Kjalarr stirred, groggily from his sleeping place within The Grotto. He blinked into the dank darkness, scenting the lingering scent of damp earth. A steady rain had fell, the dual platinum silver and sand colored Beta noted as he shrugged out of The Grotto's yawning mouth into the early morning, not yet tarnished by the rise of the sun, still a few hours off he suspected. He took a moment to stretch, attempting to dawdle only long enough truly allow the last traces of sleep to fade. He was still a little too groggy for his liking — especially since his routine demanded that he make his early morning rounds on the borders. He glimpsed back, over his broad shoulder towards the dark mouth of The Grotto, half contemplating waking Whittier up and dragging his brother along with him but at the last second, resisted. For what it was worth Whittier had likely worked off his punishment by now and Kjalarr deigned to let him rest.

It had been on Kjalarr's way to the borders that he had caught the scent of a rabbit and paused in his path to pursue it hoping for some breakfast before he began his patrol. Luck did not favor him for the rabbit managed to evade him and forced Kjalarr to swallow the bitter pill that was his pride and admit to the fact of his defeat. He grumbled lowly under his breath in time to the rumble of his displeased stomach but began his patrol when he had finally reached the borders, trying his best to ignore his hunger (as ever present as it was) and focus his attention upon the scents and sounds beyond into the no-man's territories that surrounded the borders of the Sound.

The sound of footfalls, very light footfalls caused Kjalarr's ears to perk to attention atop his skull, a bristle of his coarse hackles given as he, at first, thought it was coming from beyond their borders from no-man's land. Yet, the closer the steps drew he realized they came from within Saltwinter's territory and not from the outside which caused the dual colored Viking's posture to relax, though slightly. A voice called out to him and he turned so that he was facing her direction. It was the newest recruit he saw, Devin. She bowed her head a bit as a sign of acknowledgment to his rank and though it wasn't full submission Kjalarr accepted it with a contented rumble within his chest. “Devin,” The Northman returned with a slight inclination of his own head in greeting.

She kept her distance, he saw, and this he appreciated of the pale coywolf, but at the same time it felt...unnecessary to him. They were pack mates now, for better or worse, and he might have been a leader but that didn't mean he wanted to come off as unapproachable. “I was just about to start my patrols, care to join me?” Kjalarr asked her with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He understood that he was intimidating but it wasn't anything that those loyal to Saltwinter ever had to worry about so long as they were loyal and respectful.

“How are you settling in? What do you think of Ankyra Sound so far?” They seemed like good questions to ask. Settling in was always an important step for a newcomer to a pack and it was important that she felt at home ...no matter how long she remained with them.

Devin did not return his soft smile — not that Kjalarr really expected her to — but she offered him a small expression that suggested she was attempting to puzzle why he was smiling. It was gone before he could truly decipher it and Kjalarr was left to give a slight rise and fall of his broad shoulders in a shrug disguised as a casual roll — as if he were subtly stretching. She replied in a rather cheerful tone that she was down and joined him. She was small, he realized. He'd known that upon their initial meeting, of course, but he never truly realized size differences until he stood is such close proximity with another. He peered down at her in an inquisitive manner for a few seconds before he turned his gaze back the invisible path their urine scents laid out for them to patrol.

“I am glad you like it,” Kjalarr murmured thoughtfully as they moved and she responded to his questions in a good natured manner. “I have been all over these Wilds, actually,” In fact, he'd lived in several different places, as well. Five packs in total, including Saltwinter. It was kind of unnerving to realize that from his birth to his first year of life he'd experienced more than most wolves experienced in their entire lives. The Gods had their reason ...perhaps to prove if he was worthy — this was how he chose to deal with the trauma. It made it easier. Easier to remember but to let go so that the tragic events of his past did not drive him insane. Yet, Kjalarr had to accredit his own strength and resilience, as well. It was not faith alone that pushed him forward.

“So, where do you hail from? These Wilds? Or somewhere else?” Kjalarr was genuinely interested in her response. A leader should know his subordinates just as his subordinates should know him — at least this was how Kjalarr felt about it.

Kjalarr was a curious beast by nature — a trait that he got honestly from Ragnar. He believed, as his father did, as the Allfather was willing to sacrifice for: that knowledge was power and even what is considered to be the most inconsequential of details could be turned to advantage. That wasn't to claim he was asking Devin for any sort of malicious intent — because he wasn't, mind — but it also served it's actual purpose: to help him get to know his packmates. She spoke of a place he'd never heard of. Quicksilver Hollow. She informed him that her, her siblings and her father left to find a new place, her father with the intention of building his own “empire” and her with the desire to take advantage of her freedom. A very simple desire, Kjalarr considered, but no doubt an important one. He couldn't blame her. He, too, valued independence and hated oppression. For the most part, Caiaphas was a liberal Queen and he greatly admired and appreciated that trait in her. She did not try to oppress him, nor control him. Anything he did for her, he did of his own accord. Of his own want.

“I get the feeling you think that a pack is like a cage but it is not,” Kjalarr spoke softly, fixing her in his gaze at they walked. In truth, he didn't need to see where he was going — he'd ran these patrols enough that he could walk the borders in his sleep. “at least not Saltwinter.” Of course Kjalarr would talk up his own pack but there was sincerity in his words that he hoped she would take into her consideration. “I know what it's like to feel trapped, to feel controlled. I hate it too,” He confessed. “Before I joined Caiaphas and Saltwinter I had joined a pack led by a King,” Kjalarr's mouth twisted around the word until it was dripping with unbidden venom. Even now he hated speaking of Charon and the thought of the Moonspear Alpha filled the Viking with a rage that could induce the most experienced of Berserkers. “who was an ass to me, who tried and failed to control me. It was so bad that for a while it created a nasty rift between my twin and I.” Things with Floki were a lot better now and it seemed both brothers learned to not bring up what caused the rift in the first place, though Kjalarr knew he was equally to blame. He had aided in it's creation as well.

