Border patrols had become significantly easier and less tiring with every day that passed. At the end of each patrol he did not have to limp himself back to the community den area suppressing exhaustion of the mending sinew beneath the scab that covered the wound in his shoulder, nor the pain. Neither of these things were anything Björn would ever complain about - he was a Viking, he was used to these things, but still, it was nice. Plus it, hopefully, meant that Thistle wouldn’t about piss herself every time she caught him pushing himself. Of course, he deserved her lectures because he was pushing himself - and frankly had been - even when he really had needed to rest. That was why he had gotten the delusional fever and resulting infection previously. The gash, in comparison to the time he nearly died, was nothing, but the young medic of the Ridge fussed over him nevertheless and Björn found that, while, slightly annoying at times, he without a doubt enjoyed her attentions (even if they weren’t the exact attentions he had first hoped to receive from her).

It was on his sweep of the southern borders, nearing the sacred lands of Ravensblood Forest - Odinn’s forest as he now fondly thought of it - when the howl rose stretching on longer than was necessary. Yet, that was simply because Björn knew he was close at hand while the stranger at the borders did not. It did not take Björn long to reach the place where the howl had risen from, confirmed as it was by the lone female’s scent and yet no wolf was visible to Björn. Lips curled back from his teeth as his tail lashed viciously behind his hind legs, wondering, for a brief moment, if this was a trick of Loki’s. No, surely Loki would not dare to play such a joke so close to Odinn’s sacred lands, even the greedy god was not so unwise. There was dominance and impatience in the Viking’s stance as his icy eyes scoured the lands for the wolf who had called him and seemingly disappeared. A sharp, demanding bark pushed forth from betwixt Björn’s lips summoning the loner whom would either show herself or the Warden would move on.

Ragnar was tense as he paced the length of borders cautiously, like a jaguar high up in a tree as it stalked it’s prey below. The call had risen from some place yet there was nothing in his sight, and for a moment Ragnar played with the possibility that it had been a trick, that they were about to be ambushed; and that if that remained the case that they would be overtaken in a heart beat. The taunt tension did not leave Ragnar even when Pump joined the scene and moved past him sniffing for the caller. Pacing ceased, irises of ice watching Pump then, prepared to rush forwards and protect her if someone came attacking. A rumble of growls vibrated in the Viking’s chest when the wolf - likely the one who had summoned them, came crawling forth into their view. Her posture was adequately submissive but Ragnar did not relent. The stranger spoke of peace, spoke that she was in search of a ‘safe haven’ - of a home.

Yet, Ragnar had mistaken her disappearance - wherever it had been that she had gone after she had called for them - as impatience. He glimpsed at Pump for a moment as he neared his Alpha, scarred and unscarred ears slicking back to his skull, lip curling back to expose his teeth as a last growl rumbled in his chest. “I find your lack of patience wanting, stranger.” The Viking spoke to her, his tone as soft as it always was but hardened by his initial distrust.

The stranger seemed to realize her mistake of startling both himself as well as Pump and had flattened herself closer to the earth in submission. Despite Ragnar’s appreciation of her realization his hard stare did not lessen any. Even so her words were muddled with an apology to him, followed by a quaking that made Ragnar wonder if she wasn’t going to soil herself then and there. She should fear him and the Viking did not shy any pity or remorse but said simply before he would let it drop, “You were hiding in the earth,” The clumps of dirt clinging to her fur were evidence enough of that. “I cannot see through rock and dirt.”

Ragnar listened to the female list her skill sets, presumably talking to Pump moreso than she was him though he lingered and listened, nevertheless. She boasted of hunting and of being a caretaker to pups and gave them, accordingly, a run down of her history in the process. Thus far, only Ragnar was aware of Thistle’s tryst with the Plateau wolf (and further with himself). He did not speak of it but there was a pretty good chance that pups were in the direct future of Horizon Ridge and while a caretaker might be, theoretically nice, he felt the innate urge to make the fawn colored girl’s children into Vikings. Their young minds would be the most welcoming to his ways and it was the easiest way to “convert” to Odinn’s cause.

The platinum silver savage remained silent knowing that he had no further say and that everything to this point relied solely upon Pump.

Ragnar could not so easily shake off the trepidation that overcame the newest member of Horizon Ridge despite how casually she had dismissed it. She had seen enough of battle - had killed enough - to find wolves who cowered and whimpered out at mere memories to be rather …alarming. It was a small wonder that Ragnar himself did not suffer from some kind of post traumatic stress, but maybe it was because killing and/or seeing it simply did not bother him. Or maybe it had something to do with the drugged foods he and his fellow Berserkers had been forced to consume to call upon the blood rage erased them. Giving her a last skeptic look the warden nodded and left the scene quietly, anxious to continue on with his sweep of the borders once more.