sun Mote Copse conflagration

I'm having Saga travel north from the Falls and it seemed impossible to do that without her finding the borders of this place! Feel free to treat this as a tresspass (although I'd prefer if not, but whatever).

Her thoughts were varied, but focused still on magic and the woman she had encountered who spoke of it. Starbuck's scent had vanished the further north Saga had traveled, which did bode well for her, as she wished to try and avoid the woman. It wasn't that she did not like her (she liked her quite a lot actually), but rather, Saga was very nervous about the magic she was being taught about, and the innate abilities she might hold. She had lied about her dreaming before, and would persist in the lie if further questions were drawn her way, but Saga was not practiced in such things. Eventually Starbuck would have known something — and it was good to be away from her.

As the girl slipped along the lower reaches of the Barrier Mountains (not realizing that was their name, and only truly considering them a hindrance to her desires), she did find the scent of a wolf, and then another, and soon they were layered before her like a great wall, which made her uneasy. This many scents in one place could have only meant pack. Had she strayed too close? Perhaps. With eager steps Saga sought out the shadows in order to meld her nimble self with them, and hoped she would make it north beyond the mountains before whoever lived here were to catch her; there was no ill-intent within the girl, only a desperation now to avoid conflict.

The illidu-dam still haunted her, but that storm was calming her. Only the vestiges of her fear, of the memory of the little limp body between her jaws, remained. Burying one of the children had helped her find closure, and the sudden business that came with Giana finished what the burial could not. Ragna had returned to her old routine, stalking along the border, quick and quiet. The mere act of walking the line strengthened it, but Ragna further reinforced it by urinating on bushes and rubbing against trees. If prey should catch her eye, she would chase it, and take up her patrol again once the kill was safetly cached.

It was not prey that caught her eye today, but wolf. You are too close, Ragna called when she was near. These are the borders of the Malkaria. Her voice was commanding, for she felt strongest when she was protecting her own. She stood firm, prowling closer, the dominance of her posture fitting finely with the fierocity with which she guarded her pack.

It did not take long for one of the guardians of the pack to find her, as she was traipsing quite close. She was distracted momentarily by the sound of rushing water and even deviated away from the heavy pack scent to seek it out, to dip her paws in and perhaps take a drink, but before she could do anything a voice carried across the air to her. It was stalwart, and caused Saga to stop and abruptly look around for the source.

Upon sighting the pale wolf who looked quite agitated, she ducked her own head and loosed a thin whine before controlling herself — I am sorry, voiced the girl, backing up the droop of her posture as she tried to appear smaller and less threatening; although she was already quite diminutive by comparison. I could see no other way north, and the mountains are so sheer. I have no intentions of crossing over.

She was wary, filled with anxiety, but she held no ill-will towards this fine warrior for doing their job. Had they been back among her own family, she imagined her brothers would be just as defensive (if not more so) and anyone in her position would be met with teeth and not words. For this difference she was thankful.

As any wolf would under these circumstances, the stranger grew nervous. Ragna peered at her searchingly. She saw no aggression nor mischief in the stranger, and so Ragna decided not to reply in kind. Peace, she willed the woman. Those who did not know the lay of the land could easily get trapped between the mountains, the river, and the copse. It was not an oft used thoroughfare, but Ragna had expected a few wayward wanderers to stumble to near to their land. She would see this woman to the other side and let her off with a warning. The next time, Ragna would not be so kind. This she said. I will bring you through. Next time I will take no excuse.

Come, she bid, and began to walk along the edge of the borders. If the woman did not follow, Ragna would double back, but she trusted that she was there only by mistake, not by ill will. I am Ragna, daughter of Ragnar and Shieldmaiden of the Malkaria, whose borders we walk. It felt right to introduce herself, to let the stranger know by whose mercy she would walk away unharmed.

SUDDENLY REMEMBERS THEY'RE RELATED?!

As she is scrutinized, Saga watches the guardian carefully. She diverts her gaze from the stranger's face, but watches their body, studies it, and finds it pleasing to some degree. They are a rugged being with a warrior's spine; much like her brothers, even perhaps her mother, and Saga is dimly desirous to know of this entity's origins. Thankfully she does not have to ask — she does open her mouth to give thanks for the escort, but finds that words fall short when the woman introduces herself.

