Stavanger Bay Ever Consuming Fire

Thistle woke after Ragnar did and padded after he left the den. She had her own agenda today, she was going to do some hunting. She was not a hunter in the least, but the empty caches were making her nervous. Not to say that there were many that were empty, she was just probably worrying for nothing, but with babes coming within days and with Nerian possibly getting pregnant, her instincts were in hyper drive, hunt hunt and more hunting. She stepped into the grassy meadow, just as the animals were beginning to waken.

With a small smile she bent her body forward her body low to the ground and she wagged her tail once and then she stood still for a moment. Seeing a flurry of movement, she burst forward from her hiding place and snapped up the rabbit with a quick jab of her jaws. Crunching it's jugular it hung from her maw, fat and juicy as it was getting ready for winter too. She watched for more movements, getting into position once more and she waited quietly for the next poor creature to cross her path, today...today she was out for blood, she was taking care of her family.

Oh hi!

He had dragged himself inland after being reluctantly admitted by Ragnar, the Lord, no, Jarl of the Bay. He wasn't sure if he was considered part of the pack, or just some stowaway. Either way, the only one who seemed nice to him was the Jarl's wife, Thistle Cloud, a healer. She was part of an elite few: people who actually cared for him. But she didn't know who he was, what he'd done. And he would keep it like that for as long as possible.

The Dread Knight hunkered down in the grass, storm-gray eyes narrowed slightly. They flickered to sudden movement nearby, and he saw the healer with a rabbit swinging in her jaws. He lifted her head, chuffing softly to get the attention of his healer. "A fine catch, my Lady." He congratulated her.

Thistle was not usually judgmental, so she chose to not judge the male Mordred. She did not know where he came from, she didn't need to know. He was here now and she was healing him. Rest seemed to be doing him the most good, she had only used minimal herbs, but it seemed to have worked. Perhaps he just needed someone to care for him. She enjoyed caring for others, it gave her a purpose. When there was no one to care for, she felt adrift in a sea of emotions and sadness and she felt out of place.

Thistle heard words and looked around the rabbit swinging limply to and fro. She dipped her muzzle and lay the rabbit at her feet, licking the remnants of blood from her plush fur and muzzle. Thank Mordred. She grew quiet then and studied him Your wounds are okay?

"Better, I suppose." He said, a tinge of annoyance in his circumstances evident. "My external wounds are better than before, they're starting to scab over." He was afraid to move too, lest he rip the scab open and bring his healing process back by a few more days. "My chest hurts like hell, however. Sometimes I even cough up blood." The former King said in a nonchalant, matter of fact tone. He spoke as if it was something mundane, like the weather.

The gray and silver male kept quiet for a moment, hearing the audible raggedness of his breathing. "Your Lord, excuse me, Jarl, he is a very harsh man." he chuckled. "I don't blame him. But it really wasn't my fault for washing up on his shores."

Thistle tilted her head at his annoyed tone adn stared at him. Ah annoyance at your predicament, i can't say i feel bad for you. Wounds like that they happen for a reason i find. She was not being rude, merely pointing out the truth of the matter. She laid her ears to her skull at his next words, then flicked them back up. It sounds as if your insides are bleeding. I will find you some stinging nettle to eat, that should calm any internal bleeding. Lucky for you stinging nettle is common. She would have to soak it in water first, but then it should be fine for him to eat.

Thistle tilted her ears My husband is a harsh man yes, you are lucky I am allowed ot heal you. As a matter of fact I imagine if I was not his wife, you would not be getting healed at all. He would have ended your suffering. He is from a different culture than you or I a harsher one. I do not fault him for it, and most times I like it. It meant he did not give where she may give, and cause problems. He held fast to his ideals and his decisions and did not waver.

He suspected that he had internal bleeding. Perhaps one of his fractured ribs snagged against his insides and cut it open. It had happened to him before, but probably not as severe as before. The remedy of stinging nettle had a familiar ring in his ear; it was the same the druids of Albion used.

Mordred thought he recognized the accent that hung onto Ragnar's voice as that of the Berserkers. 'Heathen' wolves as the Catholic priests called them, possessed by demons. There were different types of these Berserkers; he himself was friendly with the Saxon variety. "Indeed. My homeland, especially under the rule of the recent king, was known for the chivalry of the warriors. A code of honor, that was silly and unnecessary. Defeated enemies were often spared instead of killed. Women were to be protected like they were children, yet they were treated like low-class citizens." He let out a rush of air, a snort of contempt. He hated the code, though he saw the need for it.