“Caiaphas is a great Queen, there is none that is her equal.” And Kjalarr would follow her to the ends of the earth, without her even asking him to. “Where is your family now? Are they here in the Wilds or did you split?” He inquired, wanting to ask of her mother but hesitated unsure if that was a tender subject or not and did not want to pry into any more than she was willing to tell him.

To her credit she listened as he told his story. Or rather, skimmed over his story. There was plenty more than he left unsaid but he had wanted to give her something to consider, to let her know that she was not the only one who desired independence and that Caiaphas did not seek to siphon them of it. Perhaps she would remember it one day, when (and if) she thought of leaving. Perhaps it would change her mind or maybe it wouldn't. Kjalarr didn't know but they shared some similarities the colossus and the coywolf and in rare form Kjalarr felt like sharing them. It was not often he spoke of his past...not even in the skimmed and condensed version that he'd offered Devin. Only Caiaphas really the knew the whole thing in it's truth but that was a rarer treat still.

Devin responded that her father and her siblings were too in the Wilds but then changed the tide of their conversation in a rapid fire manner by asking her own question before Kjalarr could get a chance to think of anything else that might be useful to know about a pack mate. One that brought about a look of perplexity upon the Beta's expression. She wished to know of his accent. The truth was so much more complex then he could explain: he'd dreamed about his father enough that he'd learned the lilting accent he used enough to mimic it. This made him feel closer to the man he barely remembered, one that he resembled but felt only through a spiritual connection of a shared faith and culture. It was a lasting imprint of Ragnar Loðbrok upon his son, though Kjalarr failed to realize that he, himself, carried Ragnar's legacy just as Floki did. Their father lived on within them and would continue to live on in their children and their children's children.

“I do not know,” It wasn't the truth, not really, but he shied away from speaking of his vivid dreams. They were a closely coveted secret of his, something that he cherished as much as he feared. “I just do.” But to show that he did not take it personally he shrugged his broad shoulders and offered her a grin, pausing briefly in his steps to lift his leg mark the border.

Kjalarr had been studying her for her reaction to his lie unsatisfying response to her question on his accent but looked away out of some semblance of propriety that he had when she squatted to mark a sequoia. It wasn't often he took note of the differences between males and females — except for the one time that he had as he enjoyed the intimacy he'd shared with the stranger he knew to this day only as Freyja — yet he was sure that Devin didn't particularly want him staring at her while she aided him in marking borders regardless. Besides, it wasn't often he had company on his patrols. The last to accompany him had been his brother Whittier. Kjalarr had moved onto a new stretch of the borders a few steps ahead of Devin, pausing to sniff at them when her question caught his attention.

The laugh that came from Kjalarr was a hearty thing and wholly unexpected., rumbling from deep within his diaphragm. It was by far one of the most bizarre questions he could remember being asked, to date, but then again this was the same girl who had just, moments before, asked him how he'd gotten his accent and thus it should not have surprised him as it had. “I can't truly say,” The Viking responded mischievously. “I've never squatted to piss before.” And in fact wasn't sure that he could — at least not without peeing all down his leg and as that truly wasn't an appealing thought to the vain Nord he wasn't about to try it.

“You ask strange questions Devin.” Kjalarr pointed out though the chuckle in his tone spoke that he was merely teasing her and that he did not mind. Thus far, she provided good patrol company. Certainly better than Whittier's bitching and moaning the entire time — though Kjalarr was unaware that in a few days times he would come face to face with his brother's death and the realization of just how much he would miss the complaining.

Kjalarr looked ahead to their path, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips as Devin went on to claim that he was lucky, that it sucked, that bending one's legs to pee made them look dumb and then finished by reiterating that he was lucky to have been born a male. He'd never thought much of it in any kind of detail. He had a few sisters though the only one he remembered was Allure and admittedly he had not been as close to her as he had been Pasha, Whittier and Swift. He'd spent more time with the boys of the Frostfur brood but even if he would have spent more time with Allure he would have never given much thought as to how she peed. It was a bizarre observation to him. Kjalarr had a biological sister, as well, but he didn't remember much of her or the youngest of his litter, Kaylan. For all Kjalarr knew they were both dead, and for all intents and purposes they were to him. They were not like Floki, he held no special connection to them that tethered them, nor had they ever been truly constants in his life. Half the time, he forgot he had any biological siblings besides Floki.

“It's not a bad thing,” Kjalarr was quick to assure her as she made her defense. “I'm just not used to that kind of abruptness.” Usually people asked things with more discreetness. “I'm more likely to admire someone who asks their questions directly, and those who speak their mind even if I don't like what they have to say.” That was never a guarantee, but he would always appreciate the honesty and that was sometimes the more important thing to take into consideration. Anyone could lie, after all, but not everyone was willing to tell the truth for fear of consequences.

Kjalarr offered her a smile when she thanked him, and was glad that someone appreciated her. For a moment, the viking was left feeling awkward. He felt that social obligations should make him suggest that he was sure that plenty of wolves appreciated her but admittedly he didn't know her well enough to make that consolidation — and Kjalarr wasn't good at that kind of stuff anyway. He gave a soft nod but didn't speak further, instead turning his attention to their patrol, pausing occasionally to lift his leg to strengthen the borders as they went but otherwise settled into the silence with comfort.