He found himself walking towards the familiar towering peak that was Moonspear, knowing that perhaps he should have not waited so long to tell them of his decision, but it had felt wrong for him to leave Saltwinter so soon after Caiaphas had taken him in, and the current going-ons with the new pack to park on the coast Kjalarr had been kept away from saying his goodbye. He did not want to linger long, wished to return to the Sound he called home now but this closure was necessary. For a while, mad at them as he was (like the selfish child he was, heh) he'd considered that they wouldn't even care, and that if that was true ...why even bother telling them he decided to leave? In his defense hadn't went to Saltwinter's borders with the intention of joining ...but he had found himself asking her nevertheless. 

Perhaps they would be angry with him — for a moment he capitalized upon the fact that, that would hardly be anything new — but at the end of the day: it wasn't their decision and they couldn't make him do anything he didn't want to do. He thought he was being the bigger man by admitting that things weren't working out for him in Moonspear and he wanted to try something else, that he wanted to be his own man. This didn't mean he didn't want them in his life still, but it was clear that living with them wasn't working out. He didn't like Charon, and didn't respect the older boy's authority, he was at ends with Floki and ...Thistle was distant as he remembered her being; but he was at fault too ...perhaps for most of it. So maybe this was him accepting that he was to blame.

Kjalarr had washed Saltwinter's scent off of him in the sea, not really wanting them to know where he was going — at least not yet. He stayed back from the borders, the usual respectful distance, tilted his head back and called out for them, wondering if any would show and if they did what kind of farewell he'd receive.

Already, Kjalarr could tell this wasn't going to go down well; in fact it would probably be like an old western show down: but who belonged to what side went widely unknown to him. It didn't matter. Who was right or wrong, guilty or innocent didn't matter in this situation. It wasn't going to change his mind, though, frankly, the condescending, authoritative tone his twin had taken wasn't appreciated by Kjalarr at all. So his rank as Beta gave him authority, but it didn't make him older than Kjalarr, it didn't make him his father, and that tone reminded him of a parental figure ...except it seemed to distinctly lack the concern that might have lingered beneath the demand of a parent. Thistle Cloud either had yet to show or simply didn't care and Kjalarr's jaws parted to respond to Floki's question, though he held it back and closed his mouth at Charon's approach, seeing that the alpha male's posture was dominate. 

If he expected Kjalarr to submit he was going to be left sorely disappointed as Kjalarr ignored the pompous display. It's none of your damn business, bossy, was what Kjalarr was oh-so-very tempted to snap at his twin but opted for something maybe a little bit better. “Does it matter?” He answered Floki's question with a question of his own. “I was exploring, or am I not allowed to do that anymore?” Kjalarr was unable to help the moody snap to his jaw as he ended his question. It wasn't the whole truth but it wasn't exactly a lie either. He had been exploring: Ankyra Sound and it's Grotto after Caiaphas had accepted him into Saltwinter's ranks. “That doesn't matter anymore either, really, because I'm leaving.”

Floki's acceptance was easy, spoken with a simple “okay”. While this caused a sharp pang in his chest, a tug at the connection they shared — would always share — even when they were not on good terms with one another, there was also a small measure of relief. He didn't want them to fight him on this, he wanted to be able to make his own choices in his life without anyone making them for him. He had given it an honest shot, had known from the first week in that it wasn't going to work but had tried. Maybe they wouldn't see it that way, but he'd tried for two months. He was exhausted of trying to swim when the rip current was only trying to pull him further from the shore — which was exactly what this situation felt like to him: a rip current.

Of course Charon had to be difficult about it. He reacted as Kjalarr had expected him to: enraged. Kjalarr resisted the urge to laugh in his face. His inability to control his temper only proved to Kjalarr that he wasn't fit to lead. The Charon's dominance display didn't faze Kjalarr, who had always been bad with submission anyway; but now that he was no longer apart of the pack Charon wasn't his alpha and could go fuck himself for all Kjalarr cared. He was a false Loðbrok and a false king. “Get the fuck over yourself Charon. Not everyone has to kiss your ass and worship the ground you walk on,” Kjalarr spat. “I respected you enough to come and tell you, when I could have just left and this is how you treat me? You're the insolent fuck.” Whether Charon was listening Kjalarr didn't know for the other (smaller?) male came charging at him. 

Kjalarr pulled himself up to his full height, a low snarl in his throat and when Charon made to grab him by the scruff, the other male's teeth grazing his flesh, Kjalarr snapped at Charon's neck, aiming to grab ahold of any part of Charon that he could. Kjalarr wasn't going to bow to him, and he sure as hell wasn't going to go down without leaving Charon something physical to remember him by. Charon had instigated it: and now he would have to deal with the Berserker's wrath. “Turn around and walk the fuck away from me.” A chance; because Kjalarr would have no qualms with hurting Charon if it came down to it. He was a Ragnarsson, after all. 

Before Charon and him could truly tear into one another, Thistle appeared like a valkyrie straight from Valhalla, furious and feral. She moved towards the two of them like Freyja herself and for a brief moment Kjalarr wondered if the queen of the gods had taken over his mother as she approached, dominate and threatening. Charon backed off of him and back towards Floki. Yeah, go hide behind your piss lines, Kjalarr thought indignantly though he answered Charon's bare of teeth, and display of dominance with a low growl; as if everything Thistle had said to them had went in one ear and out the other (there was no doubt he was Ragnar's son, aha). As Kjalarr watched Charon turn away from him, gesturing for Floki to leave with him, Kjalarr had the very dangerous thought of attacking him. Show him what arrogance meant when you turned your back on someone you really shouldn't. It would have been a dirty move; but the Vikings were not known for playing fair. However, he resisted, allowing Charon to think he won. 

Kjalarr would see the arrogant prick and child king of Moonspear beneath him. Someday. For a moment he spared Floki a wordless stare, knowing that his twin would turn and would follow Charon. “I need to speak with you very soon, mother,” Kjalarr addressed Thistle quietly. "Name a free territory we can meet and talk and I'll meet you there." He promised her, but it was clear his goodbye wasn't any more welcome than his presence and he would not linger here any longer. He was free and he didn't want to spend any more time here. Kjalarr waited for Thistle's response before he backed away, giving Moonspear a disdainful look before he turned and loped off into the shadows, leaving it behind him.