The days were becoming cooler, proving Thistle's prediction that the Harvest months were upon the Teekon Wilds. Stavanger Bay had begun preparing for the winter that was to come; Ragnar did not put much stock in the Naturalist trade but he would turn to his Priestess Wife to see what she thought. Would Fimbulvetr be upon them — the harshest of winters — or was it just like any other winter? What defined winter for these Southern wolves? Each winter at Odinn Cove was harsh, unforgiving, merciless ...much like the Nordic wolves, born of her blood. Ragnar did not fear winter, having endured many harsh ones in his three years of life. His coat had already began to thicken, the tendrils of platinum silver becoming coarser in anticipation. They were wolves and Ragnar was faithful. They would adapt and survive. Their weekly hunt had not been a success, their prey slipping from the grasp of Death's jaws like smoke. They felt the loss of the elk, and it had been like a slap in their faces, but he was determined to try harder the next hunt. It was not the first time prey had eluded them and it would, surely, not be the last. As long as they avoided taking from the caches and made sure that they were filled then Ragnar did not worry so much. Thistle, he knew, was nervous about Verrine and Julooke's children, and the to-be children of Nerian and Ragnar himself, but Ragnar knew that he would die before he let a single child die of hunger or freeze to death. Be it Julooke's or his own. The fact that his children with Thistle were old enough to begin contributing to the pack was a bonus. A great bonus.

He had been wondering around Ravensblood Forest, enjoying the presence of the ravens, those of Odinn. Odinn's life force was felt within the ground, the trees, his voice resounding upon the wind within Stavanger Bay but his ravens housed in the Forest of Ravensblood and sometimes, Ragnar enjoyed the presence of the avian(s). He had been on the borders, watching Huginn and Muninn circle one another, their cries a soothing sound to the scarred Scandinavian when a howl went up for him. It sounded closer, within the Gryfalcon Keep territory — a little too far from Stavanger Bay. Brow furrowed with caution and for a second Ragnar considered not seeking out whatever beast had called for him, the sound of the song unfamiliar to him. Curiosity won out, as it always did and Ragnar found himself heading in the direction of the call, pace slowing when he came upon the ebon colored male, eyes of caribbean ice narrowing as he took him in. Who are you? Ragnar demanded in his soft, accented voice. Why have you summoned me? He smelled of the pack that Silvertip had became — the name escaped him currently because he had no real reason to remember it.

The respectful bow was noted by the scarred Scandinavian but the Northerner made no moves to return it. Instead he stared, fixing the ebon male in a glacier cold stare, waiting for his questions to be answered. Scarred ear flicked as the male began to speak, introducing himself and then prattling on that he had heard about Stavanger Bay. He spoke of a friendly visit, and further about gifts. Gifts. Ragnar did not bother to hide his perplexity, instead sniffing at the air. The man himself smelled like a stranger but the scent of the pack he carried rung a bell of familiarity in the Jarl's nose. It wasn't until the other man clawed his way up the three — a feat that likely would have perplexed Ragnar if he had not watched Floki do it more times than he could count in their youths — that the familiarity of the scent slammed into Ragnar. Viciously. A low growl ripped from the Viking's chest as he stepped back when the objects began to drop from the tree. He recognized the pack scent because it had been the scent of Julooke's attacker. It had lingered there, on the scene of the crime, when Ragnar had went to investigate it.

Ragnar's distrust rose like bile in his throat and as the man descended from the tree, the Jarl's eyes were sharp as they touched upon him, the gifts lain ignored on the ground, the words about the meats they supposedly contained went in one of Ragnar's ears and straight out the other. I do not want your gifts, The Jarl spoke in a low, threatening murmur. I want to know why you are really here. One of your pack mates attacked mine a while ago and until he is dealt with I have nothing to say to you or the pack whose scent you carry, And he sure as hell wasn't accepting gifts. The only thing that spared Adair was the fact that he did not have white eyes. Do you know where I can find a white eyed man? Was all Ragnar further asked. He would find the man responsible for nearly ending Julooke's life and Ragnar would make sure that that he paid in full for what he had done to her.

You are not my friend, Ragnar spoke simply, coldly when the male known as Adair called him my friend. What wolf joins a pack and doesn't know any of it's members? To Ragnar it sounded like he was one of those wolves that joined a pack, used up their resources while it suited them and then left. He'd had quite a few of those in Stavanger Bay and every time it crawled under his skin. It was an itch he could not scratch and he found the more it happened the more he was beginning to hate wolves like that. He almost hated them as much as he hated trespassers. Almost, but not quite. Packs were not there for convenience or charity. At least, Stavanger Bay wasn't. They were a family and it disgusted him that this male, obviously, had no intentions of staying with the Spine pack as he stated when he spoke in the next breath about helping another. So, he had just joined the Spine two days ago but during that time decided he was going to abandon them by helping another?

A smirk graced the scarred Scandinavian's lips but it was far from being one of mirth. It was a dangerous thing — his smirk. It hid his disgust well not that Ragnar did not intend to be straight forward with him. It was rare that the Jarl ever held anything back. He was cruel, merciless, heartless even but at least Ragnar wasn't two faced.

Then why did you join them? Why are you carrying around their scent? Using their resources when you don't even intend to stay. Two days you said since you joined and already you have betrayed them. What is the point of being so two faced? Whatever Adair's plans had been Ragnar hoped that he was ruining them. The Viking was not a friendly individual and the words that spewed from the other man's lips did nothing to improve his image in Ragnar's eyes. Keep your gifts svikari. Take it to the pack you have betrayed. Perhaps they will accept it instead of tearing out your entrails. Ragnar's smirk deepened as his nostrils flared with the idea. It was what Ragnar would have done. He was going back to his hardened roots — how he had been in Odinn's Cove. The Wilds had made him softer but his heart was turning to ice once more, the savagery taking over.

