Finally, she had found him.

Ragnar’s scent had grown old, and following it’s fading wisps had provided to be quite a challenge; even more so when she had eventually lost it entirely. Sveið persevered despite the seemingly impossible circumstances, encouraged forward by her desire to find the once Jarl of Odinn’s Cove. Váli had brought her departure upon himself, she thought with a twinge of unhindered bitterness. Despite what the youngest Eirkrsson thought he was not Ragnar Lothbrok - would never be, frankly. Sveið had stated her intentions of leaving to the “Jarl” and his “wife” Sif who claimed that the pups she carried were not Ragnar’s but in fact Váli’s and for once Sveið was unable to deduce if the words both of them spoke with vehement adamancy were true or not. Every time she thought to speak up that the timing wasn’t right, that they would have to have been Ragnar’s for Váli would have never have staked a claim upon Sif when Ragnar was still around, she was full of trepidation. Wouldn’t he? They could have been having a tryst in secret behind Ragnar’s back like the vicious snakes that Sveið considered them to be. To see how Sif had fluttered all over Ragnar, how she would preen his fur with her teeth and giggle like some little child when he spoke had always turned Sveið’s stomach, anyway. With disgust and, if she was being brutally honest with herself: jealousy.

That viper was not worthy of the great Ragnar Lothbrok, just as none of his wives had been.

Nostrils flared as she caught a hold of a recent scent trail that was wholly Ragnar even with the taint of others - of other women - clung to it. Pupils widened within their pools of a minty blue-green irises as she bowed her head and inhaled at the musky scent of her Jarl once more, just to determine that it was indeed his. Pushing out of the forest (Ravensblood) she followed the scent until she began to near the heady scent of a pack’s borders, plagued with Ragnar’s scent, knowing she had found him. Nervous anticipation bubbled in her stomach, rising into her chest until she was unsure if she wanted to laugh or weep from joy. Ragnar, Even in her head his name was a soft caress, a silent summoning of the platinum silver Berserker she had grown to admire and though she would never admit, quite taken with. His libertine antics made him the impossible target, and logically, any other man would have been better, more worthy of her time and attentions. Sveið knew this, and yet there was something captivating about the Viking male that had drawn her admirations from afar even when he had been but a simple Berserker.

Tilting her muzzle skywards she let out a call, announcing her presence at their borders, wondering as her small song ended if he would recognize her voice and be the one to greet her.

To Sveið’s great disappointment, it was not Ragnar that had came to greet her. The shield maiden understood that there was potentially a number of reasons for it, maybe he was busy hunting, or scouting other territories, or even sleeping. Despite the wave of slight displeasure that crashed over her in a sudden wash she kept it dutifully off of her face as the ebony, hybrid female approached with bristled hackles and raised tail. Minty blue-green irises swept over her for a moment trying to decide if she was the Alpha or a guardian before the shield maiden complied and lowered herself in submission, unable to help herself wishing desperately that Ragnar would make an appearance onto the scene. She did not need his good word to get her into the pack, of course, she was very capable of doing things for herself, but still it would have been nice to see a familiar face so far from the Cove. Granted, it had been Sveið’s own choice to leave the Cove because she could not stomach Sif nor the power drunk fool of a younger brother Váli that Ragnar had let in charge while he fulfilled Odinn’s commands.

The hybrid woman was extremely blunt, her words carried on a growl. State my business or get lost, Sveið played with the command simply. The threatening and dominate stance, despite Sveið’s willingness to comply into submission, did not in fact, intimidate or scare the shield maiden. For a moment she considered asking for Ragnar but stilled her tongue before it could form and push from betwixt her lips. “I am here seeking a home within your pack,” Assumptions were made based on what she had to work with that the ebony female before her was the leader. “and an old friend who I have scented along your borders.” Sveið spoke her voice accented heavily, stating the truth simply.

