Björn, holding Pump’s proposition to counter his own in high regards - though the Viking could not truly pinpoint the moment in time that the hybrid woman had managed to catch him off guard by sowing the seeds of respect within him, it was there, regardless - worked on patrolling the borders, eyes and ears open for any potential stragglers whom had gotten lost from them during the landslide. Björn was not the type of man to come out and say she had his respect, more so it would be communicated through his actions. He had not came to this pack with the intention of holding respect for another, a superior no less, but Odinn had drawn him here for a reason and for the time being the Viking was contented to stay here and help the new leader gain her footing and help the pack raise to the glory it should be. The desire to prove that he was worthy of her trust despite that he was among other things dangerous, that he was worthy of being her enforcer, the second in command, yet it was not just her he needed to impress but the others as well.

The borders had been quiet, the silence of the Ridge calming compared to the clamor that vibrated the very core of the earth when the landslide had struck them, and the sun would peek out from beneath drifting clouds every now and then, warming the platinum silver tendrils of silken fur that lined his back, though sometimes the warmth would give cause for his wound under the wrappings Thistle took care of to itch and the Viking would pause and bite at the skin around it as it began to scab and heal. His fur was still matted with old blood from when he had torn it when it had been infected, for bathing would ruin the wrappings. Björn would be the first to admit he was not the best patient, not one for fussing, or healing voodoo but she worked hard and took good care of him, enduring him with a good nature. In a small manner, Björn admired Thistle’s patience.

A howl rose not too far from where he had paused to re-enforce the borders, and head rose, scarred and unscarred ears thrusting forth and swiveling atop his head to gauge the position before he pushed himself towards the stranger at the borders, subtly trying to hide the limp that marred his gait from his healing gash. Interestingly enough as Björn drew closer the female’s scent was overpowered by the sweet scent of a mother’s milk, and black leathery nostrils flared as he assumed that she was expecting. So many times he had expected to drink that scent in from one of his many wives or gifts but none of them had taken his seed, either from their young age or his own, the exception being Unnr whom had been to sickly to conceive. For a dark moment, Ragnar (the true name of the scarred Viking) considered many things, each more unsavory as the other as a wave of jealousy and possession stole over him, and the brutish and savage nature of his people came out with a feral vengeance as his darkened caribbean blue eyes took her in, lingering on the swell of her belly and the enlargement of her teats, assuming that she was pregnant before he locked such things away.

Thinking those sorts of things would ruin what he was attempting to build here, even a feral and savage beast needed a home.

“I am Björn,” The savage spoke his moniker, his tail raised over his back in a dominate position over his back to show that he was the wolf of rank here, for the moment. The ranks were in a unclear disorder as of the moment as Horizon Ridge struggled to find their footing again on the unstable ground the disaster had left them with, but Björn had a clear goal in his mind besides the Beta rank, figuring that gaining the co-rank of Warden couldn’t hurt, besides it being suited well to him. “What do you seek at our borders?” Of course, Björn had a fairly clear idea, however, he wanted to hear her say it for herself, just in case.

Björn noticed that her stare did not linger upon the scars that marred the left ear and half of his face, diminishing what had once been strikingly handsome. He still was - handsome that was - so long as he kept the destroyed left half of his face hidden. Most were repulsed by the pink patches of smooth skin that fur had never grew to conceal but Björn was proud of them - the symbolism of Odinn’s Cove, his accomplishments on display for everyone to see even if they appeared to be nothing more than scars. “I was born among the ice and harshness of the far North,” He told her simply, not because she had asked, but because she had already made the connection likely from his name and accent alone. Idly, he wondered if she was Viking, maybe a shieldmaiden or a slave, though he had a tough time deciding if she was either. Perhaps she was not of his people, but just on the knowledge of them. Their reputation was infamous, the term ‘Vikings’ feared for their habits of raiding - food, lands, treasures, and most assuredly, woman. He tucked her name into his mind, attempting to place it with her scent which, realistically, would not be that hard for him to remember so long as she was still producing the sweet milk for her young that Björn assumed still lived within her rounded sides.

“We have a healer,” Björn informed simply, mind’s eyes flickering to Thistle Cloud briefly. “but we have known a great disaster very recently. A landslide has made part of our territory inaccessible and there are many injured,” Such as Björn himself, though as far as he was concerned he was one of the luckier ones. “There may still be some trapped on the other side, injured. We do not know,” Some went mysteriously missing, and when Thistle ‘discharged’ him from her care he planned to go on a search on the other side of the landslide. “I am sure Pump, the Alpha, will find a second healer to be useful.” Björn mused, despite that in truth he really couldn’t speak for her.

“She should be here soon,” Björn informed the woman - Nuka - contented with keeping her company until Pump appeared. Björn had not turned a deaf ear to the fact that Nuka had spoken of losing her family, and while Björn did not feel pity - it would seem that pity was not in a Viking’s blood - he eyed her up again, eyeing lingering once more upon her swollen teats and rounded sides figuring that she couldn’t be that far off from giving birth (unknowing in his assumption that she already had). “You are expecting,” Björn inquired aloud, stating his assumption to the woman in an unabashed fashion that was typical for the Savage.

While the woman settled upon her haunches, the Viking remained standing, though had relaxed his pointedly dominate position slightly. She had shown him respect, and had not made any moves to challenge his authority of the situation, nor to cross over the scent markers that kept them divided. The temperatures seemed to be in a constant, enigmatic flux here, varying from a teasing of spring the way a woman might tempt with her body in heat, back to the barren cold. Nevertheless, Spring was on it’s way and with it the thought of procreation. Idly, Björn could not help of think the intoxication of a female in her season, the primitive urges to possess and plant his seed, the desire to take what was given to him and spread the Lothbrok genetics to many sons (and daughters). Björn was not partial even to the title of ‘mate’ in truth. He would offer stud services where they were wanted - to reproduce or just for recreation - so long as if it was for reproduction permission had been granted because he certainly wasn’t going to jeopardize what he was working for the sake of a night of wanton passion.

