@Kjalarr
Sage had, once again, been taking a break from "nobility" as a fellow wolf had called it. Although she would never look at it that way herself, somewhat despising the fact others were forced to look up to her. In her mind they were just as capable as her, but possibly not and her pessimistic mind was just taking over. She was unaware how far she had traveled exactly, yet still kept track as to where Moonlit was located. Teekon was still so new to her, only venturing into these lands recently, and so much had already happened in little time. She barely traveled the land at all until she was crowned Beta and forced to stay in the territory in case any more of Dark Brotherhood's wolves decided to stop by and disrupt them. Malice had returned from speaking to Burke and for the time being the packs were neutral, but for those few days the young fae still never got a blink of sleep. Too worried and stressed for her "family" to be injured.
Hah, was that even the term? She had never met her family, being abandoned at birth. Her chances of surviving were minimal, yet with the help of multiple strangers, and what were now friends she survived pretty well. Travelling her whole life and now settling with such a responsibility took a toll on her, already questioning if this was the right decision or not. She knew now her leaving was below zero, she couldn't leave them behind and especially not Malice. The main reason she even became Beta was because Malice's mate walked off the face of the earth, leaving her to take over all alone. The idea of doing such a horrid thing to her alpha made her stomach churn, and decided not to dwell on it. Being so lost in her thoughts, it was likely she wouldn't notice if a wolf were to even howl a yard away. Maybe that was to far, but picking up on another's scent was out of the picture.
Kjalarr's travels had taken him south of Ankyra Sound, cutting across the Sunspire mountains as if he were heading to Neverwinter Forest but the northman did not venture so far. He had recently caught up with the Frostfur's and thus did not see the need to make excessive trips. Kjalarr told himself that the less time he spent there, perhaps the less trouble Charon might potentially be for them. Charon had no real reason to pick a fight with them but Kjalarr was not above putting anything past the [s]child king[/i] alpha male of Moonspear. He was not sure what his intentions were, other than to breach out and stretch his legs outside of Ankyra Sound and Stavanger Bay. He considered poking around Ravensblood Forest, remembering that his mother had spoken that Ragnar had once sought to claim it as his own before forcing the matter of leading his wolves south instead at the impending threat of a too close neighboring pack.
Instead, Kjalarr found himself veering off, south of Ravensblood and into a territory he'd come to know as Blacktail Deer Plateau. A pack had once resided here but any and all traces of their existence beyond the abandoned dens that littered the dark pine and silver birch trees was gone, worn away with their absence. He could no longer hear the call of the sea in the distance, far too inland than he was used to, admittedly. He had not realized until he joined the ranks of Saltwinter how much he had truly missed the ocean with all it's wonders and it's hidden power. A force of nature, Kjalarr had been told (and believed), unlike any other.
Caught up in his thoughts, the viking did not immediately realize that he was not as alone as he'd first assumed. It was not until he'd looped back around and caught onto her scent trail that his lack of solitude hit him and jarred him from his absent thoughts. He did not see her at first, her shadow draped form blending in all too well with the monochrome backdrop of the colorless world Kjalarr saw in; but he could smell her and further more he could hear each steady breath she took, the slight and subconscious shift of weight. Cautiously, the young berserker crept forth ceasing his motions only when he was able to discern her from the world around her and let out a low chuff of greeting, or to at least (hopefully) alert her to his presence for she seemed as lost in her thoughts as he'd been mere moments ago.
It wasn't until a low chuff was released from the large ivory wolf had she noticed his presence, she turned towards the mammoth of a wolf. Truthfully, Sage wasn't short, nor skinny,but her fur gave off the illusion that those were true. When in truth she was rather the muscular girl, yet when standing next to him even the mere hint she wasn't those things seemed to dissipate into nothing. His smell was unknown, but filled with other wolves. Likely another pack she had yet to encounter, only irritating her more. She had absolutely no idea that another pack was just next to the yin-yang wolves, so close to more information she longed for. While being annoyed that she didn't know his pack, Sage was still delighted to have a distraction once again. The soot-colored fae made her way closer, leaving enough space between them incase the stranger preferred space. In these moments it wasn't rare to spot a smirk across her face, however lately the young wolf had been spotted less mischievous and more mature—just another fact she dreaded greatly.
