Kjalarr patrolled the borders, dutifully, though he wondered if the constant hunger that plagued him and the waning of strength, precious as it was, he would be of any use if any wolves crossed the border. He was thinner than he'd been two weeks ago — they all were — and the lack of food was little more than depressing. Food, if he survived this, if they survived this was not something he would ever take for granted every again, he vowed. His children and grandchildren would hear of the famine of the Gods and they, too, would not take their luxuries for granted. It was true that you didn't know what you had until it was taken from you. Still, he patrolled and ate what scraps of woodland creatures he was able to catch — though they were just as thin and ragged as the wolves that hunted them; the worst part that not every hunt was successful and it could be all night or day before he stumbled across something else to hunt. Kjalarr was trying his best to temper his growing irritation, borne of his neverending hunger.

Just because they were slowly starving didn't mean his duties to Saltwinter changed or relented. He did what he could and tried to push his boundaries so that he knew where they were. There was no better to test them while they were already being tested by the Fates. Subconsciously, he'd been following Caiaphas' trail when he picked up on it and arrived on the scene only to catch the coywolf queen's last word to the familiar figure. Sight alone was hardly enough to tell Kjalarr anything, but scent told him that the gray blur near their borders was familiar. And family. “Whittier?” Kjalarr called out to his (adopted) brother, unable to remember the last time he'd seen Whit. They'd both still been fairly young, if memory served correct. For the sake of not being redundant in case Caiaphas had more or less asked it, he did not inquire as to what Whittier was doing there, confident that the young Frostfur would tell them soon enough. For the moment his sour (hella grumpy?) disposition and hunger was momentarily forgotten in the anticipation and joy of Whittier's presence.

For the first time, Kjalarr noted the tense atmosphere in the small spaces around Caiaphas and Whittier — but was left clueless as to what had caused it as his arrival had came after the Frostfur's (accidental?) dominance display. He glimpsed between the two for a contemplative moment, nearly cringing when Whittier spoke his old name. The name of the boy had long ago drowned in the Sea. In fact, he'd been Kjalarr so long that he wondered if anything was even left of “Jorunn”. Despite that he accepted that the Frostfurs addressed him as it, it was strange to hear it spoke aloud, nevertheless. “Actually, Whittier, I go by Kjalarr now.” He informed him gently, wondering if this meant he might, eventually, get around to correcting Floki and the others so they all addressed him by the name that he'd been going by for months.

His gaze moved to his coywolf queen when she inquired as to if Kjalarr knew Whittier. “He's my brother,” Kjalarr told her. Blood or not didn't matter to the Norseman. He'd grown up with Whittier and thus the Frostfur was his brother. He shifted his weight then and looked back to Whittier expectantly.

It was not the time to explain to Whittier the desire to change his name to one that befit him more than Jorunn. Later, the Viking told himself. Later, he would seek to catch up with his brother — regardless of what happened here and now — now Whittier had done something to upset Caiaphas so and Kjalarr had been fortunate enough to intercept. Whittier apologized to Caiaphas, informing Kjalarr as to why Caiaphas had been so angry to begin with, the puzzle pieces falling into place in an 'ah' moment. Kjalarr hesitated, knowing that in all aspects he agreed with Caiaphas' ire. Trespassers — or wolves that he deemed to close to Saltwinter's borders — wasn't something that the Norseman tolerated himself. To tresspass was to bring death upon one's head, and to be too close was to invite aggression. This created something of a dilemma for Kjalarr who did not stand to face with a stranger but one of his brothers. Obviously, harming his brother was inherently out of the question for Kjalarr.

Whittier asked if he could stay instead of leave and to Kjalarr's immense surprise Caiaphas spoke that it was his call to make. Kjalarr stole a glance at his sea witch queen before, slowly, his eyes slid back to Whittier, sizing him up. They weren't kids anymore, and though he (and Pasha) had been in charge of looking out for Whittier when they'd been sent to track the bears (the thought of the giant beasts made Kjalarr's scarred muzzle ache with a phantom pain) he was a man now. Still soft but hefty. With the right training Kjalarr didn't doubt he could be a heavy brawler. Whittier wasn't useless and Kjalarr saw a potential in his brother — a potential he'd always seen.

Kjalarr was silent for a few moments, weighing his decision heavily. He trusted that Whittier would pull his own weight and be a contributing member of Saltwinter. “He can join us,” Kjalarr decided aloud, addressing both his brother and his queen. “but as punishment for straying too close to our borders he will run patrols with me and help me scavenge what we can for the caches.” A way for Kjalarr to catch up with him; but Kjalarr was all about hard labor and felt that putting Whittier through his paces would allow him to work off his punishment instead of actually bearing it (unless Kjalarr's "hard labor" proved to be a form of punishment?).

Caiaphas seemed content with the proposal that Kjalarr had thought up and the Viking offered a sage nod, watching as the coywolf queen and began to make her departure. Kjalarr's silver and caribbean gaze followed her for a few seconds watching as she disappeared into the horizon before he turned his head back towards Whittier. For a moment, the northman was silent as he studied Whittier's familiar face. Familiar and yet also different. Aged — not unlike Kjalarr's own scarred appearance. His paws shifted slightly as he allowed the beat of silence to continue with a gesture of his muzzle for Whittier to join him within Saltwinter's borders. “That was Caiaphas, she's our Alpha,” Kjalarr made the introduction late, and though he figured it was probably unnecessary to indicate that she was the one truly in charge he did anyway. Though Kjalarr could not truly place it he held an unbidden affection for Caiaphas, part intrigue and part ...something else he did not currently have a name for. He hadn't ever allowed his thoughts to linger on the foreign emotion long enough to place words to it. “I'm her second in command.” Kjalarr informed Whittier softly, out of habit as opposed to what he thought as necessity.

“Come on, I'll give you a tour. Are you hungry? Maybe we can find something to wrangle up for you after the tour.” Kjalarr didn't hold out much hope — woodland creatures were about all the two brothers were going to find — if Whittier took Kjalarr up on the offer, that is — and for now it would have to be enough. It was funny, Kjalarr thought absently as he began to walk, gesturing simply for Whitter to follow along, but the older brother instincts Kjalarr felt some times in his twins' presence during the infrequent times they were together these days had risen up and seized him and manifested itself towards Whitter; naturally nurtured his instinct to provide ...or at least offer it. He hadn't been sure that Caiaphas would let Whittier in given whatever had transpired before Kjalarr's interruption and when his gaze slid to the Frostfur the Viking wondered if he realized how lucky he was to be apart of their ranks as opposed to food to sate their neverending hunger.

It wouldn't have been Kjalarr's first time shattering the fragile boundary line mother nature had carefully lain and fed upon the flesh of his own species, though there were certain hesitations about the idea of eating his brother and quickly Kjalarr turned his thoughts to something less macabre though a silence had fallen over them as Kjalarr led Whittier through the familiar territory of Ankyra Sound, breaking the silence only to point out any notable landmark or answer any question Whittier might have had as they went.