The sun had began it’s ascension into the morning sky, the thick and abstract cloud stark against the sky painted with the velveteen colors of dawn, vibrant goldens, oranges, pinks, and even deep violet. Sharp eyes of Caribbean ice studied it for a moment, the rising of the sun, before the platinum Viking pushed out of the borders of Horizon Ridge, feeling his hackles bristle with both tension and relief. Tension because, for the short couple of hours he would be working on further claiming their Bay he would be absent from the Ridge’s borders, unable to keep an eye on their neighbors and the bear that now haunted their land looking, obviously for blood. Relief came in second only because it was a selfish feeling. Relief because he would be going, for however it long to continue fortifying borders, to his favored territory far away from the murderous bear and the Isle wolves. In a manner, it still felt cowardly to the Viking who had been born in blood and bred for battle; he was weary and blood sick and didn’t have enough fighters to insinuate a war that he knew his wolves, a war that Ragnar really didn’t want. So, he was being the bigger man and diplomatic leader by moving his pack elsewhere because between the two pressing forces he had no other, peaceful choice.

The bear had left another gruesome corpse for Ragnar, and unease, even still, caused the man’s guard hairs to bristle along his spine. Thankfully, it was not a wolf this time, but a doe and though there was a part of Ragnar that thought it was wasteful to let it go he didn’t dare eat it, or let it above the earth for any other to eat it. Ragnar couldn’t help the feeling that the damned creature was taunting him, reminding him of what he could do — as if Pump’s severed spine and blood drenched body hadn’t been enough of a neon sign. The longer the relocation was prolonged the more anxious the Northman began to feel. He inhaled deeply and let it out, supposing that he could only keep doing what he was doing and keep encouraging his wolves to spend more time in the Bay than they did in the Ridge until they could get themselves relocated.

Ragnar’s pace slowed as he approached the Totoka River, bending his head down to give pause for a moment and lap at the cool, rushing waters before he would seek out the shallows that provided fairly safe passage through it to continue on his way. For now, the Viking was contented with enjoying his drink.

Peace, Ragnar knew, could never last. It was an illusion because there were wolves out there always looking for more. Bigger pack lands, better hunting grounds. Just because Stavanger Bay was in untamed territory within the Teekon Wilds didn’t mean the lands would stay relatively untamed by wolves for very long. Ragnar wasn’t a fantasts and did not hold to that belief with any sort of concreteness. Still, the respite from intruding neighbors, what would likely be fights over hunting grounds, and a murderous bear (or in general the curse that he suspected plagued the lands of Horizon Ridge) was a welcomed one. The scarred Northman yearned for Stavanger Bay even now as he paused on his journey there. He was exhausted, though he never allowed himself to be exhausted to the point where it would affect his everyday functioning (he had too much work to do for that), but his motive lately had became a morbid one: I will rest when we are relocated or when I am dead. Though, of course, the latter wasn’t precisely true since he was well aware of what happened in Valhalla and it wasn’t rest. Even in death he would train to be apart of the most important army to come forth to battle the forces of Ragnarök.

For the second time within a week’s span of one another, a Wheeling Gull Isle wolf approached the scarred Northman on the Totoka River. Pupils within their pools of Caribbean ice narrowed as his brow furrowed as his face was still bent to the river, the crisp and cool water gliding over parted lips and splashing up against his chin as Ragnar’s salmon pink tongue darted in and out in a final lap of the water as his head rose, droplets of water clinging to the damp fur of his chin sliding off back into the endless movement of water along the bank of stone and earth. It was true, so far, that this ebon creature of the Isle was not hunting, did not smell to have been hunting and therefore the Viking could not make good on his promise of chasing them out even if it was free territory. Still, the Northman wondered if either Majesty was slacking on telling his the warning, or if he was becoming so arrogant that he simply didn’t care.

There had been no hostility in the smaller man’s approach, and none still in his greeting though Ragnar did not return it wondering how different this meeting might go from Beric’s. Beric had been looking to flee Majesty’s ship and Ragnar had offered him shelter and a place in the Bay though he had yet to hear of Julooke and Verrine’s relative. He suspected he was taking care of unfinished business within the Isle but that was only an educated guess. In retrospect, Ragnar didn’t really know. The male spoke again, stating what was obvious to Ragnar (he had became well acquainted with their scent so he would know it without doubt) though it burned his black, leathery nostrils like a physical insult he cocked his right ear, unmarred and pristine towards the creature. He stated that he was there to learn about the lands and other packs, though he, at least, made sure to include it was on his own designs and not Majesty’s — though Ragnar could not help but wonder if there was a difference so long as he served under the Isle alpha — and then came the question of where Ragnar was from.

For a second, the platinum Northman contemplated not answering, but then he could not deny this curious creature the harmless information, at least. He had to appreciate curiosity if only because Ragnar, himself, strove, following in the footsteps of the All-Father, knowledge. “I am from Horizon Ridge,” Ragnar’s voice was masculine but soft by nature, lacking the boisterousness of his ilk, though accented quite heavily giving away that he had been born much further away than Horizon Ridge. The Viking offered the other a coy little smirk, a trademark of his as his head canted towards the Isle wolf, waiting for a new barge of questions, if this creature had any.