It wasn't until moments did she realize his greeting hadn't been returned yet. For a second the girl considered lowering her haunches to a more comfortable sitting position, knowing she was one to skip to conclusions, yet was enlightened that this may not be a conversation to last long and getting comfortable wasn't much an option yet. "Hello," the shadow like teen nodded in his direction. About to gaze into his eyes until registering he may take that as a threat, and she definitely didn't want nor need to fight this beast. "What brings you out here?" If she was aware of Porcupine Ridge existing so close, she would have assumed him to apart of their pack, in her mind this was just empty land that seemed to once be the home of multiple wolves.
Kjalarr watched, stoic, as she moved nearer to him closing the distance that had once been strung between them; though she was sure to leave a respectful distance between them. The scarred northman took a moment to study her, noting that she was coated in all ebony; nothing particularly uncommon about her. She returned his previous greeting with a nod of her head and an aversion of her eyes. It was a sign of respect, one that was often extended to a superior though and not between two strangers. Regardless Kjalarr accepted it with a slight swell of contentment in his chest. It was hard for him to discern what age she might be but if he had to guess they were of a similar one...though unlike his father that seemed to have a great penchant for women younger than him, Kjalarr seemed to be opposite and divulged in women older than him. With age came experience, they claimed, and he had not left Freyja disappointed; not that he truly had any other experiences to compare it to, mind.
“I could ask the same of you,” Kjalarr inquired with a slight mimic of Ragnar's accent and the perfected coy smirk tugging at the edges of his lips, complete in his father's mannerisms with a bird-like cant of his head. It was clear that the viking was teasing her (or so he thought he'd made it clear enough anyhow). “I am exploring,” The Scandinavian offered simply, albeit truthfully.
His smirk reminded her of her own, and it soon took place across her maw. The males first comment was replied with an amused breath of air escaping her nose. Sage wasn't aware the man's age, but he definitely wasn't old—and in truth rather handsome—although her usually being rather flirtatious, it only occurred when the other showed interest in her. She hated being embaressed and avoided it as much as possible, and complimenting his looks was a no-go as long as the conversation stayed friendly. The more time she looked at him the more she discovered, such as the scarring across his nose. Flicking her tail back and forth like a feline, showing interest in the stranger, something about him felt like a story she must hear, and hear should would, well...at least hear she would try.
Exploring was becoming a thing of the past to her, which bothered the sable colored fae. Travel had been consistant her whole life, and to now see it slipping away made her wish to run. "Same for me—well, I guess you could say so." The Beta wasn't one to hide away past or feelings, being an open book. She wasn't afraid with her information and if asked would reveal. Just as she had done with Issun and Malice. Nothing to hide at all. The girl soon mimicked his gestures, often doing the same in conversation. Hopefully he wouldn't mind their similarity in that form.
Kjalarr had long since gotten used to the curious stares, mostly aimed at the ugly scars that cut across his otherwise handsome face and otherwise relatively untarnished appearance. They were the only scars he bore and though their origin was born of his own idiocy and desire to prove that he was something more than what everyone saw him as. Only Charon had ever inquired as to how he had gotten them but it was not a story the young viking was ashamed of. He'd went toe to toe with a bear and survived to tell the tale — not once but twice. Clearly, this meant he was the favorite of Odin just as his father before him had been, Thistle had told him.
