Life was renewing with the coming of spring, Björn could feel the whispers of winter fading as Spring let loose her battle cry, even though the temperatures fluctuated drastically one day harboring warmth and the next stealing with it’s chill, however, Björn was used to extremes, though he preferred things to be more consistent. The birds were singing in the trees above and on the ground where they forged for worms and other insects to feed them in preparation for their mating season. Or so this was what Björn assumed at any rate, unsurprisingly because his thoughts were always lingering upon wolves’ own mating season; or rather the season most females went into heat though Björn was aware that they could go into heat at different times. Having left Odinn’s Cove in the temporary leadership of his trusted second and younger brother of whom was in charge of keeping an eye on Bjorn’s newest pet, a gift from the neighboring pack, a meant to be sacrifice saved. Björn’s interest in her had been as fleeting as was predictable of him though he had left without knowing if his children grew within her or not.

Odinn had spoken to him through his ravens: Huginn and Muninn, calling to the wolf who felt a deep kinship with the King God, in a dream and called Björn to these lands, to acquire knowledge, seed roots here and conquer. Or so this was how Björn chose to interpret the darkened dream.

Björn was drawn like a ghost to it’s final resting place near the claimed territory where he could depict Sveinn’s scent, fresher than some of the others, tell-tale despite that it was laced with the scents of the pack. The scarred Viking had no intentions of seeking his son, or pulling him into any of his plans, and according, trouble. While Sveinn was a Viking through and through to this Björn saw to, Sveinn was also exactly that a boy. A boy who was more finesse than a usual Viking despite that the lies and deceptions had been spun convincingly by Björn who would have made their mischievous God, Loki proud. Certain that Sveinn was among them, Björn felt no need to investigate further and stayed a territories’ distance away from the pack, lingering instead near a lake that seemed to be invaded by ducks. Their presence was barely noted by the bear-like man whose cold eyes flickered to them only as he considered a meal. Even so, Björn did not act upon this consideration for the time being, lost too much in his own thoughts as they hissed like the whispers of his ancestors in his mind, tempting and poisonous.

Black, leathery nostrils flared as the scent of the pack whose name he did not know became stronger than more than just a whiff on the wind, and for a moment, Björn’s muscles pulled taunt beneath his coat of platinum silver as cold, but otherwise stunning caribbean blue eyes looked for the source, scarred and unscathed ears slicking back against his skull. Sveinn. His son could not know of his presence, hence the reason Ragnar had taken a moniker - ironically the name of the brother and king Ragnar had killed in his youth. Narrowed eyes soon fell upon the source of the pack’s scent with a slight wave of relief soon trumped by curiosity. From the distance Björn noted only that she, beneath the scent of her pack was the distinct scent of a female, was colored as if she’d been kissed by fire, and that she seemed small, though he allowed that it could have been a trick of distance.

Expression of hardened and cold stone flickered to life, transforming into one of piqued interest as Björn rose to his paws and began to move in her direction, letting out a bark to announce his presence to her in case she had not noticed him yet.

The fire kissed woman’s eyes could be felt upon his skin in the hot little pricks often accompanied by the feeling of a another’s eyes as they assessed him. It was only fair, Björn rationed, for while she assessed him, he was doing the same. It seemed that his first impression of her was not incorrect and had not been a trick of the light: she was rather small, but Björn put little stock in the height of another. While size did hold it’s own fair share of pros and cons, it was not everything. A duck let out a resounding quack as it waddled in between them, momentarily drawing Björn’s attention before his caribbean blue eyes fell once more upon the fire kissed woman. She did not speak as his bark had broken through the…not necessarily a silence given the feathered creatures that inhabitant the lake, but a silence in thoughts, rather. Her eyes touched his scarred right half, and curiously, Björn waited for some sort of reaction. Repulsion, or fear maybe; those were most of what he received, yet her eyes did not linger and if she thought a certain way about them she was good at keeping it hidden.

Björn's scars were symbolic to his culture - at least the ones on his face were, at any rate. The many that riddled his body beneath the cover of his fur were from spars, challenges, and death-matches.

