Stone Circle your crown is burning gold and blood

tagging @Valette but essentially all welcome! :-)

Wardruna has moved on from Duskfire Glacier, albeit with some internal reluctance. He has grown rather attached to the territory in the very short time he was there but being a lone wolf fills him with the insatiable urge to keep going, to never linger in one place for too long. This sense of urgency, to move from neutral territory to neutral territory is no doubt also heightened due to the oncoming winter. It breathes it’s promise of death of all things already: the temperatures are already cold and a snow shower had started early in the morning as the world was upon it’s cusp of yesterday and today. Wardruna’s winter coat is thick and heavy, the arctic percentage of his mixed heritage playing it’s part well: the cold does not bother him. Not truly. What bothers him is the achingly slowness in which he has had to re-teach himself how to hunt with the gradual loss of eyesight in his left eye. The wound over the eye has long since healed: the flesh around it scarred to act as a permeant reminder as is the hyphema that has caused blood to pool at the bottom of his left iris. It no longer causes him pain: the nerves of the eye damaged in what had been meant to be a spar to the death have long since died from the damage they’d received ( which is good because hel has read that hyphema can be extremely painful ). His injury was …is devastating in it’s own way: re-learning how to hunt ( and even now he struggles like a young pup at times ) and having to re-teach himself how to fight to make up for the loss of sight in his eye is a struggle. He defied the valkyries that had came for him. He fought and lived. Every day.

Wardruna knows true hunger, now. There are some days he catches only one rabbit and must ration it to last him the whole day. The pressure to find a pack to settle with even if just to ride out the winter is a heavy weight. He is acutely aware of his statistics for survival if he does not and they are not good. There is nothing that Wardruna would not do to ensure his own survival: this he has proven to himself time and time again. His steps slow as he comes upon the heavy scent of pack borders: a scent that has gradually been building with nearly every step he’d taken and he halts. He leaves what he hopes is a more-than respectful distance between their borders and himself judging by scent, relieved that his sight would not have made much of a difference in judging that sort of distance even if he’d still had twenty/twenty. Wardruna’s ears perk atop his skull and his tail hangs low lingering upon the line of neutral and mildly submissive as he tips his head back and lets out a low call for the pack’s leaders.

Valette was quite surprised when she heard a howl coming from the borders. The mother was with her young as they played outside and explored the world. She was very keen on them having a lot of play time. Now she ushered them to the den for a nap. They could handle being alone for a bit now they were around six weeks old. Plus, she trusted her other pack members to keep an eye out for them if they wandered too far.

The dark-colored female made her way to the border. It had been awhile since they had someone new knock on their door. She trotted closer with her head held high and her tail raised. She was the one in charge here and she liked the stranger to know that. Other than that her approach was neutral, not too unkind. She noticed that he kept a respectful distance. Valette approved.

"Welcome. These are the Easthollow borders," she stated as she stopped by the border. "You called for me," she added. It was a statement, but also giving him an opportunity to explain who he was and what he wanted. Valette glanced at him, noticing the eye injury that didn't look too great. Nevertheless, she would be open to what he had to say.

Wardruna watches as the woman materializes as if from thin air, like a valkyrie responding to his summoning with her head and tail high: letting him know she is the reigning queen without needing to so much as utter the words. Wardruna gives her a quick once over with his good eye, noting the dark coloration of her pelage and the striking green of her irises from the distance as they stand out against her dark coloration. From an aesthetic view he deduces that she’s pretty and wonder if she harbors sharp thorns like all pretty things tend to do. It does not go unnoticed by Wardruna as her gaze lingers upon his injured eye and ( albeit not for the first time ) he wonders how it looks. Does it paint him as the berserker he was, a young legend whose saga is imprinted upon his flesh or does it showcase him as a liability? The northerner’s posture lowers in respect of her displayed power, in acceptance of her dominance over him. A beggar has no need for unwarranted and narcissistic pride. He’s reminded of his valuable lesson everyday of what arrogance and superiority, of the falsities of immortality granted by youth can do.