Daughter of Ragnar. How can this be? Perhaps there are a myriad of men who call themselves the same, to pay homage to a great warrior. Or maybe her grandfather was more prolific than anyone could have recalled? But the names, and the manner in which Ragna introduces herself in general, makes the hair on the back of Saga's neck stand up. She lifts her gaze from the woman's body to her face, and looks there for clues. With wide eyes she proclaims, I am Saga, daughter of Brynhildr, descendant of Ragnar. She runs her tongue across her lips and finds that her legs feel weak, but she stands firmly on the spot, not yet ready to depart upon their journey around the copse and into the north. I.. I don't know what to say, for it was hard for the dark girl to process such a spontaneous revelation.

Through her mother, Ragna received her small stature, her beauty, and her grace. From her father she received strength, pride, and dignity. She was her parents' daughter, to those who knew them both could see them in their daughter. And for those who were too blind to see it, she had a tendency to announce it.

While Ragna was aware that her father's seed had spread wide (super gross), she did not often think that she would meet her kin in the Wilds. Ragna looked upon Saga with new appreciation and new fervor, looking for something of her father in her. Though there was no resemblance to Ragnar, his daughter was still willing to accept the woman's words as truth. I do not know this sister of mine, but I believe you, she said, smiling shyly. From where do you hail? Where are you going? Both were equally important to Ragna, who wanted to know more about this new relative.

Whatever shock had taken place between them, the two wolves seemed to come to the same conclusion: they were not afraid of this new knowledge, but rather, they grasped at it eagerly.

My mother lives further north, where my brothers reside with her, although that wasn't entirely true; Matej was around here somewhere, they had come quite far together, and in remembering him and the distance she had somehow spanned from his side, Saga felt her spirit waver slightly. What of you? Do you have brothers? Sisters? So eager was she, Saga forgot the second part of Ragna's query, and bypassed it for the time being. 

All the while she studied the pale girl — for it was remarkable how like her own mother this Ragna appeared. Some part of Saga was relieved by the similarities, and emboldened by the differences.

She listened eagerly to Saga's description, but found it slightly wanting. My father was born in Odinn's Cove. I have been there, too. Is that it? she asked, wondering if she had been so near this sister, this niece, those nephews and missed them. But her heart glowed warmly with the knowledge of this new branch of her family, and she was willing to give more information.

I was born alongside three brothers, though one has fallen from my favor. I have elder siblings aplenty, one sister resides in these lands. Most I do not know, like your mother, she explained. Her expression grew stormy with the mention of Jorunn, but smoothed at the thought of Charon. She did mention him for he was not related by blood, but she held him in such high affection that the thought of him was a comfort.

I honestly have no idea where Brynhildr is from, so I'm gonna just assume shit lmao.

At the mention of the cove, Saga knew she could trust this woman fully; she beamed a rare smile, and felt her heart swell with pride - and a bit of homesick-level sorrow - as she jovially confirmed, Yes! The cove. I miss it, as Saga mentioned this her ears splayed out on either side of her head, like little horns, and she quieted as she listened for more details from Ragna. To think that there were others! So many others. Somehow she would meet them all — or at least the ones that lived in the area. Perhaps this was the true message that the golden-eyed man in her dreams had been trying to convey?

I am surprised, I must admit. But I am glad to have met you. Mother always spoke kindly of what family we knew, and sometimes told us stories, but they centered on Ragnar — and often I wondered, ah, as her voice fluctuated Saga looked around, as if imparting some sort of secret. You see, I have these.. Dreams. I'm not sure if they are significant, but... My mother thought so, as did my brothers. In them, a grizzled man with eyes like the sun — like mine [mdash] would always lead me on adventures. Most of the details I have are hazy, because, well, dreams and all that... But I wondered if it might be Ragnar I pictured. Have you any memory of him? It was a vague description indeed, but Saga did not consider this as she rambled on, elated by the discovery of family and enthralled by the opportunity to learn about her roots.

I spent some time there, she said. When Gyda, my sister, ruled. Half-sister, in truth, but most of her kin was not connected to her by full blood. Ragnar had taken many wives and sired many children, but as far as Ragna knew, Thistle Cloud had only mothered Ragna and her brothers.