Trepidation had the only reason why Björn had not immediately answered the call at the borders, recognizing the voice that had risen into the sky, the haunting tones that had been carried upon the wind to him where he was on the cusp of where the eastern and southern border met. As it was, he was inherently confused and curious as to why one of Odinn’s Cove’s best shield maidens was at the borders of Horizon Ridge. She had not called for him specifically, but he could not help that he alone was the reason why she was here now, that she had followed his scent trail for Björn had not specifically stated where he was going when he had announced to the Cove that he, at Odinn’s command was going south. As far as Björn was concerned he was still the reigning Jarl of the Cove with Váli just in his stead as temporary. There was a subtle fear nagging at the Viking’s stomach as he stood, deliberating, torn between ignoring it and answering it. There was no doubt that Pump had already beaten him to the shield maiden’s call. Would she mention him? And if she did, she would without a doubt call him Ragnar - which was not how these wolves knew him. He adopted his deceased, older brother’s name as a moniker to keep his son from catching wind of his presence, but if he were to say that, it would create an unnecessary suspicion that Björn didn’t want to have to deal with.

In the end, curiosity and the desire to protect the foundations he had began to build here, Björn headed in the direction of Sveið’s call. Admittedly, it had been some time since he had laid eyes on the girl, and had always dismissed her if only because she had beaten him in a few spars. It was almost a shock to Björn as he approached the scene - absently confirming that Pump had indeed beaten him to the punch and was currently challenging Sveið to give her a good reason to accept her while threatening to chase her off if she didn’t present - how he had forgotten how pretty she was with her golden sand colored fur and those odd mocha colored toes that always amused him. Eyes narrowed, inherently disliking how the ebony woman spoke to his subordinate but Björn hid his annoyance knowing that his past did not matter nor count here in these posh lands, plus his respect for Pump kept his wicked tongue at bay. “You won’t have to feed her nor care for her. She is more than capable of providing for herself and others,” Björn interjected. “By no means am I saying make it easy for her to get in, but I can and will vouch for her personally,” Björn even in these posh summer lands with no power or real title still felt the need to look out for his, and she was one of his.

“Sveið,” The Viking greeted the Shield Maiden. There were many questions in his eyes as he held her gaze, but they would be asked at a later date, when he could get her alone.

There was a decidedly warranted amount of distrust in the ebony female’s eyes of which Sveið could feel as if they were burning into her. The question of why she wanted to live here was fair enough, even if it irked the Shield Maiden to her core. She had no intention of using Ragnar to get into this pack, but her devotion to her true Jarl was too strong (not to mention her determination) to let Sveið give up easily. At the end of the day she would either find herself a member of this Ridge or she would have fought her hardest and chalked up her loss as a lesson well learned. “I am going to be honest,” Because there was no sense in lying. “I know nothing of you or this pack. I am willing to take the time to learn. I am here seeking acceptance because my Jarl is here. I know he is nothing in your ranks but he is my everything,” Perhaps it would give the wrong impression of their relationship - though there was truly not one. Ragnar had always seemed to pass her up as a potential wife or even lover, but that was no matter. Maybe she wasn’t worthy of him either in the Gods’ eyes, but she didn’t really need to be a wife or lover. “He is the reason I want a home here.” Sveið told Pump bluntly, inclining her muzzle towards the platinum silver draped and scarred Ragnar Lothbrok as he approached them.

Ragnar spoke of her behalf, his gaze holding hers. Sveið ignored the flutters in her chest, the catch of breath within her throat and looked dutifully away. He had once been a great Berserker and a fair Jarl, and though he was none of these things here, he would always be those things to her. His gaze had been full of silent questions that she had fully expected to have to answer at some point but understood they were not for today. She did not need him to pitch in for her, but if her honesty wasn’t enough, or Pump deemed it better to turn her away then she would move on - though she had no intentions of truly leaving Ragnar behind.

He was too important of a friend and a once leader.