Týrr was not sure what had brought him back to Blackfoot Forest. Perhaps he anticipated to see Haunter here, to hear the ebony man with a missing ear's patronizing tone telling him all of the things he had done wrong in his hunt once more. Like Týrr had any control over the foxes that haunted that forest. He moved through the thick copses of trees, towards the heart of the forest, dappled in the sunlight that filtered in through the thick canopy above. He shook his head to dispel those thoughts. He wasn't sure why it still mattered, why he kept dredging it up like some sort of bitter memory that he really didn't want to forget. It had been his motivator for the months in which followed his departure from Swiftcurrent Creek. He didn't need it anymore, but the knowledge that he wasn't and never would be good enough for Fox still stung despite that he convinced himself that he was over her. Crushes didn't last forever, after all, and that had been all it had been.

Shed it, He chided himself mentally as he continued further, the trees becoming thicker, the sun having a harder time breaking through the thickening canopy. You came back to this place to let it go. To forget about him and Fox. Let it go. There were more important things in which he needed to focus his attention and time upon. Building his legacy, for one, allowing himself to plant roots, assisting Tuwawi and Njal with their fledgling pack. Crystalline blue eyes focused upon the darkening path before him, turning off his encumbering thoughts.

Deeper and deeper Týrr went, following the twisting and winding path of his own design, his goal to find the heart of Blackfoot Forest, letting go of what had pushed him so hard for months now, deigning to let go of it, of Fox and move on with his life. Onto what he was meant to become. Taking up his own legacy, severing the chord from Ragnar and shedding the Ragnarsson name. Týrr did not anticipate it being an easy feat, but he did feel that pledging himself to Tuwawi and Njal was a step in the right direction. Forming roots with a pack that had just began to plant their own, rather than trying to incorporate himself into what already was. It was time, for once, that he did not put Ragnar before himself. His father had clearly moved on with his replacement wives and replacement children. Týrr could not help the natural resentment he felt towards Ragnar's new families, no more than he could help the immature and teenage attitude that he had displayed when Thistle had brought her second born to meet him. There had been a reason as to why Týrr had not been back to see them, a reason that he had not been over enthusiastic to meet his half siblings.

Steps ceased when a title rang out along side the tell-tale sounds of footfalls against the hardened earth, the rustle of brush, vegetation and debris that littered the darkening forests' floor. Prince. For a second Týrr had thought only that he had imagined it, that the footfalls belonged to multiple foxes romping around instead of belonging to one being. With a shake of his head, the Rekkr continued forth, having convinced himself that it had been an illusion, only to pause once more when the sound became louder, accompanied by a name, this time. Tezcacoatl. The sound of the name was archaic, ancient sounding and exotic to the Northerner. It held connotations ...but it did not stir familiarity to him. You have mistaken me for someone else, Týrr told her simply, turning to face the woman who had mistaken him with this...Tezcacoatl. There were plenty of earth colored males around, and though he had used to believe that the markings beneath his eyes were unique now with one of his half siblings harboring fading ones (though the sandy colored child whose life he had subtly threatened had not) his confidence that she had mistaken him upon first glance was only strengthened.

She was mistaken, that was all.

The woman did not seem to find his assertion that she had confused him with someone else as an acceptable response. Instead she countered it with there is no mistake. Týrr was overcome with the urge to retaliate, to tell her that he knew what his own name was. It was his name, after all. My name is Týrr. Týrr Nýreldur. Not Tez...tezca...whatever. The name she had called him had been complicated to say and he would only stumble over it, embarrassingly, for a few moments. Týrr was being childish. He knew it. He loathed it, but then again he wasn't sure how he was supposed to act other than on the defensive when some strange women was standing in front of him calling him “her Prince” and trying to tell him that he didn't know his own name. You are mistaken. I'm not your Prince. I'm not anyone's Prince, He felt bad because well, he did. There was no definable reason for his guilt other than he was sorry that he wasn't who she was looking for. Sorry that he looked like her lost Prince. I'm sorry. Týrr murmured softly, in barely more than a whisper, casting his crystalline gaze down at the ground between them. Lately, it felt like he couldn't live up to anyone's expectations. Not Ragnar's — for his father felt it necessary to spawn and have children to replace him, not the Gods, not Fox's, and now he couldn't even meet the expectations of this stranger (though he was a wee confused as to why that bothered him so much).

Týrr felt broken. Even if he wasn't broken, he amended his thoughts, then he was having serious cases of insecurity lately. Something that the teenager hadn't really dealt with until a few months ago. Týrr had never been arrogant, nor conceited but his self esteem hadn't ever been low. He didn't know what was wrong with him, only that he wanted to be fixed. He wanted to prove himself, he wanted to be something.

He wanted to matter.

Despite that this woman did not seem to be suffering from the same discouragement as Týrr. She kept on, insisting that his name was Tezcacoatl, that he was the son of a Queen Quetzalcoatl, that apparently this Tezcacoatl was an Amazon. Which certainly didn't match anything that Ragnar and Floki had ever told him about the Amazon women. I am a Viking, He shook his head at her, almost wishing that she would let it drop, however was unable to help his insistence to point out what he thought was flawed in her explanation. My father and Uncle told me that Amazon women are chauvinists. That men have no standing in your ranks. They are useful only as slaves and for breeding. Týrr shifted his weight slightly at that, would have blushed if wolves could have. He was knowledgeable of what occured between a man and woman during breeding season but the young Rekkr was innocent in the actual act itself. Talking about it made him embarrassed but he didn't exactly want to put that out to anyone — especially not the fairer sex. So your Prince cannot actually be a Prince. He concluded, pleased with himself thinking that he had her tale pinned correctly as it was to him: a story.