She mirrored his movements, his posture — the curious tilt of his head, the wicked little simper that had tugged at the edges of his lips — and this was curious to the northman; though sometimes he recognized quite well, perhaps. His actions were more subconscious than they were anything else but during the times it was brought to his attention he realized that ever since his dream of Ragnar — where he'd been Ragnar — Kjalarr found him mimicking the actions his father done, even so far as to mimic his accent. “Guess?” The Scandinavian capitalized upon, speaking his inquiry aloud. “If you are not exploring, then what are you doing?” The question was spoken softly; uncharacteristic for the once (extremely) loudmouthed Loðbrok.
Others might find scarring ugly and unwanted, but Sage found them rather attractive. She favored the gash in her leg, even though it was mostly hidden by sleek fur. The one she had came from another wolf, she was only a couple months old at the time and was begging for food, and apparently the male was extremely protective over their food, and her inquiry was answered with a slash against her leg. Being a pup without caretakers was difficult, and she was often found in different families like a foster child throughout her puppyhood. Scars told stories, and she was intent on discovering where his originated. That would be for later though, when it was the appropriate to ask, but she was presented with a question for herself first. The only difference between the two's stance was her faint twitch in her tail as a sign of interest.
His soft spoken words gave her a sense of comfort, and even though she was already going to share, he now compelled her to do so. "I just needed some time and space away," the young wolf admitted, stress had been compiling atop her lately and this was her getaway—exploring. Their short time together had already given her relief and was grateful for it. It wasn't till now did she realize they had yet to speak one another's names. "Before we continue, may I ask your name?" To know each other's names would give her more insight into who he was, and gain more chance of the two meeting once again.
Kjalarr was a lot of things but unobservant had never been one of them: while she studied him the viking returned the favor, analyzing her body language, as mimicking of his own as it was there was a difference, a small twitch of her tail in what he perceived to be interest. Whether it was interest in him or interest in their conversation Kjalarr could not yet deduce but he was willing enough to rise to the challenge of unraveling what was, currently, a mystery to him. It was arrogant to assume that he knew everything just because he'd spent time with Freyja — shared some heated looks and sensual touches (and perhaps more but it's still ongoing so Tori doesn't want to assume). He knew that though he had some experience that he would perhaps not be so oblivious to advances in the future; and otherwise would not be such a novice. If her interest in him was in that way he couldn't tell from the few seconds they'd been conversing but he was observing, nevertheless. Curious, as always.
“Oh?” Kjalarr inquired as she explained that she needed some time away and space. “What is troubling you?” Could he claim that he truly cared? No, not really. He collected information simply because knowledge was power. No one had ever discouraged his natural ambition and hearing Thistle's stories about Ragnar (at Kjalarr's unrelenting demand, mind) only helped to inspire Kjalarr where ...perhaps, if one were to ask his biological family now, it had been the wrong idea to do. He hadn't meant to become obsessed with his father's culture, the Gods ...and the man himself but it had happened nevertheless and Kjalarr worked tirelessly to maintain Odin's favor and not only live up to but exceed Ragnar's own legacy. He would do better.
“Kjalarr,” The viking spoke on a soft, knavish purl. “And what is yours?” The more he mimicked dream Ragnar's accent the easier it was for him to maintain. Practice made perfect, it would seem.
Sage wasn't surprised he had asked, but assumed it to be more out of curiosity than really caring. She was still a stranger and caring for a stranger was just dumb, at least in her mind. Then again, that's what kept her alive—caring strangers. That was different though, she was a pup in need, not a healthy wolf roaming about for her own relief. If you had the audacity to walk past a dying child then you must have issues, unfortunately it wasn't an uncommon occurrence for adults to walk past her when begging for help and just ignore her pleas. The girl decided to answer his second question first, thinking it would make more sense to share her name than to explain her troubles. "Sage." His name had been rather interesting and made her seems plain, Kjalarr. What kind of background did that have? His accent suggested a northern wolf, and so did his burliness. But being the one to often jump to conclusions, and hoping to stop that impulse, she didn't assume.