“I am Wardruna,” He speaks when he is addresses by her formally, verbally. His accent is a drawing lilt, rolling off of his tongue languidly. His gaze lowers as he thinks through the translations in his head, trying to figure out how to word what he seeks from her in the tongue they share: common for it is not his mother tongue and translations are not always smooth or perfect. “I …leitast…ah strive? to join you?” He frowns slightly as his sentence comes out as more of a question than it does an assured statement. He is sure that he seeks a pack but alas he is not sure that “strive” was the word he was looking for. It’s not the word he was necessarily looking for but hopes that despite that she will understand what he means regardless.

Valette lowered her tail and muzzle into a neutral stance as the other accepted her dominance. Valette was not a fierce ruler that demanded submission from her followers when she came close. Easthollow was a family. For her, it was most important that strangers knew she was in charge. Once they joined she became less dominant. She felt more like the head of a family. The one that made the decisions. Now the stranger accepted that she was more than fine to become more neutral. "I'm Valette," she introduced.

As the male spoke, Valette realized that he had an accent. Valette didn't mind. One of her fellow pack members, Calloon, was mute and he functioned fine. Keoni also didn't talk much. Valette bobbed her head to show him she understood. She didn't look down on his injury. Grayday, a former pack member, also had been lacking vision and he functioned well enough. "We have room for you," she confirmed and offered him a kind smile.

"Do you have any skills to offer to this family?," she asked. Now Sunny was gone they could use another young male to help with patrolling borders and checking the caches. Especially, as she was busy with her three children. Valette would understand if the male needed rest first. But she would have others keep an eye out for him if he wouldn't just rest, fill his belly, and leave after that.

Valette, Wardruna tucks the name away placing it with the image of her face though his gaze does not linger upon it but for a mere moment. Umbra tipped ears cup forth atop his skull, alert, before they swivel back as he processes her information: that they have room for him. He studies her paws for a moment thinking that if she is bothered by his translation of what he means to tell her that she does not show it. A kindness, perhaps. Such an unorthodox concept to him. Kindness; yet he can see it in the soft smile that curls upon her lips. It is evident and Wardruna struggles between whether he should be appreciative or insulted — for is kindness pity? Or is truly selfless compassion? Though even that term is fuzzy to him. Kindness and compassion have no translation in his mother tongue, and little place in his culture. He was not shown compassion when he was exiled from his home because he had lost the challenge and did not die. For a boy that had only ever sought to impress his father as much as his beloved gods being branded an outcast and disgrace ignite a feral inferno within him. At least they have not turned from him.

Skills. His ears perk once more and he thinks on it for a few moments. “I was a warrior. I have been …læra, ah learning? how to fight without my left eye.” It is far from easy and without a proper sparring partner it’s even more of a challenge. He’s adapting as best he can. Maybe he would never be the berserker he’d once been. Wardruna has come to accept that as a possibility: but that does not mean he cannot teach, that does not mean he cannot intercept strangers and loners at the borders, that he cannot rely on his physical presence to work to his advantage. “I can be advised,” His brow furrows and he gives his head a shake. “No, pað er ekki rétt,” He murmurs mostly to himself, frustration slowly building. “I can advise on war and protection. I can teach.” Yes, that sounds…better, at least. His salmon pink tongue draws across his lips as he considers that he will have to spend some more time listening to the wolves of this land speak so that he might better be able to communicate without so many mistakes regardless of what comes to pass with this Easthollow.

The alpha female kept her eye on the male as he seemed to struggle with his words. She had the patience. After all, she was raising three pups 'by herself'. She had grown patient. Technically, she did not raise them herself. Especially now they were starting to socialize she would need the pack even more. It was really a pack effort. But she felt like she was doing it on her own, without a mate. Without Steady.

Valette could tell that he was a warrior. She was a bit reminded of Ezekiel when seeing this male. The same gray tones and warrior-like background. She was certain that once she would get to know him better he might be very different from Ezekiel and Steady. Seeing that Ezekiel was more in the background and Steady was deceased they could use a strong warrior. She nodded shortly. "We could use a warrior in our pack," she spoke. She stepped closer, taking in his scent better.

"Well, that would mean you are the newest member of Easthollow!," she quirked up her lips into a smile, her tail gently swaying. "If you want to practice your sparring you can approach Mawk or Ezekiel. They both have fighting skills. I cannot really help you with that, but I could help you with hunting if you need it," she offered.