If you have nothing useful to offer me I suggest you leave me. It was already obvious that Adair did not have anything to offer him in the terms of the male that Ragnar hunted and thus Ragnar did not feel the need to be conversational.

Ragnar had no regard, no feeling for lives that were not his own, that did not belong to the wolves of Stavanger Bay. The lives of the others meant nothing to him — just flames to snuff. It was how it had always been to him and it was how it would always be. No mercy. No regrets. Only death. Even though death wasn't something that he feared. It was a goal, something that he aimed for. To be enough to end up in Valhalla when his time came. Excuses, Ragnar hissed through bared teeth. He didn't care because it wasn't like Stavanger Bay was the one being effected by this male's treachery. He could try to explain himself until he was gasping for a proper breath but he would never convince Ragnar of anything different. It was treachery to him and lower than low to put up the pretense of being interested in a pack only to abandon them for something better after they had been generous enough to allow Adair into their fold. Into their family. Too many times had this happened to Ragnar and if he knew a way to make wolves either stay or walk away at the borders if they intended to leave he would. It was a waste of time and resources to keep accepting wolves like that into a pack over and over.

I did not claim that you used their resources to make those, Ragnar's lip curled as he gestured to them sharply with his muzzle. Snapping his teeth together in a clear warning when the other male neared to roll the bundles towards Ragnar. It had been a long time since Ragnar had had a decent fight and the Berserker within him was begging and pleading to be left loose. To embrace the high of battle. Ragnar resisted though it was with a lazy effort that he did so. You may twist my words to make yourself look like a martyr but you are betraying them. If it was Stavanger Bay you'd have done it too I would have killed you, At least Ragnar was honest. Brutally honest, sure, but honest all the same. Keep your words, traitor. I have no regard for your life and care not if you have regard for mine. I care for my pack but their lives are all that matter to me. Not some strangers. With those words Ragnar turned and walked off leaving the Spine traitor's bundles and supposed advice behind him with no intention of returning to either, ever.

The ebony elder kept speaking even as Ragnar turned his back and walked away. Ragnar was not a child and Adair was not Eitri. Ragnar didn't need to be patronized for his thoughts. It was how he had felt and how he would always feel and, frankly, he didn't recall asking for the opinion of the other man. It was not illogical for Ragnar to distrust a man whom he did not know, and entirely reasonable to spurn the gifts of a wolf who regardless was not only a traitor in Ragnar's eyes but also a part of the Spine pack. Especially given the fact that it was a Spine wolf that attacked and nearly killed Julooke. Julooke...who was like a daughter to him despite that he suspected that they were about the same age. I do not respect wolves who have no honor. Do not be a bigot because my thoughts are not the same as yours, because I spurn you and your gifts. I do not know you and your life means nothing to me. I expect nothing less from you or any stranger, Ragnar's steps paused so that he could speak to the elder over his shoulder, a trademark smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. Adair was only shoving his paw in his mouth, spewing off about how Ragnar assumed and yet he was doing the same thing. Assuming. That he had had any idea why Stavanger Bay followed Ragnar, or how Ragnar led his pack. You talk to me of assumptions like you are high and mighty and yet, you do the same thing. Just because I have no regard for your life and no respect for strangers that I do not know, that have not earned it, and no need for allies does not mean anything. I respect and love my subordinates. They are my family; but I owe you no explanation. You are more than free to try to tell my pack why they should not follow me. See how far you get. Ragnar was a different wolf with his pack, but he didn't care what Adair did with the information.

Alliances are false, just as allies are. It is a false peace filled with lies. If a war were to break out tomorrow between two opposing packs and they called upon the packs in which they had an alliance with those wolves would not come. A smart leader looks out for his pack and sacrificing their lives pointlessly in a false and fickle friendship does not make a good leader. Odinn's Cove only had one ally but that was because they were a sister pack — created only because the Cove had swelled to too big of a size. Freyja's Moors was a branch off of the Cove, an extension rather than an actual pack. The Jarl played by a whole different set of rules. He wasn't like other men, or the posh Southern wolves. He was an epitome of his upbringing, his culture and the environment in which he had been born into and endured. The words of the old man were an annoyance at most. An old man who thought that his way was the right way and that Ragnar was wrong and unworthy of leading because he was not the same. Because he did not make friends with outside packs — though there were the odd exceptions, his mind going to Blacktail Deer Plateau those that friendship was born purely out of coincidence. Ragnar had traveled a bit with Blue Willow and had earned Peregrine's respect by taking in his daughter when she had washed up upon the shores of Ravensblood Forest. It wasn't like Ragnar had done that for the sake of earning the DiSarinno's respect. It had just happened.

This meeting has nothing to do with how I lead my wolves. You are not my subordinate and you know nothing about me or my pack. I have been leading for a very long time, before I came here, before I had even reached my sexual maturity, Leading the Berserkers wasn't quite the same as leading a pack but it was similar in many ways and Ragnar had been the youngest to be chosen as the Head Berserker, beating out his older brother by a milestone. If I was a terrible leader as you assume that I am they would have risen against me long ago — they would have killed me, Ragnar's smirk widened keeping a sharp, fierce and cold eye upon the ignorant fool who dared to tell him that he was leading wrong. Do yourself a favor, old man. Realize that you do not know everything and stop pretending to know about wolves when you understand nothing. You do not know me or Stavanger Bay no more than you know anything about the Spine wolves whom you are betraying. I would keep my jaw shut if I were you, before you get yourself killed. With those words Ragnar departed for good, eager to be back in Stavanger Bay, putting the Spine fool out of his mind with the intent to, instead, to check on Julooke and see if she could tell him anything more about her attacker.