Kjalarr had been prepared for the idea that he was a father-to-be. He'd fought off Maude, some previously dormant instincts sparking to life at the marrow deep knowledge that he had to protect his seed, his future; but facing the dawning of realization that he actually was a father-to-be was ...the most terrifying thing he'd faced yet. Ondine's morning sickness and increased appetite ...those were the symptoms she assured him and he trusted her words for surely she would be aware if life grew within her or not. He spent mornings between early patrols hunting for the sole purpose of bringing her food. Whether she ate it or not, or ate it and upchucked it he didn't oft stick around to find out. He left her to it while he went on a second patrol.

Patrols had became a means of escape, a place where he could lose himself to routine or alternatively think. How in Hel's name was he supposed to raise kids? He didn't know the first thing about children. Very briefly he'd been around Lusa's children but she and her children hadn't stuck around Saltwinter very long. Admittedly, he had not slept with Ondine for children. Kjalarr was much too selfish for that. He'd only to sought to satisfy the longing and yearning her estrus cycle had intoxicated him with. Yet...he was not by any means unintelligent. He understood the risks, the consequences. Yet... The Gods had ordained that children would come of their coupling and here he was with a mate and babes on the way. Him. A father. A stab of guilt and doubt drove through him. He would be the father they needed him to be, or try to be, at the very least. He had no choice but to try. Abandoning Ondine and the children growing within her was not an option, never even a consideration in his mind.

It was not easy to turn his thoughts from his rugrats growing in Ondine's womb — as he genuinely found himself concerned for her well being as her pregnancy wound on — despite how he struggled to grasp the reality of it. Thoughts of Scimitar joined his worries of being a father. It wasn't like his adoptive father to be gone for so long. It was apparent to him that the prolonged absence concerned Allure, as well. A chill ran down the viking's spine as he considered what would keep Scimitar away from his pack for so long. How long could they go without their leader's presence? Things seemed to be in control for the moment but what happened if a loner caught on? Or a rival pack realized that the throne sat empty of it's king and empty of a substitute? It would spell disaster for Neverwinter. Each worry troubled him more than the last, and despite his initial purpose he found that the borders did not work well to distract him and though he deigned to focus upon his patrol he allowed himself to contemplate what constantly consumed his waking (and sometimes slumbering) thoughts.

The greyscale male came into view against the monochrome backdrop around him — and though he would never know it for once his monochromacy portrayed the other male's colors accurately — and Kjalarr's steps slowed to a halt, his muzzle lifting to inhale the air surrounding the other. He was a stranger but Allure's scent mingled heavily with his own. This roused some suspicion within Kjalarr who fancied himself into the role as one of Allure's big brothers. In all the ways that mattered he supposed that he was one of her big brothers. The Frostfur's (with the exception of Floki, of course) were the only family that Kjalarr had left these days. Though he had met with a daughter of Ragnar that claimed to be his eldest littermate Kjalarr still did not remember her and his memory or lack thereof mattered for their meeting had not ended on good terms. Unsurprising to Kjalarr who had accepted that there was something about him that would make his siblings through Ragnar resent him. Whatever the reason Kjalarr didn't care to investigate

“Hello,” Kjalarr greeted the other male with a dip of his head. Without Scimitar's presence to rank them Kjalarr was unsure of where they stood in the hierarchy and so settled for equality without anything distinctive to pull from. “I am Kjalarr,” He introduced himself and hesitated for a moment adding, “er Jorunn. I have long since shed that name but it is the name that my family knows me by. With more pressing and important matters at hand it seemed like an ill time to bring it up.” Eventually he would bring it up but not today and maybe not even in the foreseeable future. Yet it was worth mentioning if only because on the off chance Allure had mentioned him she would have used “Jorunn”.

The question that came from the other male was a very strange one. How did he know what? That Scimitar was absent? He doubted how anyone living in Neverwinter Forest couldn't have noticed it, nevermind that Allure had been forthcoming with the information. If Kjalarr would have found anything amusing given recent events he might have chuckled. As it was, there was a slight raise of his brow as he contemplated it. “Allure told me and Ondine when we arrived that father had left to find our missing little brother,” Kjalarr informed the other male slowly, wondering what was so secretive about it and how it was surprising that he knew of it. Perhaps to those outside of family and Neverwinter it should have been kept hushed from their ears for obvious reasons but for them it was evident and surely word had long since spread. Kjalarr wasn't sure when Scimitar had set out on his mission but he got the feeling that he should have been back by now. His tail flicked against his hind legs as he studied the male again, still (admittedly) confused. "I imagined all of Neverwinter Forest would have known by now." He added contemplatively, his ears slicking to rest at half mast.

Kjalarr did not understand the regret in the other male's voice, his eyes focusing upon him when he admitted that Allure, Cyrpress and him went searching. The lack of Scimitar's presence allowed Kjalarr to assume that he hadn't found him. Yet, if that was so then why was this male apologizing to him? Though the action was strictly subconscious Kjalarr ghosted a step closer, holding his breath his ears thrust forth atop his skull to catch the words that followed. Scimitar and Eshe. Killed. By a bear. At first, the words did not make sense. Kjalarr's ears pinned back to his skull as they formed a coherent meaning in his mind and instead recoiled back the step he had ghosted forward sharply as denial struck him true and deep. His head gave a shake as his tongue drew across his chops. No. No! It couldn't be. Scimitar couldn't be dead and certainly not by a bear. But the third apology slammed Kjalarr back to reality. It made sense as to why he was gone for so long even if his adoptive father's death was like a bullet to the chest — a low blow that if he were a man would have left him hunched over and staggered as he clenched his teeth against the pain.