She took a deep breath before answering his second inquiry. "Being a new Beta is a bit...stressful—for me at least. I don't like being tied down and lately that's exactly what's been happening." The yearling explained, she would have gone more in depth bu feared he didn't want to hear the whole "sha-bang."
Sage. It was a strange name to the northman whose siblings all bore Nordic names as their father before them, as their family line dictated. Kjalarr had never wondered if Thistle had ever had any say in their names, because from what he'd seen of Ragnar in his dreams and of the stories he had managed to wrangle from his mother before his abrupt departure from Moonspear the elder Loðbrok did not strike Kjalarr as the type to care. It had appeared to be very much “Ragnar's way or the highway” and though he was torn between thinking that surely that was the only way to accomplish anything in life (clearly) and thinking that one wolf wasn't always right and their way wasn't always the right way. Nevertheless who was he to challenge what had clearly worked for his father?
When she divulged her issue to him it took all of Kjalarr's will power not to roll his eyes at her. He managed to keep a stoic mask upon his face, though it was a bit of a struggle to avoid the scoff that built within his throat. If you can't take the position then why do you have it? It sounded like the exact problem he didn't want to hear. He wanted nothing more than to be a leader — ever since he was old enough to scream and prance around he'd always taken on the role of “leader” and had often asserted his dominance over his littermates, even refusing to share food with them until he was caught. Her complaining about a privilege only served as an unwanted reminder of his (many) issues with Floki and Charon. “I do not know what you want me to say,” Kjalarr spoke simply, gaze locking upon her dark form. “You are a leader and you have a responsibility to the pack and it's wolves, and they will demand most of your time. That is the price for leading them,” Kjalarr offered a simple roll of his broad shoulders in a shrug.
“If it is your freedom you value most then you should step down.” He spoke honestly, not bothering to conceal how he really felt; because what was the point? She hadn't directly asked for his opinion (or blunt advice) but if she was fishing for sympathy from Kjalarr she would find herself horrendously disappointed and empty handed.
Sage agreed full heartedly on what he had to say, she was constantly rolling her eyes at herself for being so weak. Just the thought disgusted her, of course she was warned of the position before gaining it, but it had all happened so quickly. She had just been a simple Gamma, until Cogitemus left, her then being crowned Beta, and the day of being left alone to look after Moonlit alone. She found herself utterly repulsed to be so worried of her lack of freedom. Adapting had always been so easy for her, why was it so strange now? So many times she had pushed herself to get over it, whereas Kjalarr's words got her off the edge to stop these feeble thoughts. Her posture grew slightly, not as a sign of dominance, more of a belief in herself. Although she hadn't asked for his opinion, it was greatly appreciated. Her problems had been an annoyance to herself—and maybe even others, now they would be absent. No longer would she stress over something she could control. Her stress partly came from having to not care for just herself any longer, but now others. The fae had been a loner her whole life until this point, though she had the capability to look after others—she has the help for Malice for god-sake, she shouldn't complain. Before she looked at what was stressing her as a simple pest, now she noticed how pety they seemed. Had she been searching for the white beasts pity? No, that was the last thing she wanted. Sage had only spoken honestly with what he had asked.
She nodded in his direction as a form of appreciation. "You're completely right," it wasn't difficult to admit when she was in the wrong, if anything she took pride that she could recognize when she was in need of adjustment, only allowing her to learn and grow past it. "I'll no longer pity myself for the rank, and I thank you for helping me realize this."
To Kjalarr's complete surprise it seemed Sage did not appear to take any offense to his brutal opinion and instead managed to turn it into motivation. She agreed with him! “I know,” He responded simply with the tease of a wicked smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, scrunching the ruined flesh of his muzzle slightly with the pull of the muscles. He wasn't typically the arrogant type, at least where the “i'm always right” arrogance came into play that was, but he couldn't see where he'd been wrong. Then again, hearing someone complain about giving a position of power and honor, about the privilege they were trusted with left Kjalarr with a bitter and metallic taste to linger in his mouth. Hearing her whine and pity herself and seek sympathy (from the worse wolf she could have, mind) only had served to dredge up unwanted grudges and bitterness. He'd been harsh with her but it worked.
