Pillman was new to this land, he had been traveling for what felt like weeks, his paws were sore, his stomach empty, head spinning, if he kept this up, he'd be nothing but skin and bones in a few days. He was on some shoreline, trying to trace the water to any other source of life; other wolves would probably be based near the water as they could obtain fish with relative ease.
He looked out to sea, while the sight was beautiful, sitting here walking wasn't going to fill his stomach. Pilman sighed and dragged himself onwards.
@Pilman This looked super lonely so here, have a Kja. :P Also, do you mind if we forward date this so it's current?
Edit. eep i hope this was all welcome. :o if it wasn't feel free to send me a pm and i'll delete this.
Kjalarr was not sure what kept him coming back to Stavanger Bay. Ragnar's grave was destroyed, all the bones stolen from the empty hole of dirt beneath the Bay's largest ash tree, and yet he returned. Saltwinter had easily become his home, and The Grotto allowed him to mingle with his motley crew of pack mates during the day for it had turned out that Caiaphas hadn't been joking when she'd told him many months ago that her pack resided under ground. His monochromacy made it harder for him to venture out during the day but every now and then Kjalarr made the exceptions and ventured out into the daylight. The day wasn't so bad as he traversed the familiar sands of the Bay, for the sun was often obscured by the thick clouds over head than it was left to shine. Perhaps he was simply curious as to what more the Bay held for him. It was still sacred grounds and Kjalarr had been surprised to find that his father's alters for the Gods, hidden deep in the tangles of ash trees and thorn wrapped bushes remained untouched except by what Kjalarr assumed to be weather. Slowly, he'd been gathering them and placing them in his “claimed” corner of the communal den, working to rearrange them.
But he'd met Freyja (Osprey) on this shore (but Victoria is being vague about that b/c she's not sure what's going to happen yet, hehe) and though Kjalarr did not expect to ever see her again he wondered what other treasures this Bay might hold for him. A darker gray silhouette began to take form up ahead, and Kjalarr's pace slowed, the salt water rushing up and splashing against his legs, soaking the tendrils of fur at his stomach as he sniffed at the air, attempting to discern a scent. The wind was not in the northman's favor and he frowned as he was left with a nose full of salt and sea brine. Scarred muzzle wrinkled ever so slightly, head canting to the side with unbidden curiosity as he studied the male as best he could while the details still remained vague from the thinning distance between them.
“Hello,” Kjalarr barked his greeting, a coy glint in his silvery caribbean blue irises, the corner of his lips twitching ever so slightly as his steps ceased deducing that he was close enough. His posture was stiff, if not neutral. “Admiring the view?” The Ragnarsson inquired in an attempt to be conversational.