Wolf RPG

The Bracken Woods was not a particularly homey stretch of woodland, the viking queen mentally noted as she side stepped another thorn bush. Bracken she could deal with but the thorn bushes were like mother nature's own private sentries. Sentries that made The Bracken Woods like some kind of fortress, though if it were meant to keep Gyda out it was surely not doing a very good job. The thorn bushes were inconvenient at best but Gyda did not fear them nor the wolves that roamed the far North. She had come from them, after all, in a valley very far from Teekon. A continuous light snow had begun to fall a few days prior and there was enough on the ground that her paws sunk in a few inches and it crunched beneath her weight as she continued forth, unperturbed. It had been so very long since she had last been in these Wilds; and last time she had came here she had not stayed very long. She had never intended to fight with Ragnar, to argue and to storm away to Odinn's Cove. They had been stubborn the both of them, but now it was she that was left to deal with the fact that they had never made amends. This guilt and sorrow was what ate at and hurt her the very most. She had never intended to make him distrust her, nor be mad at her but now Gyda had to live with both of those things. Perhaps Ragnar would have forgiven her — she would have liked to believe it more than anything — but the Jarl had always been a hard man to read. He rarely had done what had been expected of him, or fell to what others assumed he might do.

Still, she tried not to hold onto the guilt. Gyda supposed the first step was in forgiving herself ...though that was much easier said than done. She understood the first step along that path was to seek out her mother and make amends with her. Gyda did not know where her mother had relocated, if she would have sought the solace of the pack Junior had hailed from ...believed to be once allies of Ragnar, or if she had settled and ruled elsewhere. It was hard for Gyda to determine and she knew that all she would have to do was to follow the scents over Ragnar's grave that carried Thistle's scent as well to find her mother; but that was much further South, and perhaps selfishly, Gyda was not ready to face her yet. Out of shame, and because she was not sure that she wouldn't break down in fresh tears and sobs that moment she laid eyes upon her mother. Gyda hurt over Ragnar's loss but she could not imagine what Thistle might have gone (or maybe still was going ) through.

Thus, the viking queen distracted herself with wandering, re-familiarizing herself with the Wilds she'd once known, while simultaneously “territory” shopping, though, if she could not have Stavanger Bay she would seek the only other territory she remembered Ragnar being fond of: Ravensblood Forest, though she was not sure if it was even in existence after the storm that had torn through parts of the Bay. For now, the Scandiavian woman was contended with her travels and her distractions.

There was a loud crack from a few feet away, though the sound echoed and Gyda's exceptional hearing had picked up upon the noise with little trouble. She drew in a deep breath, head whipping in the direction it had originated from, silver encased ears slicking back to rest at half mast atop her skull as fierce eyes scanned what appeared to be desolate forest. Perhaps, simply, a branch had snapped from a trunk and she had heard the cataclysm of it. Her steps had not resumed however, and her first theory was proven wrong when an angry howl tore through the frigid air, tearing the previous and relative serenity of the unwelcoming forest asunder. For a long moment the viking queen was hesitant; and yet despite this hesitancy she found her legs carrying her in the direction of the other creature with concise curiosity. 

Carefully, she picked her way through the thorn bushes and followed the violent trashing, though in truth the male, her nose told her the closer she came, was not making any efforts at being discreet. “þagga sjálfur” Gyda spoke, first, in her native tongue though after a few seconds offered in the common tongue, “Hush, the more you thrash about the worse it's going to be.” This seemed logical to the shield-maiden whose first thought was if there were any thorns in him anywhere he was probably only causing them to dig in deeper. Only barely did the Scandinavian warrior resist rolling her eyes at the display before her, despite how unfair her biased comparisons to her view of men was. 

The rapid shift of his behavior did not go unnoticed by the shield-maiden as she made her approach, deliberately slowing, the hairs along her nape prickling with caution. It was miraculous how one moment he howled as if he had lost a leg only to suddenly be rid of his painful ailments when he noticed her come into view. Unease washed through the viking queen, initially intent upon offering him assistance until the shift. Now she was unsure, and she did not enjoy being in the presence of a wild card. She would fight if she had too — this was no qualm nor issue for Gyda but she did not rush to tooth and nail so quickly. 

His mouth opened ...which was his first mistake. His second mistake was calling her baby, and his third mistake rested in the croon of asking if she ...she! would lick his wounds clean. Her stare was deadpan, and as utterly unamused as one's expression could get, her eyes narrowing with enough of an edge to cut steel, she hoped. “I am not your baby,” The Scandinavian spat at him with unbidden disdain in her accented voice. “I was going to help you,” until you opened your mouth and spoke to me "No. I do not.” Gyda responded curtly with a slight raise of her tail in a dominate posture as it lashed behind her. His attempts at impressing her or luring her (or whatever it was he intended with that voice) were in utter vain.