Týrr was annoyed. Annoyed that this woman was arguing with him about who he was just because she had it in her head that he was someone else. Someone that she knew. There were a ton of earthen colored wolves out in the world ...and it was likely that her “Amazon Prince” was one of them. Or perhaps she was clinically unwell and her 'Tezcacoatl' was just a figment of her imagination. What she said went against everything that Floki and Ragnar had told them about their Southern neighbors in Coatl's Rise. It made no sense to Týrr. It was quickly made apparent that she did not appreciate his questioning of her words, pointing out what was obviously wrong to her. The growl that spilled forth from her lips as they curled back to reveal her teeth did little to scare Týrr. He recognized it as a warning, but the Heathen Prince was not frightened of the display, nor of the idea of fighting, not even afraid of death. It was the way of the Viking culture. Why fear something that they all looked forward too? To going to Valhalla? Despite that Týrr had always had a very hard time worshiping them. He even shared a name with a God, but even then the Rekkr struggled. Perhaps that in and of itself would bar him from Valhalla.

Right, Týrr spoke when she explained that the only reason her Tezcacoatl had his rank was because of the love of his mother. It made sense, Týrr guessed, a little bit. His mother had died in childbirth and he had never known her, one of Ragnar's “gifts” ended up being his surrogate milk mother, but the Rekkr had heard the stories that there was supposedly nothing stronger than a mother's love for her child. He wouldn't know from personal experience but that was what he had heard. Oh? You require me, Týrr inquired with a rise on his brow. I'm not going anywhere. Even if I did believe you, which I don't, because I have my memories of Ragnar, Floki, Helga — my family, His earlier memories were fuzzy, admittedly, his childhood almost non existent aside from what he had been told. He assumed that it was normal. That everyone forgot those things. I have a pack — a home here and I will not abandon them. Týrr would rather die than leave Duskfire Glacier. He felt at home within the ranks of Tuwawi and Njal's pack and respected the both of them greatly. Especially not for a delusional woman.

She was quick to hiss that the “memories” he had were lies and Týrr scoffed lightly at her, reminiscent of a incorrigible and defiant teenager. He did not want to see the sense in her words, did not want to even remotely accept that there might be merit in her words. Instead, Týrr chose to be stubborn and block out her words, brushing them off quickly so that he would not investigate them any further than he already had. Surprise stole across the Rekkr's expression at the disbelief and outrage in her voice when she re-stated what he had, simply in different words. That he was loyal to Duskfire Glacier and that he had no intentions of leaving. She was still adamant that he was her Tezcacoatl and he wondered if that meant she had intentions of leaving him alone or not. From her tone, it didn't seem that he did. Of course. I'm not a social hermit, Týrr told her, miffed. He had found something good with the Sveijarns and he did not intend on abandoning them. Not now, not ever. He was beginning to feel like he was making something out of himself and he enjoyed being apart of something much bigger than just himself, of being apart of it's very foundations. Helping to found a pack was so much more than just joining an already founded pack. He had been vital to it's creation, in his own way, and it made him feel (even if just a little) important. Rather than feeling the 'just another new member' vibe he tended to get sometimes from joining a previously established pack.

A breath of relief escaped the earthern Rekkr's muzzle when she spoke that she could see that she was wasting her time, only for Týrr to have to stifle his groan in the next moment when she spoke that she would just have to wait. Look ma'am, Týrr began a little impatiently, You really don't have to wait for me or anything. I'm not trying to be rude but why don't you just tell your Queen your Tezcacoatl died or something and go home. Because, frankly, he was beginning to feel a little creeped out by her persistence.

Short of what he had already offered her as a potential solution to her problem there was little else Týrr was willing to give her. She wanted him to drop everything and go with her — a stranger, expecting him to take her at her word when he had nothing that told him she was telling him the truth. Aside from her word, of course. For all Týrr knew though, she was just a crazy woman who had herself convinced he was her Prince (which was, admittedly, what he thought). I don't know what else to tell you, He spoke softly, with a soft shrug of his shoulders. I won't go with you. He had already made this clear, but she was exhausting what he had came up with as an alternative and, instead, he was left only her solution, which he was not willing to even compromise upon. He wasn't leaving Duskfire Glacier, period, and he certainly wasn't so trusting as to believe that his entire life, or what he could remember of it, was a lie. I have to get back, He told her. It was the truth, or, at least, part of it anyway. It wasn't as if he were chained to Duskfire Glacier. He had the liberty to go in and out of the territory but he didn't like being away for too long...and he was still unsure about her. Very, very unsure. I'll uh, see you. He didn't know if it was true, or not but he said it out of knee-jerk mannerisms, regardless. With those words he turned and offered her an awkward peek over his shoulder before he disappeared nearly over eager to be back on Duskfire soil.