Valette also wanted to offer that he could teach the young of Mawk and Cebra but she felt it wasn't her place to say so. Wardruna was still new in this pack. It would take a bit of time before he would be fully part of their family. Valette lifted her tail once more. "Follow me," she instructed. She would show him one of the empty den's close to the border, so he would have a place to say if he felt like sleeping in a den. Before Valette had her children she never really slept in a den but now with her young ones she really preferred it.

Welcome!! :D <3

thanks! :D

Wardruna gives a solemn nod as she speaks that they could use a warrior in the pack wondering if he can even call himself such anymore. What is a warrior that has to re-learn? Like a newborn pup trying to accumulate to his sudden and unexpected eyesight ( or lack thereof in his case ). He has been honest with her about how his blind eye affects him: that it has taken it’s toll on him. He has not come right out and said it ( because he has to maintain some degree of dignity after all ) but there are many days or nights he goes without food because he has misjudged and his prey has slipped away from him. So he rations what he does manage to catch or if he’s lucky enough stumbles across a partially eaten carcass. Surely, she is clever enough to put two and two together without needed him to verbally confirm it. Yet, still, she accepts him. She accepts him with a smile and a gentle sway of her tail; and Wardruna is surprised. In his culture his injury is grounds for chasing him away. Leaving him to die a very slow death or barely survive always on the cusp of death but never getting the reprieve as he struggles and fights to live…neither of them necessarily kinder than the other.

His ears pivot back to rest at half mast atop his skull as she mentions two wolves: Mawk and Ezekiel to potentially spar with. There is a metallic taste in his mouth when she offers to help him with hunting but he bites his tongue so hard that he nearly draws blood as he gives a brisk, curt nod of thanks. He shouldn’t have to have help hunting. He’s a full grown adult. He was a commander of the berserkers and now …now he’s essentially disabled. At least until he learns to work around the lack of vision in his left eye. He hates himself, he hates the chieftain, he hates his eye. So much hatred, self-loathing and fury seething just beneath his skin. She beckons him to follow and he does so, crossing over the scent borders as he follows where she leads him dutifully.

The male stayed silent in all his responses. Just some nods here and there. Valette didn't look down upon the male. She helped Grayday with how he could hunt with his lack of vision so she figured it would be much the same with this guy if he would accept her help. The female trotted into the territory. "We have a forest and some wide plains in our territory. In the middle is Stone Circle. You will know when you see it," she explained.

Valette trotted further along the border until on the edge of the forest there was a den under the roots of a large tree. "Here is a free den, if you prefer sleeping in den's at night," she showed him. Valette then turned and moved into the forest. Not that far away was one of their caches. She reached the spot. With a fine nose, the male was probably able to smell the meat that was buried. Valette turned towards the male.

"Here is a cache. Feel free to take what you need," she spoke. "Guess, I will be letting you settle in now. You have a place to sleep and some food. Make sure to meet the others of the pack, alright?," she spoke. She would tell the others as well that they would have a new wolf in their pack.

it seemed like a good place to conclude & archive this. i hope that's ok! :D

Wardruna follows her at a respectful distance to keep the place of subordinate and leader evident but also so that he can keep her in his line of sight, else he runs the real risk of accidentally running into her if she should stop and is out of the perceptual vision of his right eye. He tucks the information away that she offers him: forest, plains and something she calls a stone circle. The northerner studies the available den she leads him to, studying it with a critical eye thinking that once the tour is finished he will return to it to investigate it further. She moves on and he follows in her wake to the cache she leads him to. To Wardruna’s chagrin his stomach lets out a low rumble at the prospect of succulent meat and saliva rushes to pool in his mouth as she announces that she will let him settle in. “Thank you.” If it is not the first time he has uttered those words in his life it is certainly the first time that they’ve been sincere. He offers her a sage nod in acknowledgement to her request to meet the others of the pack. He will, once his hunger is sated and he’s investigated his den a bit further. He’s never been one to sleep in a den but with the colder months upon them it seems practical to seek a shelter that might hold his warmth. After she departs he unearths the meat cache and shifts through it with his nose, picking out a bit of meat and settling upon his stomach in a sphinx-like position to dine and enjoy knowing that he will have to put forth twice the effort to try to replace what he takes from it.