Wolf RPG

Týr had been rather absent in the recent week or so within Swiftcurrent Creek, venturing out in the chase of the hunt, determined that he would not return until he had fruit of his efforts to add to the pack’s caches. His game was good, but not as great as it could have admittedly been as Haunter had kindly pointed out the day Týr’s failure at a hunt had been witnessed by the shadow. This meant that many times he ended up sleeping outside of Swiftcurrent Creek’s borders, without the cover or comforts of his den as self inflicted punishment. It was how Ragnar had punished him as a child and it was nothing if not effective. Having spent the night in the rain was his current punishment thought admittedly the Viking had not gotten an effect amount of sleep. His efforts at hunting earlier in that morning had been poor because of it and he had taken the life of a baby goat - of which he was mildly horrified at himself about (goats were sacred animals to Thor and accordingly, Týr’s father) - but driven by exhaustion and the urge to want to return back to the Creek had spurred Týr to desperate actions. Besides, he was fairly sure that no one else would cringe against it and surely Thor could forgive. If not, well, he had yet to be struck down by lightening.

Týr paused on his way back to his den, craving the dark, dry pocket of the earth he had claimed as his own when Fox’s howl rang out through the rainy skies. For a moment he kept walking, figuring that he didn’t have to bother her with his company (since he was a little haggard and blood stained) because it wasn’t as if the call had been specifically for him. Not to mention, he really didn’t want to have to see Haunter again, especially not with Fox (Tokio: someone’s a little jealous); but paused with a hefty sigh. He had not seen Fox in quite some time given his desperate drive to push himself to his very boundries, to exceed and to prove his worth and Týr did not want her to think that he had vanished. A slow altercation of his course was made and soon he found himself making his way to his Alpha, lowering his head when his crystal blue eyes fell upon her. “Fox,” He greeted her managing a wry smile as he showed the proper submission hating that he was not the epitome of better company at the current moment.

Týr felt measurably surprised that she remembered his name given that their interactions had been brief, but played it off with a charming grin that definitely more refined than the ones he had seen his father give many women. Týr had always been more refined and claimed more finesse than his brutish ilk, making him stand out in a way he was not quite so sure was necessarily good. “Yes,” He paused to give a brief, almost demure smirk, “That is correct.” It was easier for most to say than Týr with it’s pronunciation and he had gotten so used to being called “Sveinn” that when he was actually called Týr it made him think he was in some kind of trouble. So, she had noticed his absence after all. Týr let out a soft snort as if he was amused by his lack of presence when in fact he was just exhausted and disappointed in himself. “I have been hunting my dróttning,” He did not want to really go into explicit details about his unusual and cruel forms of punishment for himself for each of his failures which had been stacking up upon one another with his progressing exhaustion.

It was how men grew stronger, Ragnar had used to tell him. Many times Týr had seen Ragnar preparing himself, pushing his body to it’s limits to strengthen it. Týr had adapted this tactic to fit his situation. “Sometimes the chase takes me further away than I intend it to,” He was a patient hunter but apparently not a very good one, since patience did not seem to equal skill. Perhaps Fox’s initial assessment of him had been wrong, and maybe he wasn’t cut out for the job she had assigned him but she had given it to him nevertheless as a condition upon his acceptance into the Creek and Týr was determined regardless. “I am sorry for my lack of presence.” It was a sincere sorrow, figuring that much had happened that he had missed. The sorrow was felt for critical chances he might have passed up in his jealousy and pride, but that they were worthy consequences.

Týr felt a measure of relief that Fox did not hold his lack of presence within her borders against him. He had been worried about it, in some corner of his mind of course, but his focus had been on pushing himself to be better - better than he had been. It was hard to tell, currently, if his form of punishment had been effective on his hunting skills. His hunt had been sloppy this morning, and easy. He was definitely too tired to care considering it had been a baby goat. Either Thor would get over the atrocity Týr had committed by taking the life of one of his sacred animals or he wouldn’t. At the moment, Týr wasn’t awfully concerned about the God of Thunder’s perpetual wrath. “No I definitely was not doing that.” Týr told her with a soft chuckle, shaking his head. It was a silly thing to consider him plotting to overthrow her; of course the Viking had understood that she had been jesting with him. His answer had been truthful, but accented with good nature.

For a moment, as Týr watched Fox lower into a playful bow before him in an invitation to initiate the first attack after she suggested a friendly spar, the Viking contemplated the judiciousness of accepting her invitation for a spar. He was exhausted and would likely make a fool of himself in front of her - which was the last thing he wanted to do. Ragnar had taught him well, but even so, he was liable to make stupid mistakes (for instance killing one of his God’s sacred animals). For a moment he lingered on declining but at the last moment decided to accept.

If Thor was looking to take vengeance he would likely have it by the end of their friendly spar, but Týr did not want to upset Fox by declining her. Besides, it was a chance to get to know her better.

Muscles beneath his chocolate brown coat tensed, coiling tightly over bone and sinew before he lunged towards her right side, jaws aiming to grasp at her scruff.