The rhythmic roar of the ocean had accompanied Atreyu for almost his entire journey – albeit muted slightly due to his less than perfect hearing. It was a familiar and friendly sound and it pained him to leave it, however the sun was slowly dipping below the horizon and the young boy needed to find shelter soon. Had he been with his family, he could have stayed on the ocean shore and nested there for the night but, as he was now living alone, he could not afford that luxury. The faint scents of other wolves wafted by, becoming stronger as he travelled further along the coast – and as Atreyu had been given a crash course on stranger danger before he left – he knew it would be best to avoid them for now lest they be hostile.
Wearily, the boy wandered towards the grand forest that stood before the ocean, the light from the setting sun casting a warm, welcoming light upon the coniferous trees. Had he not been so tired he would have turned and admired the view, but the grumble in his stomach and aching paws forced him to trudge onwards, hoping to find some sort of den where he could camp for the night.
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The need to amble along the depths of Ravensblood Forest was not an ambiguous one, neither was it particularly necessary anymore. With the believed knowledge that the one eyed raven that had led him to Stavanger Bay he no longer felt the connection to Ravensblood Forest he had once felt. While the All-Father’s presence had once thrummed here beneath the calloused paw pads of the platinum Viking it was no longer felt here. No, that thrum had moved to Stavanger Bay, felt exceedingly at his discovery of it and now comfortably with his pack’s relocation complete. It was not a strange thing to walk along the scent borders of cursed lands that no longer belonged to him or his, rather it was a relieving feeling to be free of the Ridge, of it’s curse and free of Wheeling Gull Isle’s impending and imposing presence. Ragnar understood that his impulse to venture into Ravensblood Forest was nothing more than the sake of nostalgia. That it was here that he had claimed his wife, that he had made her into a Shield-Maiden in spirit and body. Though it no longer held the spiritual pull it once had to the scarred Northman he thought of the territory with fondness. It, at least, held memories if nothing else.
The darkness had been chasing him since the sun had set, but the Nord did not fear the darkness, nor the shadows or dangerous it might have been harboring. He had faintly caught the scent of Majesty and a few of the Isle wolves’ scents upon his entrance in the Forest and his guard hairs had bristled upon what was only natural territorial-ness. Horizon Ridge was abandoned now and Ragnar deigned to put the Isle far from his thoughts though he would, likely, never like them. The hostility he beheld for them could not be helped even though they were far apart from one another, now. There was another scent, growing stronger as the Viking neared it, that of a loner. Swiftly, the Northman made his way to where the boy came into sight. He was a boy, probably not even in his first year mark yet if he had to guess he was about Hati’s own age.
Instantly, this piqued the Viking’s curiosity and he kept his body neutral as he let out a low chuff to alert the cream colored creature to his presence.
His small nose hovered inches above the ground, tail tip twitching as he tried to sort through the numerous scents that lined the sandy ground. He knew he had to find some sort of fox trail, one he could follow that hopefully led to a den – that was what his father had taught him, right? Or was it a badger? Grunting, the boy shook his head in frustration and rounded a rather large tree, searching for any looseness near the base where he could possibly scrape out a hollow to sleep in. However, he was weak from hunger and fatigue and his claws were not suited to digging up hardened dirt. Already, Atreyu was wondering if he should just try his luck back near the shoreside again, he remembered seeing some caves further back that were surely not inhabited.
The strong sharp scent of another suddenly caught the boy's attention. He quickly stood up straight, glancing back and forth before turning and glancing over at an imposing stranger, cursing himself for not paying enough attention. He hadn't heard the soft noise the man had produced but he sure had noticed him. He cut an intimidating figure, like something out of one of his father's tales, with scars marring one side of his face. Some forest guardian perhaps? Unsure of what to do, Atreyu stood with his tail slowly curling beneath his legs, his confidence wavering. "Uh...hey," he said, his voice breaking.
Ragnar had suggested to his wolves during the processes of relocating to keep it internal to the pack only for while it wasn’t necessarily a secret there was a defied part of the Northman that did not want Majesty to catch wind of. Naturally, with time, the scent borders of Horizon Ridge would fade without the wolves that once inhabited the plagued lands with their territorial urine markings; if the silence did not alert the Isle wolves’ curiosity first. Lips twitched in a mirthless smirk as he contemplated the surprise they would come to find within the heart of the land: the bear that had murdered Pump, that had cut three claw marks from Ragnar’s hip to his leg when they had foolishly attempted to chase it from their caches and lands. They should have killed it no matter the cost but they hadn’t and it had healed and had began to extract it’s revenge and with Gavriil missing in action that, surely, had left Ragnar as it’s next target for out of them all Ragnar had dealt it the most damage to it. In a cruel way, Ragnar hoped the bear wasn’t feeling particularly picky about whom it went after, that since it had tasted canine blood it would want more. Now that his family and pack was in no danger from it he really didn’t care.
