Their journey carried them far from the established borders of their home, and honestly it had to be the most depressing journey Kjalarr had ever found himself on. The damage of the locusts was as bad as he'd feared, and there was a knot in his stomach that the Viking couldn't decide if it was dread or if it was hunger. Or, more probable yet, a combination of both. Whatever sliver of hope he'd held onto that one of the Teekon's territories had been spared from the swarm's pestilence was snuffed out like breath to a small and tender flame. Nothing had been spared: not to the east, not the west, and it had become rapidly apparent that neither had been the South. This only left the North but Kjalarr felt confident that all was bare there too.

He was tired and hungry and his paws were sore from the trek but he was silent to his discomforts as they walked, sure that Caiaphas also endured them. Soon, all of the others pack would endure it. That was a small comfort to the Norseman who kept his step dutifully alongside his Queen's. Eventually, the pair stopped and as Caiaphas collapsed onto the sand under foot, Kjalarr allowed himself to rest as well, though he favored a sphinx-like position near her, tucking his front, right paw up and under him, enjoying the relief of the rest. Eyes of silver and caribbean rose to study the strange trees that inhabited these sands, spindly limbs inherently barren of any leaves and vegetation — just like everything else.

Kjalarr had just put his head down upon his left paw, contented to relax while it was offered to him, only to sit up, abruptly, as something hollow and round landed with a muffled 'thump' in the sand near them. His ears slicked back to rest at half mast atop his skull as he glimpsed around them, before his gaze focused upon down upon Caiaphas' monochrome form as they shared a brief glance before Kjalarr watched her she seize the thing betwixt her jaws. “What is it?” He asked her, curious as he always was.

Kjalarr watched her struggle with it with thinly veiled apprehension — she was quick to seize it but what if was poisonous?, the Viking couldn't help but think. It didn't look particularly threatening but he knew that meant little. Ironic, how he was apprehensive of the thing currently betwixt her jaws and yet he didn't exhibit the same kind around those of his own kind ...or, apparently, bears. When Scimitar had found him Kjalarr'd been so traumatized that he'd given Bazi an easy manipulation tool to use against him, but he'd been so eager to take his revenge on the first bear he'd stumbled across. His queen rolled it towards him and he stopped it with his paw, shifting his leg ever so slightly to instinctively use it as a barrier. His ear twitched towards her as she responded to his question: a fruit or nut, she thought. Curiously, he bent down and sniffed at it for a moment, noting that it was emitting a faint sweet scent — though the thick rind acted like it's skeleton: protecting whatever was inside it. He drew back for a moment, a thoughtful noise in his throat like a hum before he clasped it betwixt his jaws, his teeth finding the indents Caiaphas' had already left upon it. In some manner, it reminded him of chewing bones though the texture of the shell was vastly different. It was coarse in his mouth and he bite down on upon it, chewing upon it for a few moments, determined to open it.

Kjalarr worked on it, withdrawing from the fruit-nut thing, brow creased in frustration. He attacked it again, biting it with the force that he would apply to prey he was trying to kill, wanting to hear the satisfying snap of shell under the force and power of his bite. Eventually, his teeth sunk in past the shell and it splintered with a loud crack, the milk from within in it sweet as he let go of it and nosed it back towards Caiaphas, some of it's milk splashing upon his nose. His salmon pink tongue glided across his leathery nostrils trying to determine if he liked it's almost sickeningly sweet taste or not. “It is sweet,” but Kjalarr supposed that it was food and strange food was better than no food at this point.

The viking wasn't sure what he thought of the taste that lingered in his mouth from the milk that had spilled from the cracks of the shell. Certainly, it wasn't like a taste he'd ever experienced before — though he wasn't too sure he could say with any kind of confidence that he'd ever eaten any kind of fruit. If he had, he couldn't recall it. Caiaphas devoured fruit-nut's meat — a stark white against the dark gray of the thing's shell. Idly, Kjalarr licked his chops, tasting the sweet tang of it where it lingered upon his lips again, still trying to decide how he felt about it. It was a new flavor to his previously staple pallet, exotic in every form of the word. “Do you like it?” Kjalarr asked her curiously, though he supposed whether she liked it or not probably didn't matter. It was food. It wasn't venison or elk but in the state of the Wilds Kjalarr understood the simple truth that they couldn't afford to be picky. She rose, presumably to Kjalarr in the search of more of them, and idly he rose too, figuring that if she found more, at least it was good exercise on his jaws. The force it took to chew and prey it to crack apart might work to give him more power and strength to his jaws. Useful for hunts and fights. He would open as many as she wanted him to, respecting the hierarchy law that the alpha always ate first.

