The strike of Thor’s anvil was loud, shattering as it vibrated the ground that Ragnar stood upon, cracking through the sky viciously, followed by the feral strikes of lightning danced in the wake of Thor’s anvil. He felt the thunder God’s anger in the marrow of his bones because coupled with the suspicion and scouting of the lands out from Horizon Ridge it mirrored the platinum silver Viking’s own. He had felt confident enough in the ability of the others to keep an eye on Thistle for him while he was out of their pack lands for a few hours and really the path to the Tokota River was not hard to find and hardly what Ragnar would have considered a long journey since it was practically right at their borders. The landslide had forced them down to the shore, cutting them off from what was once the bulk of their territory and in this made the surrounding territories more or less off limits for claiming considering how close they were to the Ridge’s revised borders. The wolves of the Ridge held no claim to the lands outside their borders but they could be territorial about them and it had been of a common practice to speak with the leaders of a pre-established pack if you were close to them about claiming territories they might have been territorial about. In reality, it was a courtesy and not much else, neither wolf had to back down but if that was the case hostility was to be expected from the elder pack and it’s members.

Another strike of Thor’s anvil vibrated the bank beneath his paws and the wind rose and howled carrying with it the strength of many scents. Too many scents combined to be loners traversing casually. One, he recognized as the earthen hued male whom he had more or less chased out of Ravensblood. Gradually, with another fierce strike of lightning he recalled the man’s words of not intended to be apart of Silvertip Mountain’s ranks for long (henceforth informing Ragnar of a pack’s existence that he had not known of, previously). Another strike of Thor’s anvil cancelled out the low growl of hostility that bubbled in the Viking’s throat as he threw himself into the shallows of the river, crossing to the opposite side his fur soaked and dripping where he rose to the bank; black, leathery nose nearly touching the ground as he dissected the scents massed, crossing as he tracked to Sea Lion Shore, following their collaborative scent until he reached the water’s edge.

Icy Caribbean eyes took in the island with cold disdain, teeth baring as his hackles bristled studying it. It was a small distance to swim and even a small distanct to swim from it right into Horizon Ridge’s territory. Too close. It was in their view from their part of the shore, and he had already deduced it was short swim away for eiher wolves. Too close. Every pack was perceived as a threat to Ragnar, a threat to his wife and newborn children. A threat to his pack mates. He didn’t care if they stayed on their Isle for the rest of their days, minding their own business. That wasn’t the point. The Ridge wolves had no use for the Isle it was true — many points could be argued but to Ragnar the chance of the tide carrying them into the Ridge’s shore was too great and he took his duties as Head Warden too seriously to act as if there wasn’t a problem. Pump would likely get mad at him, for he was only her Beta and he had no real say but he was also Head Warden and besides that a father and his territorial instincts were through the proverbial roof.

He began to trudge into the sea, wicked and angered by the Thor’s conjured storm, the waves higher than usual crashing against his chest but there was a slope and after following it for a while he realized that it was likely how they made the journey, if they didn’t swim. The sandbar was far enough away but the chances of them ‘accidentally’ ending up in Horizon Ridge’s territory was highly possible and that was enough to alarm the Head Warden into taking action. He could not do anything other than talk without Pump’s permission but it was better to warn them all the same. Ragnar did not take trespassing lightly. It would result in death and if the Wardens under him weren’t willing to go to those measures then they could apprehend and he would do it. Too close, it hissed guttural and wise in the voice Ragnar recognized as the Allfather’s. Nostrils flared and a low harsh snort escaped him as he turned and moved back to the shore, trudged back across the Totoka River and moved back into Horizon Ridge’s claimed lands.