Pulled from the depth of his thoughts, the Viking watched the boy stand ram-rod straight in a manner that resembled a canine version of the military’s ‘attention’. Pupils narrowed within their pools of Caribbean ice as Ragnar observed the teenager look around before his gaze finally fell upon him, wondering if he had not heard the low chuff he had given. He had seemed awful startled despite that there was noting exceedingly hostile in the Viking’s pose. He had no interest in hurting what was still a child to him, so long as he meant no harm to Stavanger Bay. A small smile tugged at the edges of Ragnar’s lips though it had not formed because the boy’s posture had began to alter again. It was a further sign that he had no intentions of attacking, perhaps to ease the boy’s nervousness is what Ragnar thought of it though the Northman ran off of assumption through body language interpretation alone, of course.
Granted, he was likely old enough to travel on his own, but it was those parental, fathering instincts that indulged him to inquire, nevertheless the conclusions he was capable of drawing.
The other spoke softly then and Atreyu's ears pricked forward quickly and intently, capturing the somewhat muffled sounds. Thankfully, they were far away enough from the ocean that the crashing waves didn't interfere, however, the others voice was distinctively different from what the boy was used to hearing. He took a few moments to process the question before answering.
"I can take care of myself," he said matter of fact-ly, eyes hardening as he tried to catch the stranger's icy gaze. His childish arrogance was slowly returning. Although almost having reached his adult size, it was clear Atreyu was still a juvenile, from the telling gawky features and awkward stance. However, it didn't stop him from pretending he was up there with the adults.
For a stretch of moment, it seemed to the Viking both were contented to simply appraise one another from afar though afar was not the right word for it. They were closer than ‘afar’ made them seem, though there was a comfortable distance of space between them that neither man nor boy seemed over eager to close. Ragnar rarely liked wolves too close within his proximity of space, the exceptions being his children and his wife, because there was always exceptions. Ragnar was not someone anyone would ever exclaim as being ‘overly friendly’ because just the idea of those words being applied to him in any sense was laughable. He wasn’t friendly, not by a long short. His life’s mission wasn’t to make friends, either. He was slow to trust and slow to respect because both things he felt were better off earned than freely and foolishly given.
Comfortably, the Viking settled upon his haunches, scarred ear twitching towards the boy who stood across from him when he spoke. Ah, the typical answer of ‘I can take care of myself’. It wasn’t, entirely, an unexpected response to Ragnar’s prying inquiries but not the answer the Viking had been looking for, nevertheless.
He dipped his head in a nod at the man's question, ears twitching as he strained to pick up the name he mentioned afterwards. "Have been for..." he faltered. How long had he been travelling for now? More than a month, he guessed, for it surely had felt as such. Had he not stumbled upon that carcass washed up on the shore weeks back, it would have felt even longer. At that fleeting thought of food, Atreyu's stomach let out a soft rumble, causing his ears to flatten in embarrassment. No, no, he was not hungry. He was a perfectly capable fisher, just last week he had caught a small fish. Granted, it had been in a rock pool. And it had been dead. It still counted, though. "My parents have let me travel," he explained proudly. "My name is Atreyu."
Ragnar had not meant his coy smirk to come across as mocking, though it was understandable how it might have. It was a trademark thing that he did so half of the time he did not even realize the muscles of his muzzle had lifted to form it. In this case, it was when the cream colored boy let out an indignant snort. He had began to answer how long he had been alone but never actually got around to finishing the sentence not that Ragnar had actually asked given that it had been rhetorical but the amount of time really didn’t matter. He was alone and he was a loner; and if the grumble his stomach had just let lose, — a soft sound that he might not have heard if the birds cawing in the distance were any closer — was of any indication. Ragnar was silent for a bit, his ears, scarred and unscarred cupped towards the youth as he spoke, resisting the soft smile that threatened to pull at the edges of his lips when the boy insisted his parents had let him travel reminding him of Sköll in a small manner, before he lingered on the boy’s name in his thoughts. Atreyu.