Kjalarr struggled for a long moment, with his emotions. With the simple question of why. How was it that two adults found death at the mighty paws of a bear but Kjalarr had been fortunate enough to escape with his life the two times he, as a child, had came toe to toe with a bear. The three scars that cut across the bridge of his muzzle echoed with a phantom pain as he recalled both days. Why did the Gods always insist on giving with one hand and taking with the other? Following that came the: what happens next? “Thank you,” Kjalarr offered the male simply when he managed enough composure for it.

“Scimitar found me when I was a child not yet able to take care of myself. I was malnourished and dying when he took me in and gave me a home, a family. I never got the chance to repay him.” but perhaps in death he could yet find a way. “He was the only father I have ever known.” Not meant to be a slight to Ragnar but simply stated as the truth. Scimitar and Bazi had raised him and they were apart of him. In private, to Ondine even, he would surely break down as he further processed the realization that Scimitar was truly gone — as Whittier was — but here and now he struggled to remain composed. Partially because Shrike was a stranger to him and partially because there was an empty throne that needed filled and a sudden desire to do what he couldn't do for Scimitar in life: step up and carry on the legacy that his adoptive father had created for his family in the wake of his death.

“Yes,” Kjalarr murmured in contemplative agreement when Shrike spoke up. He did not feel the unbearing weight of guilt in Scimitar and Eshe's deaths as he had Whittier's but then again he likely could have prevented Whittier's death. Scimitar and Eshe's deaths were out of his grasp. Besides, who would have ever thought that the pair would fall to a bear? Not Kjalarr. Especially not Kjalarr who realized — with a shock like ice cold water tossed upon him unexpectedly — just how utterly fortunate that he'd been the two times he'd evaded near death by bears. He twitched his muzzle again as the phantom pain echoed unwelcoming in the dead nerves of the red, long since healed cicatrices across the bridge of his muzzle. “Losing your father is hard, even if you never really got a chance to meet them.” Kjalarr had lost both of the men that he called father in his life: the Viking King that had sired him and now the King that had raised him and yet Scimitar's death hurt worse than Ragnar's for obvious reasons.

“I will not push my presence upon her but would you mind letting her know that I'm here for her — whatever she needs, whenever she needs it.” Surely Allure already knew that but Kjalarr found that sometimes reassurances of such things were helpful. She was his sister and she was not alone in her grief. It was not one that she burdened alone. “And Cypress too-” Kjalarr had yet to meet his adopted younger brother but even so he would not turn either away if they sought his presence. His lips parted to speak again only to pause when he noticed the presence of a young, dark boy. For a moment, Kjalarr hesitated as he silently gestured to him with his muzzle, hoping that Shrike noted. He was not sure if it was Cypress or one of his cousins. “You can join us, if you'd like.” Kjalarr put out the invitation softly, finding that he had no idea how to speak to children — should he talk them like he would anyone else or like they were an animal easily spooked? Given the way the boy's ears pinned back and his tail tucked Kjalarr opted for an animal easily spooked.

Cypress had certainly seen better days, which was understandable given what he'd been through recently. For a moment, Kjalarr wondered if that was how he'd looked to Scimitar when he had found him, on the precipice of death, starving and unkempt on the Sound. Granted, Cypress was not starving and he had the whole of Neverwinter Forest to take care of him. “I am Kjalarr ...but our father would have called me Jorunn,” Kjalarr was unsure if Scimitar had ever told his sons about him or not but figured it was worth giving the boy his christened name just in case. It was a name for a boy long dead and it felt foreign as it left the viking's lips. Shrike suggested they go mark the borders and Kjalarr offered a sage nod of agreement. He found that the task of border patrols and marking always helped him to think, and at times, forget when he sought to — even if it was only a temporary fix and thus did not always work at all. Kjalarr strode to the invisible scent line and scraped his paws against the earth, adding his scent to the mixture.

“I was three months old when Scimitar found me and took me in as his own,” Kjalarr responded with Shrike’s question with a soft, fond smile tugging at his lips. “So for most of her life, and mine.” Allure had always been a sister to him, just as her brother’s had become his own. He’d never thought of Allure in any sort of romantic way and he wouldn’t. His gaze and attention slid back to Cypress when his younger brother spoke, asking his own question. “Jorunn was the name that my parents gave me at my birth but I felt that it no longer fit me. So I go by Kjalarr now.” He wasn’t sure why he felt that way. Perhaps rebellion against the family that (mostly) hated him, or because he truly didn’t feel like Jorunn anymore. For the sake of Cypress he didn’t say what he told most people: that Jorunn had drowned in the sea and the boy that had emerged was someone else entirely. He had too much of the Frostfur’s influence having basically been raised by them. He’d still been very impressionable when Scimitar and Bazi had adopted him into their brood. He did not bother to answer Cypress’ second question since he already had by answering Shrike’s question.