While the other continued to talk, Thistle looked around her for Stinging nettle, the rabbit momentarily forgotten. She found some and with a sigh she pulled some of it gently up, mindful not to get any on her tongue. She carried it towards the nearest fresh water source, dropping it in and placing a rock on top of it, so it didn't float away she sat down to wait.

She turned towards him as he continued to speak. Thistle's hackles rose and she spoke sharply, no man will treat me as a lower class citizen, while i still have blood in my body and fire in my soul. However, if you kill them all you will not have any slaves, or perhaps lower class citizens yes?

As he spoke, Thistle got up and looked for the stinging nettle, which he ignored, certain that she was listening. When she returned, she responded scathingly. If only there were more women like this back home, he might have not rebelled against his father-uncle. He might have just settled down and fostered a family, if she would take him. But alas, most of the women were products of men's society.

He shook his head. "We let our enemies go home. We do not enslave them most of the time." A practice he hated to do. Why not get rid of your enemies so your family could not be harmed in an act of revenge? "In fact, it was considered evil, even though we practiced something similar in the form of serfs, wolves forced to stay on the land of their benefactor until they pay off a debt. Sometimes, for the poor, it would take their whole lives."

Thistle did not denounce anyone's beliefs or opinions. But she herself would never settle for being treated like trash simply because she was a female. Her husband had found out the hard way how her temper could be, and she didn't even want to imagine what she would do to him if he would ever act thusly. Not that he ever would, but all the same.

Thistle was momentarily confused, what would make a poor wolf? Would that be one who didn't have a family? or no trades? what makes a poor wolf? one who has no skills?

To him, the poor were the monetarily rich. While they had land, herds to pick their meals from, decorations to adorn their bodies and other things that defined "wealth" they lacked a lot. They lacked integrity, self-reliance, common sense even. Most didn't know what it really was to love. "Back home, land equated wealth. The more land you had, the more prey available to you. The more prey, the healthier. The stronger. The smarter. Et cetera. The poor do not own much land. Therefore had to work harder to find food, or work on another, richer man's land to get food as payment, though it was usually scraps. Most were forced to do that, most were slaves all but name." he hosed with disgust at his former homes hypocrisy. "Most poor people were so busy working off their debts that they couldn't specialize, so it can be said that the poor lacked skills of some sort."

Thistle listened and it didn't make much sense to her. The land belonged to nobody. Granted yes each pack had their own territory, but they all owned it then. Not just one wolf or another. SHe frowned as she tried hard to gather her thought process and make sense of the whole issue. She dipped her muzzle down. i am sorry but that makes no sense to me...the land it belongs to no one...you can have a territory, but then yoru entire pack, your family they live on it too.

He understood her confusion. He had the same questions when he was a lad, and that had got him a rough cuff from his adopted father and was snapped at briefly before being ignored again. After that he kept silent about it, but still nursed the same thoughts. When he became king, he wanted to change that, make the land free for anyone to take if they had the strength for it. But, he was only king for so long.. "I never understood it either, my Lady. But it was how my society worked. It was conform or die. I'm glad to say I no longer belong to them anymore." His voice was slowly losing the hint of contempt in it as he trailed off into silence, feeling a thick welling in his chest. He was speaking too much, like he often did when he went into rants about something.

Thistle listened and didn't say much of anything, finally she bent her head to the rabbit and dropped it at his paws. You need to eat, because you have ot be as strong as you can be by the weeks end or my husband will kill you. Then with a small breath out of her nose she turned and bent her body to stalk more prey to fill the caches and their family.

He stared down at the rabbit Thistle Cloud had offered him, before looking up and bowing his head to the Alpha Female. "Thank you, My Lady." She strode off into the undergrowth, leaving him to eat the carcass in peace. The Knight tore into the lapin creature with a healthy appetite befitting his predicament, though he felt slightly guilty that he "robbed" the healer of her kill. It belonged to her family, not him. Yet he ate, for her needed his strength if he wanted to heal quickly.