“I know it can be trying and frustrating at times but that is the faith that your subordinates put in you and you should never betray that.” Doubting herself was doing them a dishonor, as far as Kjalarr was concerned. With his lecture over he offered her a slight rise and fall of his shoulders.
His smirk gave her a sense of delight, whether it be that she caused it or not. The yearling advice had helped her gain further insight of the truth and would no longer complain of her responsibilities but take pride in them as best she could. "Have you considered becoming a counselor?" The trade was often given to older wolves, more experienced, but a wise vibe seemed to radiate from the boy, some issues more than others, such as seeing a new perspective just as he had done for her. "You seem rather good for it." The girl offered a small smile towards him, in their conversation he'd already turned over a new rock for her, this she was grateful for. His bluntness was a trait she preferred, hating wolves who "beat around the bush" to save for feelings or simply too afraid to express their own opinion. She, too, shared this quality, and would be rather straightforward with others if they came with such an ignorant "problem."
His second statement she concurred, Moonlit Hills was plenty of importance to her and being so fragile was the opposite of what was needed from her. She had to be definite and built to keep the pack strong.
At her question, in regards to if he'd ever considered becoming a counselor Kjalarr almost let out a bark of a laugh — though as it was a soft chuckle rumbled in his throat. The idea, in and of itself, seemed extremely preposterous if because when he thought counselor he thought decidedly of an elder. A wolf with much more experience and wisdom than what Kjalarr assumed he held. Perhaps it was his connection with the Allfather, or the fact that tragic events of his life had pushed him to mature much faster than he should have, but he did, at times, feel like he was older than almost one year of age. He did not admit this to her, however. “I do not think I am old enough,” Nor had he lived much life to be able to assist with issues. Her issues had been easy enough for him to compartmentalize and to offer her his harsh and unyielding opinions on simply because he was ambitious, and this allowed him to offer her a different perspective than her own.
“I am ambitious and have no patience for leaders who do not appreciate what they have been given,” He offered with a rise and fall of his broad shoulders. “In fact, I have no patience for leaders who act like their subordinates owe them everything and treat said subordinates like shit just because they don't worship them, either. But that's a grievance for another day; I simply do not fear backlash for speaking my mind.” All of those things together simply made him useful in her situation, that was all.
He didn't seem to take her compliment lightly, it not being anything of deep thought, but she didn't mind. He did speak his mind, just as he said, and that was simply what he was doing. "Simply a consideration for the future perhaps, an ambition. I was only curious." the girl explained, not wanting to dwell on said topic much longer. She nodded at the large brute, before moving a bit in the direction of her pack. "If I'm to take your words my heart, I must be going home now. I thank you for the discipline." The black fae began to trot back towards Moonlit, a new sense of pride and dignity filled her, and would not be leaving for a while. She was to work beside Malice and keep the pack safe and healthy, and she would do just that. Stopping once, she turned her head to speak again. "Goodbye, Kjalarr, I hope to speak again one day," would the two meet again? She had no idea. But he'd done a good deed for her, so in her mind another occurrence would never be a bad thing.
For whatever reason his words had given Sage the motivation she had needed to return to her wolves and her rank though whether she kept to it or not Kjalarr could not say. It wasn't any of his concern, anyway. She said her goodbyes to him but the viking was stoic and did not give any sort of verbal response to her. She turned after she'd gotten a few feet from him to look at him over her shoulder, Kjalarr saw, and his shoulders rolled in a casual shrug. “Perhaps. Only the Gods truly know what's in store for us.” It was his belief that their Fates were determined by the Gods, and whether their paths would cross again or not was not up to him. He watched her vanish, presumably in the direction of her pack, before he turned and headed back to Saltwinter.