“Hello,” The common tongue slid from betwixt his lips sounding odd to his own ears despite his fluency in it. The tongue of the Nord’s was much preferred yet he doubted that she would know it, even if he spoke it, besides there wasn’t really a true word for ‘hello’. Out here away from the prying eyes of those in Horizon Ridge, Björn saw no need to play pretend, though he had been careful to wash the scent of them away upon his journey north. He had not expected company but he was always prepared, nevertheless. The fire kissed woman seemed to be a quiet creature, and idly he wondered what she was to the pack his son ran with, and with a slight pang of longing for Sveinn, if she knew his boy. However, these questions would be unsatisfied, for the sake of everyone. “I am Björn.” He offered his name and then fell to the silence, figuring she would either indulge him or she wouldn’t, though he wished that she would, indeed, indulge him.

Björn felt a small measure of relief within the part of his mind that worried if the fire kissed woman before him would make a connection between Sveinn and him based off of accent again, if by some small change she had gotten around to meeting his son, when she did not show any sort of reorganization, nor did she vocalize anything. Unknowing of whom, exactly, he was talking to and her vital importance to the Creek (or that she did, indeed, know Sveinn) Björn was left to assume that she did not know him, and let that small sliver of worry tuck back into a dark and unvisited corner of his mind. There was no need to create problems where they were none. The woman spoke a word ‘Fox’ and for the briefest of moments, Björn did think she was speaking of the animal, but before he could even redirect his attention in search of one she elaborated. Fox it seemed was the fire kissed girl’s name. Caribbean blue eyes assessed her quickly once more, giving an infinitesimal nod of his head. It was a befitting name, in a sense, but Björn did not linger long upon this thought.

Ears, scarred and unscarred pivoted back to rest at half mast atop his skull for a few seconds before they twitched forward as he shifted his weight, paws scuffing the dirt. “Fox,” Björn repeated, mostly saying it to himself as if mimicking it would help him to remember. Would he remember her from a few days from now? Björn didn’t know. “What brings you out here?,” Björn paused, glimpsing around at the ducks that waddled about their business intended to ignore the two canines in their presence. “It can’t be for the peace and quiet.” A soft snort escaped Björn’s black, leathery nostrils a playful little smirk tugging at his lips ever so slightly. In truth, the Viking was not good with idle chit-chat, and the girl did not seem to be very talkative, either.

The girl kissed by fire - Fox Björn reminded himself firmly despite that they would likely never meet again after this and her name would become unimportant to him - for the moment held his curiosity, and the Viking was encouraged by the smirk he had watched form across her lips at his words. “I see,” Björn murmured, though his understanding likely meant little to her, he was sure. They were but strangers whose paths had happened to cross, though Björn did not really believe all that much in circumstance. The silence that followed was as brief as Björn’s wandering eyes as he followed another duck that waddled in between them, oblivious to their existence. Or, rather, choosing to ignore them. The avian’s attention was not needed, anyhow. The silence was broken by Fox’s inquiry of his scars, and slowly Björn’s eyes found her once more where they lingered as a slow, coy smirk tugged at the edges of his lips. Björn could not fault her for her curiosity - not when the God he shared a kinship and deep connection with was the God of Curiosity, which was befitting for Odinn whom saw all through his ravens Huginn and Muninn, and whom had given his eye to acquire knowledge.

Most settled for staring at his scars, or avoiding looking at any place on his body but them as if they were afraid he would rip their throats out just for staring - even his lovers feared to inquire about them; but not her. No, she was different, she had asked, and Björn accepted her curiosity, welcoming it with wide arms. Though it was likely unintentional, she had captured more of Björn’s interest in her. Regardless of it was unwanted or not, it was hers for the moment. “They are symbolic to my people. One is for a rite of passage, one is for the throne, one means Berserker, one is for my family, but together they speak of where I am from, my accomplishments, and my kinship with Odinn, the Allfather of our Gods.” Likely, they just looked like random carvings in his skin, marking up his handsome face but to him, they were so much more. “Though I suppose to most they are just ugly.” At least to the shallow, anyway. That was not to say that Björn was not capable of being shallow, because he was drawn by beauty but beauty faded and Björn had never kept them around because they had failed to provide him with anything else.