Ragnar wasn’t so confident his accent wouldn’t butcher it a little, but the boy had heard him speak enough to hopefully understand that the Northman’s accent wouldn’t make his name sound as pretty as the common tongue did. For now, Ragnar decided not to touch upon the rumbling of the youth’s stomach focusing on the equally as important question he had instead.
Ragnar wasn’t going to take his freedom of choice away from him but the Northerner figured it never hurt to put all the options on the table, just in case.
Dipping his head again, lower this time, out of respect, the boy considered both of Ragnar's offers. A den and promise of food – but he had to prove his worth if he wanted to stay – or a small hunt with the man. Atreyu glanced over the snowy-coloured male once more, certain he was more than capable of a successful hunt. Although he wouldn't admit it, the boy himself was a woefully incompetent hunter. His preferred method was fishing – where one relied more on sight than sound.
"So...this is your forest then?" he queried with a tilt of his head. Although Ragnar had mentioned he led Stavanger Bay, Atreyu remembered his mother explaining that packs could occasionally spread their reaches out to other lands too. Woah, a bay and a forest, the boy thought feverishly, his excitement taking over. A small part yet still yearned to explore further reaches, beyond the shoreline he had stuck close to. Perhaps the pack Ragnar led wandered too? Rolling his shoulders in a childishly haughty way, the boy gave a sort of shrug. "I'll consider your offer Rang...Ragn..." he paused, stumbling on the foreigner's name. His eyes shifted up towards Ragnar's marred face. "...Scarface." he added, grinning. "You can accompany me on a hunt, though, I was just about to, uh, grab a snack."
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.
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.
The boy grinned a little sheepishly back at the Alpha as he helped him with the proper pronunciation of his name, although he kind of liked his on–the–spot nickname for the white male. It also made him curious about the scars Ragnar harboured - they didn't seem natural. It was a peculiar pattern, somewhat different to the smaller nicks and cuts across his muzzle.
Lead the way. Atreyu grinned and nodded again, pleased that he would be able to take the lead of this hunt. However, daylight was fading fast and, soon, they would have to rely more on their hearing to pick out the sounds of their prey. A small seed of doubt began to form in the youth's mind but he ignored it, determined to show his capability to the man. "Well, I've caught plenty of rabbits before," he lied, spinning on his heel and dipping his nose to the ground, pretending to search for a scent. In actuality, he had no idea what he was meant to be looking for and was unable to sort through the various smells. Looking back at Ragnar he then added, almost questioningly, "So...we have to find a burrow..."
There had been a time not so long ago when Ragnar had been rather hell bent upon claiming the Forest for his own, having had the intentions of splitting off of Pump and the wolves of Horizon Ridge. That had been before. Before the bear they had chased off and presumed to think would not come back and ended their previous leaders’ life without obvious mercy. It hadn’t even finished the job because when Ragnar had came across her body as his wife had been delirious in her horror and sorrow of finding Pump, their hybrid leader had still been alive. In a way the gory mess of blood and her severed spine had almost reminded him of a Blood Eagle. An ancient and extremely torturous manner of execution for treachery and treason in his culture. It involved opening their back, breaking their ribs and spreading their lungs on their shoulders to give the shape of an eagle’s wings spread in flight. It was not a pretty sight. Ragnar had only performed it once in his life, to the Jarl of a neighboring pack for betraying the Cove. The first time in nine years as far as the Seer could tell him it had been done. Ragnar had seen worse than Pump’s broken body, had done worse, admittedly, because the victims of a Blood Eagle were still alive during the process, their lungs still attached to their body to suffer the death of bleeding out.
Having nearly missed what the boy had said the Viking broke himself out of such morbid thoughts with a discreet shake of his head, ears slicking back to stand half mast atop his skull for a few seconds before they perked back the next, attempting to make it look like he had been shooing away a fly that had buzzed by his ear instead of resurfacing from the catacombs of his mind. Ragnar followed after the spirited youth, determined not to let his mind wander so far again. At the boy’s almost sounding question of finding a burrow Ragnar’s brow furrowed slightly, wondering if the boy knew what he was doing while also contemplating something a bit more disturbing to him (ironic that something did actually make him queasy given his bloody background personal and culture wise).