“I am sure Thistle Cloud would be more than willing to assist you,” Björn had not pegged her for the type of girl to turn away someone who needed her help be it with an injury or knowledge. This was solidified by her prevailing patience with him. Björn watched as the woman hesitated at his question, and he thought that it meant she was reluctant to confirm it though he could see and smell the evidence for himself, but her eyes met his and the Savage waited, holding her gaze until she dropped it with the admittance that her children had been aborted, or killed shortly after their birth. Björn remained silent, thinking that it was a waste for a fertile female to lose her young. Perhaps there was a small measure of pity if only because her body still either thought she was pregnant or was still producing for ghost children.

Neither of which Nuka could control.

Björn waited until she was finished speaking before correcting her on what she had misunderstood from him. “I meant she could help you learn of the plants from these lands,” Björn spoke to clarify, and then added, “but she likely help with that even though you do not want it.” In truth, Björn was not sure what exactly it meant for her to let her body figure out the absence of the children within her on it’s own. Would she still go through ‘birth’? Björn did not ask. In truth, he supposed it mattered little in the grand scheme of things. She was not pregnant, as he had first assumed, as her body round and teats swollen with milk had first told him. “Is it not more torturous to let your body think it still carries when it doesn’t?” The Viking asked finally, if only because he could not understand. Perhaps he was incapable of understanding because he was a man - the creation of life ended for him with planting of his seed while women carried them and felt them grow within for the course of their pregnancy from the days after conception to their birthing.

As a libertine, Björn did not grow attached to his lovers, his interest in them as fleeting and spontaneous as it came, thusly he could not understand the other possible attachments beyond the young that Nuka might have had. In the ways of love, the Viking was clueless because he had never been in love. He had nourished lust many times than he cared to count, but that was all it had ever been. All it likely would ever be, for him.

She corrected his, yet again, wrong assumption, and Björn’s eyes took in her rounded sides once more, thoughtful. If she had delivered, shouldn’t the weight have been dropped with each child as they were pushed from her body? “I see,” Björn said simply, ready to move on from the topic of her ghost children and the fact that she could have deceived easily if she had wanted too - though the fault in that would have been found when she did not give birth. Nevertheless, it mattered little. They were her burdens to bear, not his. Each carried their own troubles, their own pasts like weights upon the shoulders; and if it was children she desired there was always another season, and plenty of males to see the desire seeded. “I hail from the North, yes,” Came the Viking’s response to her question, though he was not sure exactly what she meant by ‘as my father’s have’. There were several cultures to the North, though Björn would boast the Vikings the most feared among them. It may not have been something most felt to take pride in but he took pride in it nevertheless. They had made their marks with their raids, their brutality, their lack of moral compasses, and sometimes being feared was better than being loved. Love could weaken, could falter and fail but fear…fear was prevalent. Fear endured and lingered. “Odinn has seen me here.” Came a second, simple answer, with no intentions of elaborating upon the vision that had inspired it all, or just how much of a kinship and connection the Viking felt with the God.

As was a nice change of what had become regular to Björn she did not ask him who Odinn was for she already knew. Björn offered her a small nod when she spoke, speaking of her hope that he was worthy of Odinn’s company. There was no need for Björn to speak but silently in the confines of his mind he confirmed that he did everything in his mortal power to be worthy of the Allfather’s attention, and favor. A seer had once told him that the Gods’ favor could change but Björn had no intention of letting himself slip off of their radar. “I have done everything the Allfather has asked of me,” Björn responded after a bit, feeling that there might have been a challenge in her words, but he did not allow himself to feel overtly threatened. He did not need to compete for Odinn’s favor having had ever since he could remember - when he had been a small pup suckling as his mother’s teat. The woman spoke of Freya, and for a moment Björn reflected upon the soft irony of that - both of them being lead by one another’s counterpart, but if she saw the irony in it as well, Nuka did not mention it and therefore neither did Björn. Likely, it was not of much importance, a sheer coincidence in a world that was strikingly full of them - coincidences.

Soon after Nuka had spoken of Freya Pump had arrived on the scene and Björn showed her the proper submission, brushing aside the strangeness of it. He had submitted before his time as Jarl, and this was no different. Pump addressed him and Björn spared a glimpse to Nuka briefly before his eyes settled back upon his dróttning, lips parting to respond to her inquiry. “This is Nuka,” Björn made the introduction before glimpsing back to Nuka, “Nuka, this is Pump, the Alpha.” Björn stated the obvious simply because it was what he felt compelled to do, before his eyes fell back upon the ebony hybrid. “She seeks a home with us for hers has been destroyed. I informed her that we have recently suffered a pack wide tragedy with the landslide and she informed me that she, like Thistle, is too a healer. Her talents will no doubt come in handy if you choose to accept her. I think Thistle has been running a little ragged to tend to everyone.” Likely not helped by Björn’s own stubbornness and dismissive take on the gash in his shoulder. As he thought about it, the muscles beneath the split skin jumped and his shoulders rolled as the urge to sate the itch with his teeth surged but was for the time being, ignored. With most of the information that Nuka had given to him passed on, the Viking fell silent, allowing Nuka to add anything she thought might assist her in her case, or for Pump to decide the ultimate verdict.

Which ever came first.