Caiaphas' response to his question, more or less reiterated his thoughts on the matter of the weird fruit-nut things: it was food, and that was enough. Kjalarr decided, finally, that he wasn't all that fond of the sweet fruit — it was not tangy like the taste of bloodied meat (though each meat tasted different, definitely) but he deduced that he liked things more suited to his pallet — poignant and tangy tastes that matched his bitter and harsh soul. They gathered what few they could and as Caiaphas rolled them into the small clearing he pulled one towards him, sliding back down into his favored sphinx-like position, stationing the spherical object between his large paws and began to chew at the hard and resistant rind, more or less mimicking his actions for the first one, knowing that, eventually, it would splinter with his efforts.

An ear flicked towards her as she spoke. Her vagueness on what she had to ask him immediately had the Viking curious, and he paused on his assault of the fruit-nut thing, to swing his head to face her, fixing her monochrome colored form in his glacial gaze. “Of course,” Kjalarr invited, encouraging her to ask whatever was on her mind, his curiosity rising to tantamount beneath his chest — though he was hungry for knowledge habitually and he found long ago that he was always intrigued; despite his attempts to futilely guess what it was she wished to ask him he was left entirely unsure of what to expect, and thus waited patiently.

As Kjalarr had attempted to wrack his brain to the nature of what it was Caiaphas had needed to ask him the truth was what had come to form as words from her lips hadn't been it. Granted, they were words he'd always wanted to hear, words that had caused a rift between him and his (almost) identical twin for quite some time — that was thankfully on the mend! — due to Kjalarr's jealousy issues and superiority complex. Yet, without feeling like he had to be better than Floki, and certainly better than Charon, he had ...not forgotten his ambitions per say but had focused on things that were more important than his own greed. It went without saying that Caiaphas and Saltwinter had definitely been one of the best things to happen to the young Viking. For a moment, as Kjalarr spent the time trying to decide if he'd heard her right, he was silent, contemplative, and his muzzle opened and then closed as he tried to decide if he wanted to ask her if she was serious or not. Caiaphas didn't exactly strike him as the kind of queen to joke about things like that, nor had she given off any vibes that she was messing with him.

“That was...unexpected,” He admitted, his brows furrowing slightly for a moment before he glimpsed up at her, keeping his eyes lowered respectfully but there was an inquisitive cant to his head; a giddy sort of boyish excitement building within him though he was determined to hide it because the last thing he wanted to do was make himself appear immature in front of her. “I accept,” The Viking told her before he offered, “I will not let you down.” as a promise.

Kjalarr studied her thin expression with curiosity that he did not bother to stifle. Caiaphas was an enigma to him and one that he was contented to accept the knowledge that he would never truly understand. The never ending fascination was not something that Kjalarr perceived as a bad thing; simply because he was acutely curious about the world in general. Curiosity wasn't a bad thing and in the terms of the Allfather, it was what constantly fueled Odin. It was a small connection that he shared with the viking king god, and as Thistle had told it with his late father. Kjalarr was assuaged by Caiaphas' confidence in it, a swell of pride blooming within the confines of his broad and deep chest. He did not deign to break the natural silence that had settled between the pair then, simply continued breaking coconuts open for her and when she'd had her fill — he did not eat any simply because he was still unsure how he felt about them, fighting the urge to want to gorge himself on it's milky flesh or gag — he found the biggest one left that he could and took it back to Saltwinter for it's members to try, with the intent of directing them towards the territory should they end up enjoying the sweetness of the bizarre fruit.