But, fully-grown rabbits were rather small, would a smaller version be filling enough? Frowning, Atreyu shot a longing glance over at the ocean behind them, wishing there was a way to just summon fish into his mouth. His gaze slid back to Ragnar, wondering what his thoughts were on the delicacies that were seafood. As he was living in a Bay with the rest of his pack, Atreyu assumed he would occasionally dine on some guppies or crabs or maybe even seagulls. "I mean...I'm more of a fish man, myself," he admitted with a casual shrug.
The relief Ragnar felt at the boy’s ‘no’ had begun to diminish quickly when the youth, in what Ragnar realized was only a fair question, asked him if infant rabbits were any good. For a moment the Viking’s steps paused, the muscles pulling taunt beneath his coat, expression composed to be stoic.
Surprisingly, despite the shore along Horizon Ridge it had been many months since Ragnar had actually eaten fish or crab or anything sort of water based prey. The Cove had many accomplished fishers having had to make use of all their resources in order to store up for the harsh and glacial winters they endured.
He perked up when the Jarl decided they fish instead, his pale eyes brightening and spinning on his heel again, turning away from the forest and towards the sandy path that led to the shore. "Great!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, tail waving to and fro as he passed Ragnar. He titled his head back a little, glancing up at the sky. It was almost night - the perfect time for crab hunting. Although it was a short walk to the shorefront, he knew there would be quite a feast waiting for them. If they could catch them, that was. "You have to be pretty quick to catch them," Atreyu began, forgetting to mention just what sort of animal they would be hunting for in his excitement. "I'll chase them and you could...you could stomp on them!"
| Ragnar liked to boast of his own callousness in the same way that others liked to boast about their physical prowess or particular skill sets but just because he was callous did not mean, necessarily, that he did not have any boundaries. As far as morality went his ideas of right and wrong did not particularly seem to match up with those of the others around him but he had things that he would not do: take a woman against her will for one, and he did not kill children; except he had sacrificed a baby cougar once but he did not include sacrifices and demands of the All-Father as killing (how he justified that to himself Tokio doesn’t know). That included eating them if they were of a prey species. Ragnar’s relief was nearly a palpable thing when it was decided they would fish or if not fish that the boy was more interested in eating some type of crustacean instead. Ragnar followed after the youth whose enthusiasm seemed to increase, keeping pace with him without much effort. His ears twitched towards Atreyu to focus on his words though the Viking could hear the youth just fine, wondering at the boy’s lack of explanation of what they were hunting what it was he intended to eat as he spoke of having to be fast to catch them and that Ragnar could assist by stomping on them. Automatically, his mind went to something with a shell of some sort and suspected he was speaking of crabs but because he wasn’t sure for certain inquired, "What is it I will be stomping?" He asked, amused. |
Upon nearing the beach, the boy wiggled his toes in the sand before leaping forward, eyes scanning the sandy shores intently. Tiny shadows skittered around on the surface near the water, slick from the incoming tide. They had maybe half an hour, tops, to "hunt". Lowering himself to the ground partially in a ready stance, the boy motioned for the Alpha to do the same. "Good pickings tonight," he said in a hushed voice, as if the crabs would be able to hear them. For all Atreyu knew, maybe they could hear them, they mustn't let their prey know what the wolves had in mind. "When I give the signal, I'll dig and you stomp," he said, turning to Ragnar with determination in his eyes. Crab-hunting was a serious business. Waiting a few moments for the man to ready himself (or to ask any questions if he had any), the boy then flicked his tail upright.
"Now!" he cried, racing forward with his teeth bared in what he imagined was a terrifying display. He quickly set to work digging up the holes that littered the shoreside, small crabs emerging from each of their homes and scattering, obviously wondering what on earth was happening.