Saga's demeanor changed to that of a co-conspirator, and Ragna leaned in obligingly. The girl spoke of strange, wonderful dreams. They sounded fantastic, far more rich than the dreams Ragna had, which were far more mundane.

I have no memory of my father, she said. All that she knew of him came from her mother and the wolves of the cove. Some had been more honest than others in their tales, and some had tried to paint her father as a hero of legend. Ragna suspected that neither take was completely true and that she would never truly know her father. Yet it was not her father she thought of then, but of the girl's dreams. A grizzled man her father may have been, but Ragna knew that the wolf of whom Saga spoke was not Ragnar. I inherited my father's eyes, and he had but one. You dream of another wolf. I am sorry, she said, bowing her head slightly.

Her gaze gleamed with great interest, and some fear, as she told of her dreams. Such things swiftly faded from her when Ragna spoke of her father, and the truth of him. At the very least it was a blessing to know it was not Ragnar whom Saga dreamed of; yet she was shaken still, because she had no idea who had taken over her thoughts and now led her on this wild chase. Her features scrunched in to a frown, and she sagged back on her heels with a soft, oh,  and yet, her own mother had pressured her to hunt down this face, so Saga was at a loss.

Ragna was sympathetic, but could not understand the loss completely. She tried and failed to think of golden eyed, white pelted vikings that she had encountered. The only wolf close enough to that description was the sea wolf Szymon, who could very well have been the scion of some viking family. He was skilled in the water and on the sand, he seemed to have been raised for it. His fur was white as the foam cresting waves, his eyes were molten gold. Though not pure white, he could have been the wolf from Saga's dreams. I know of a wolf. His name is Szymon. He lives on the shores of a bay, neighbored by a towering forest of sentinel trees. He is close to your description.

She did not think for a single moment that her mother had lied to her, nor that any of her kin had betrayed her when they cultivated and supported her visions. Visions? She thought suddenly - when had they become such a thing? Just dreams, that's all. But still, those she told had always commended her, and helped her to understand. To think that the golden-eyed stranger was not Ragnar at all was unsettling, but it was not the end.

And Ragna pointed out another — a coastal man, she said, which held the golden eyes and could've been the symbol Saga was after. This lifted her spirits some, although the girl was a bit sour still, and was resistant in believing in this new route so quickly. But she was thankful, and let a small smile dominate her features. Szymon. A strange name, but... If he matches the description, perhaps I should head for the coast? Oh, but should she leave? Could she? Having found some long lost relative, and a place to rest and recouperate.

Thank you, Ragna. I am blessed to have found you - perhaps I was led to you on purpose. Yes, perhaps it was by the will of the gods, or by Ragnar himself, trying to reunite the many branches of the family he had birthed. She wanted to stay and to learn, but the call of the mission would always win out. I.. I suppose I should go, then. Find this man, speak with him. But I will return one day. I must! Please, you will meet with me again and tell me of our family?

Saga still seemed disappointed, but not so much as she had before. Her small smile drew an answering one from Ragna, and in the end she had still helped this niece of hers on her journey. The girl mused aloud about her path forward. Ragna said nothing, she had already given her counsel. She held Szymon in high regard. He was the closest to a viking she had come across in these wilds, beyond her own family.

Perhaps it was providence that led Saga to Ragna, but Ragna was more likely to believe in chance. Go now, she said. Be at peace. I will be here when you return, and I will tell you all I know. Rumors and fairytales, she thought bitterly, but at least she had those. They had come to the other side of the copse, and before them was free territory. The distance to the shore was not far. Go north, and you bring with you my best wishes, she said, and said no more.

Once she had her promise, Saga's smile grew and she felt a distinct pull to go back, to linger for much longer and hear these stories instead of prusuing the fanciful notions of these dreams. She had always loved stories. Each tale held a piece of truth to it, and a piece of the teller too, and as a child Saga had collected as many tales as she could from the elders. Her own mother had many, and Saga had always been gullible enough to treat those stories as if they were real, not just imaginings. Perhaps this was why she was on this quest to begin with? A gullible little girl wandering the world.

But she could not stay. Their time together was at an end for now. She would return for Ragna one day, and those stories. 

Thank you again, she cooed, and then with one glance back to etch Ragna's features in to her memory (and the beautiful forest, for when she made her return trip), the girl slipped through the gaps in the trees and was on her way.