Once more Björn found himself in the forest that the locals of these Teekon Wilds called Ravensblood Forest. He had first found himself drawn to the saccharine temptations of the darkened woods when he had sought a sacrifice to the Allfather, Odinn (that he was unaware had been witnessed by another) of the cougar’s child. Without it’s mother - of which had been killed by a bear - it would not have survived anyhow but in the less specific scale of things, Björn was as ruthless as the whispers about his ‘people’ said making him a Viking to the very core of his being. He spared none - child, nor woman; not even on the raids unless they had potential as slaves. To some, it did not matter that he eventually set his slaves free. No, that significant fact was often overlooked on the whole ‘raid, kill, etc’ scale. But Björn did not care. Odinn had demanded the sacrifice and Björn had given it to him. It was, really, as simple as that.

This time, he was drawn to the forest named to his tastes Ravensblood. Pump required a portion of this forest for Horizon Ridge to supplement what they had lost in the landslide, despite that Björn thought that it might be better for Horizon Ridge to become Ravensblood Forest and be done with it. In the heart of the trees, shrouded in the alluring mystery of it all, if another landslide were to occur it likely would not affect them as it had so, again. It was clear that while the hybrid shield maiden and him had their similarities, they also had their differences. Björn desired the forest because he saw it as holy land. Odinn’s forest. Each step he made further into the forest was a step upon sacred land and shivers of excitement and perhaps, anticipation slithered along the strong curve of the savage’s spine.

Björn was both eyeing the land for himself, and scouting it for Pump at the same time, torn between if he wanted to branch off or, eventually, challenge her. There was an actual moment of honest trepidation at the consideration of challenging for the helm. Björn had come to respect her, and things were different than when he had challenged his older brother, of whose name he bore as a moniker, and truly he did not want her death or absolute defeat. Tucking those thoughts away for later examination - for first he had to gain her trust and the trust of the others and see himself in the Beta rank before he made extensive plans - and paused, brushing his uninjured shoulder against the rough bark of a tree, letting his scent upon it, wondering how many times he would keep having to do this until Pump decided to actually claim some of it, when a scent tickled his leathery, black nostrils.

Female, with the scent of multiple others clinging to her coat, hinting at the sweet scent that clung to Nuka of babies and a mother’s sweet milk. In one good whiff he had deduced some about the pack she was apart of though he remained unaware of it’s name.

With curiosity as his God (it was one of Odin’s “powers” anyway) Björn wasted no time pushing through the thick trees, brush and debris upon the earthen floor until he found her, mocha and sand colored, resting among the shade of the green canopy above. Ice eyes studied her lavishly, interest piqued as it always was among the opposite sex, scarred and unscarred ears trusting forth as he let out a bark to announce his presence as he stepped into the small clearing she had temporarily claimed as her resting spot.

The surge of territoriality within his chest was akin the smoldering, glowing embers of a fire that had been disturbed and awoken, a flame rising to like up at the oxygen it was suddenly provided. It was not uncommon for the Viking to feel territorial over lands whether or not they belonged to him. This forest was sacred to Odinn even if the wolves of this posh summer lands did not realize it, even if they continued and forevermore remained ignorant. Automatically, he felt a feral need to protect this forest from others, and not just the portion of it that Pump intended to claim. It was not entirely fair, Björn acknowledged given that he was not the only wolf to worship Odinn as their primary God and that what remained unclaimed of it should be open for the others. In this, Odinn’s generosity and knowledge exceeded his own; then again Björn supposed that was what made him a god. Leathery black nostrils flared upon the Viking’s exhale as the woman seemingly jumped rather abruptly to her paws and exclaimed in a rather defensive grumble that she was not trespassing.

Irises of liquid ice widened as abysmal pupils narrowed, scarred left ear twitching absently as his tail lashed against his hind legs once, the muscles beneath his right shoulder jumping and twitching as his scabbed wound itched like a heathen quite abruptly. Lips twitched as if they desired to curl back from his teeth - and indeed they did, but not to threaten her. The desire to bite at his healing wound was great - as it was most days. The salve Thistle had slathered on it in attempts to prevent the itching seemed to be disappointingly losing it’s effectiveness upon him.

“For now,” The Viking broke his silence, his voice soft and quiet - unexpected from the stereotype of his boisterous ilk. In simplicity’s terms, Björn broke a lot of those stereotypes while solidifying many others. “Part of this forest is intended to be claimed.” It wasn’t a threat, just a fair warning. The Viking still thought with a stubborn certainty that the should relocate to the forest entirely, but Pump had not seemed all that concerned about another landslide. For the sake of her integrity, the savage hoped his leader was right in her flippant confidence. “What brings you to this sacred forest?” The Viking asked with muted curiosity in his tone, leaving it open for her to either indulge him or leave.

Björn as was his observing custom took an immediate note that her gaze did not linger upon the purposeful scars that marred his otherwise handsome face. No, the stranger held him fixatedly in her gaze, steady and unwavering but the Viking detected nothing of what he had came to expect of strangers in his short two years of bearing the markings of Odinn proudly upon the left half of his face and left ear. It was fear and repulsion that he had came to know, but this woman - much like Fox - did not seemed to neither be afraid or repulsed by them. As it always did, it picked at his curiosity how a raven picked at the scraps of a corpse. Slowly, but with a definitive purpose. She showed that she understood his words with a nod and Björn took her nod in good faith having nothing else to go off of. He did not know what kind of wolf she was, did not know of her further intentions the same way that he knew his own.

The woman’s answer was sufficient and quietly satisfying, if not expected. Hadn’t he, himself, upon his arrival to the Teekon Wilds wandered? It was important to know the territories despite their vastness. Her body posture, the Viking noticed, did not relax even in an increment and similarly, neither did his. A small mischievous grin began to tug at the corners of Björn’s lips when she stated her assumption as opposed to asking. In a way she was both right, and wrong; and for a brief moment he was reminded of the inner turmoil that made him feel barrenly indecisive. “Close, but not quite,” The Viking drew with a thoughtful expel of breath. “I do not lead it. I am,” A coyly amused smirk took the grin’s place. “as you would call it the lap dog.” Of course doing all of these things for Pump, even going above and beyond to do the things she did not ask of him, was for his own personal gain. The Beta rank was the apple of his eye and he was determined to see himself to the rank.

No matter what it took. No matter the cost.