| Atreyu responded that they would be hunting crabs as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. In hindsight, it did seem fairly obvious now that the Viking had a clear idea of what they were hunting, however, the idea of crushing a crab was an odd one. Not because he gave any spare thought towards their lives or their pinchers (he was used to pain), but rather because he wasn’t sure what Atreyu was going to eat out of them when they would be crushed. Ragnar had eaten fish plenty of times but crabs? Never. It didn’t even matter that this hunting was for Atreyu alone it was still a bizarre thing for the Viking to wrap his mind around. The boy’s words went in one flicked ear and out the other, briefly acknowledging the ‘good pickings’ as his eyes followed the tiny shadows that scuttled and scurried along the ebbing and flowing of the high tide. Ragnar frowned at the tiny shellfish wondering how many of them, exactly, he was going to have to stomp in order to give Atreyu any sort of sustainable meal. The question burned at the Viking’s lips but he quelled it for the time being readying himself to…well pounce. Atreyu began to dig and the crabs emerged from their holes like a swarm of shadows and Ragnar slammed his right paw down on the nearest bunch crushing a couple in one shot, the crunch and give of their shells splintering under the force behind his paw was satisfactory before he slammed his right paw down on a few more and repeated the processes wondering what kind of fool the Jarl looked liked as he crushed crabs for this pallid youth just because his parental instincts couldn’t leave him knowing he was hungry. |
Excited laughter bubbled from the boy's maw, his eyes alight as he spun in small circles, roughly digging into the sand then quickly moving onto a new patch. The tiny crabs, with their hard shells shining in the light of the setting sun, clumsily scuttled away from their perpetrators in a panic. From the corner of his eye, Atreyu spied Ragnar crushing the critters with his much larger forepaws. If he was honest with himself, part of the reason the boy enjoyed hunting crabs so much was the sheer sadistic pleasure of feeling their shells crush underneath his paws. True, they also weren't among the more satisfying of meals out there but, if one gathered enough, it was good enough for the young wanderer.
Plus, they were quite tasty once you got past the pinchers.
Rearing onto his hind legs, the boy slammed his paws down heavily onto a small group of crabs that were hurrying to escape the massacre. A few got away but the rest surrendered underneath Atreyu's weight with a satisfying crunch. With a happy snort, he then turned to Ragnar, tail wagging uncontrollably. "How many did you get?" he barked, trotting over and surveying their work. Small bunches of the crustaceans lay scattered around the area, more than enough to make a meal out of - at least, enough for Atreyu. "Pretty good, for a beginner," he commented, grinning, unsure if the Alpha had ever hunted crab before. His efforts were appreciated, though. Bending down, Atreyu pinned one of the still twitching creatures with a paw, quickly nipping each of the small pinchers off before hungrily wolfing the rest of the body down. Normally, he would be more methodical, biting each tiny leg off and cracking the shell open but, today, hunger got the better of the youth. "You ca' haff one too," he said up to his helpful companion.
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| This pattern continued in a blurry of movements until Ragnar was sure whether it was his imagination or not, that his paw was gooey with crab insides that had leaked out from his stomping. Atreyu trotted closer to examine Ragnar’s work as the Jarl licked his paw pads to clean them whether they truly had been gooey or not. Atreyu’s comment that Ragnar had done fairly well for a beginner made the Jarl cease in his licking to let his paw fall back to the sand, smirking coyly at the boy. "It was …interesting," Needless to say that Ragnar had never done it before and wasn’t, precisely, sure if he would be doing it again. Nevertheless it was one way of catching enough of them to hopefully sustain the boy for the night. Ragnar watched with evident curiosity as the boy pulled the pinchers off and then appeared to hungrily eat the rest of the crab. A brow raised at the youth’s offer that he could have one too, likely for his efforts but the Jarl just offered another coy smirk for a second having not intended on saying anything. "It looks like you have enough to fill your stomach," Ragnar commented though in reality, he didn’t know. Nevertheless if it wasn’t Atreyu would have to get something else on his own. "I should be returning." With those words the Jarl gave a slight incline of his head in a goodbye and headed in the direction of Stavanger Bay. |
The fresh taste of crab incited an almost manic state within the boy and he eagerly began work on the next one, gripping it's pincers and tearing them off in one erratic movement before closing his jaws around it entirely. He munched on its hard shell with his tail swinging back and forth happily, watching as Ragnar spoke. It was indeed enough for him, at least for tonight. It didn't really take much for Atreyu to feel satiated and he was prone to go for long stretches without any food.
As the boy continued his feast, the Jarl decided it was time to take his leave to which Atreyu slightly objected to. Selfishly, he wanted the man to stick around a little longer, if only because he enjoyed his company and having a larger wolf around was rather handy (as had been demonstrated). Yet, Ragnar was an Alpha after all and he had a pack he had to attend to. Ears lowering, Atreyu gave a short nod of his head in response to the man's own gesture. "Thanks for your help, Scarface!" he grinned, glancing down at the smattering of critters spread before him. He looked back up to watch as the white wolf turned on his heel and headed back to wherever the Bay he called home was, before hunger gnawed at his attention again. Dipping his head, the boy continued on devouring the crushed crabs until, happy and with a full stomach, he headed back to the rocky caves he had come across earlier to settle in for the night.