The mid afternoon was warmer yet than it had been since Björn’s arrival in the Teekon Wilds, and while the sun remained obscured by clouds that nearly covered the sky Björn did not, nor could he complain. After a long, frigid winter up north - though he never expected anything but the harshest - it was sort of nice to feel the warmth and promise of Spring dance across the tendrils of platinum silver fur that covered his body. This was not to claim that Björn liked these lands better than the North because he did not - it was too tropical for him, despite that it was anything but tropical. Nevertheless, someone had to spread the way of the Vikings, and if he had deigns of gathering followers and conquering a territory then he would have to put up with it and stay here. As it was, the grander, large scale plans were temporarily placed out of his current focus. He had stayed longer near Swiftcurrent Creek’s borders than he had initially planned too, half of him hoping for a brief glimpse of his son while the other half spurned the notion. His attachment to the boy not born of his loins was an odd one, borne of his desire to hold power over the Amazon Queen by flaunting his creation in the child of her loins, but had someone grown to become the true affection of a genuine father, instead.
He had never caught a glimpse of Sveinn but he had ascertained that his boy resided there, catching his scent quite frequently. That was enough and contented Björn aimed to move forward. There was much to do, and all of it needed a clear mind to do it. His journey back to Horizon Ridge was slow, he was sure he was not missed for he was not a critical and important part of the pack to be missed. Either that would change, or it wouldn’t - in which case Björn could continue forth with his plans without playing a part that he was reluctant to play. It did not feel right to act the meek, submissive good fella when it went against nearly ever fiber of his brutish and boarish nature. He could not be tamed, this was a simple truth. The pungent scent of dampened earth filled his nostrils as the sound of moving water caused his scarred and unscarred ear(s) to perk. Moving towards the bank the Viking paused at it’s edge, lowering his head exposing the strong curve of his spine as he lapped at the cool and refreshing water, ears alert for any sound of possible approach.
A patrol never ended along the skirts of one’s borders. True protection of it extended beyond to ensure the lands surrounding were safe and secure as well. However unmarred, they were attached to the grounds marked under responsibility, and as with her own land, the Gamma took care to scrutinize it. No scent was left untouched by leathered nostrils. No sight unseen by wide, bi-colored eyes. Her pace was purposeful, steady yet brisk to ensure the land felt beneath was sturdy and familiar.
She traced the familiar paths from the sloping mountains, rising upward until she thread along the width of its face. Occasionally she paused by a brush to nose through its nearly barren branches. A billy had walked by, and was perhaps still in the area. She would see fortune in her favor that day if she could bring its hide back to the fold. She nodded to herself but left the trail alone, fixated instead on the path ahead to the overlook.
Below bubbled the sounds of a tranquil stream undoubtedly channeling south to fill the basin of the hidden lake. She was careful upon the moistened earth, letting no paw linger too long as she bound for another hold. An inhale would catch the musk of another, yet her eyes did not veer to them only the slippery path ahead. A curious glance at so crucial a moment could bring about injury. Or worse… the loss of her fortune. |
Björn remained down wind of the multicolored female and did not immediately scent her, but there were succumbing sounds, the sound of hoof beats against toughened and sharpened rock, followed in heartbeats of a second by the heavy thuds of a predator. Scarred and unscarred ears slicked back to his head as it rose from the water’s surface, droplets free falling off of his wet chin, salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls to capture them before they could continue to presently drip, drawing over leathery, black nostrils as he took a decided step back from the bank, repositioning himself to see the billy goat hopping along in the hopes of losing it’s stalker - a fire kissed wolf whose gender he could not exactly determine without being up close, or scenting it. Nevertheless, could he be so heartless and let it take down and slaughter the goat?
Lips twitched back from his teeth in a moment of contemplating knowing he would have to make his decision and soon.
Of course it was inherently rude to ruin another’s hunting and would lead in anger and likely an attack, but at the same time it was a goat. This made some small measure of difference to Björn for he had once had a baby goat as a pet until his older brother, (the original Björn) had killed it and eaten it. It was not as insignificant as one might think because goats were associated with the god Thor, a son of Odinn. As it was the Viking did not care much for if it was rude or not - surely a creature that raided and murdered wolves that didn’t bother fighting back didn’t care about social customs (he didn’t, really) and let out a bark to announce his presence, lest it had went unknown, figuring that if the other wolf came charging at him if it lost it’s prey he could innocently suggest that he had not seen the goat. If wasn’t fool proof but Björn was confident in his cunning abilities.
Dexterous steps had led her nearer to the trail, enough that she could hear the clatter of dainty hooves atop the rocks. Already, the female’s maw was parted in the ready, eyes trained forward and searching for the dingy hide of her quarry. Her steps remained quiet, a whisper upon the earth, lesser still as she slouched to a predator’s progressive stalk. Her shoulders rolled with purpose, nose quivering with anticipation. As she ascended the crest of stone she felt her heart quicken. A bound perhaps and she might-
A sudden bark erupted from below destroying the hunting calm. Furthermore, the click of hoofed toes began to scramble, and in a flash was the dull grey of her prey heading down the steep slope of the mountain’s ledge. In an instant, she hunt was lost. Her fortune gone and prize unattained.
The hunter remained still in her crouch with wide eyes fixed upon the origin of the sound. She hadn’t realized she had turned to it until the adrenaline eased from her bristled shoulders, and a semblance of sentient thought returned to her. That sound had come from a wolf like herself… and as it had been from a wolf, surely the fool could smell game same as she if near. Furrowing her brows, she righted herself, strong head stiff and expression disturbed as she turned from her trail now cold toward the announcement.
“Have you no sense of the hunt?” the female growled, creeping down from the bend towards the lake’s recess, tail lashing in anger behind her. |