Björn felt no offense that the fire kissed Fox found his scars ugly. As he had spoken to her, he came to expect it. It was rare that anyone commented upon them in any other fashion, except perhaps other Vikings who understood his desire to wear his accomplishments as badges of honor upon his face. It took away from the shallow handsomeness that he had once bore - though technically did on his unscarred side of his face. Though Björn was attracted to what was pretty, they never held his interest because his interest waned just as he knew one day beauty would fade. Unnr had been a glorious and stunning sight and would have made him beautiful children - but she had been sickly and unable to bear him any children at all. Sif was stunning herself but his interest in his unbeknownst to his knowledge pregnant gift of a pet had already began to wan before he had departed from Odinn’s Cove.

It would seem that his mention of a throne had captured Fox’s attention for she soon inquired about it after a few moments. “Not around here, no,” Not yet, anyway, Björn replied honestly. He was a master at deception when he had wanted to be but he saw no reason to deceive the fire-kissed maiden before him. For a moment, though, he considered the astuteness of stating where it was that he led. If she knew Sveinn, if he had spoken of Odinn’s Cove, and if Björn was to tell her that was where he led, would she make the connection and tell Sveinn about this meeting? If that happened, Sveinn would know and come looking for him. No, it was better to adopt a moniker for a pack in the same way he had stolen his slain brother’s name. “I led a pack to the far North called Loki’s Keep for a few years.” Perhaps a name was insignificant but Björn stated it anyway as if he was so used to giving the name that it just came out, regardless.

Ragnar Björn’s usage of the term ‘years’ had sounded more grander and longer than it had actually been. He had slain his brother, whose name he stole and now bore as his own for selfish intents and purposes, before he had came to his sexual maturity and led Odinn’s Cove as it’s Jarl for the rest of his youth, and nearly the entirety of his second year. In reality, the singularity of ‘year’ would have been more appropriate but in the slew of things, Björn doubted accuracy mattered. As far as the Lothbrok male was concerned he still remained the Cove’s true Jarl for Váli’s hold upon the title was untrue, given to him in the event of short notice. Odinn had given no warnings of the gifted vision that would lead Björn to this place for his own devices, different than Sveinn’s. When one of the Gods came calling, it was not to be ignored. Fox’s question was to have been expected, after all, would the roles be reversed here he would have very well asked a similar question.

For a moment, the scarred Viking was silent as he contemplated if it was wise for him to share the true reason behind taking a leave from his pack, and if he decided too how much detail would be required before it was accepted. Björn did not go into detail about his visions of Odinn, not to anyone. It was private, something he kept hidden safely as if it were a treasure. In many ways, it was. “Because my Gods demanded it of me.” The Savage told her, gaze unwavering from her to show that he was quite serious but that he had no intentions of going into any further detail than that. His loyalty and devoted faith to the Norse Gods was unparallel and perhaps the one true trait that proved that he was not a complete monster.

Björn’s caribbean blue eyes bore into her at her bold statement of his motives, the ice writhing around his abysmal pupils as he raked his tongue along the backs of his teeth, gathering that she did not have a faith of her own. Her dismissive words, even if the tone had not been such, had irritated the devout savage. “No,” He contradicted her assumption with finality, figuring that it would do no good to explain because he doubted she would understand it, no matter how many times he explained it. A brief shake of his head was given, wondering how they could call him a savage when at least he believed in beings bigger and more powerful than him. Gods that he loved and feared. He said nothing in farewell to her as she spoke of her own throne and watched her head back to Swiftcurrent Creek. The consideration that he had just spoke with his son’s superior entered in his mind as he watched her go, but he did not draw forth any words for she was already going and it was time that he returned to the Ridge at any rate.

Turning his back to the lake he began to make his journey back.