Dragoncrest Cliffs you wished to transform the flesh and ascend

west brings him into territory that while is not immediately familiar to him, bodes with it a stirring of home; it is a strange and nostalgic thing, something he feels within the marrow of his bones. so many times he has came and left, came and left. would this time be any different?, kjalarr cannot help but ask himself. he does not have an answer because despite how much distance he strives to put between himself and these wilds he is always lured back to them for some reason or another. time after time.

the scents of a pack that had once inhibited these cliffs were beginning to fade and if there were a few stragglers, the northman took no notice. he didn't care. dragoncrest cliffs was the first territory he entered upon his re-appearance into the teekon wilds and seems like a decent enough place to rest. his journey was long, felt longer still by the internal war he waged on whether it was wise to return once again. for what purpose did he have? was there even anything left for him in the wilds? a defiled grave. a bay that which was stolen from him time and time again. a dead birthright that he was no longer worthy of. no longer actually wanted.

an annoyed noise rumbles in his throat and he turns away from the cliffs, the sheer drop unsettling to him as he glimpses down with his only functioning eye. with the cliffs behind him, kjalarr heads towards the forest, seeking two things: areas where woodland prey was abundant and fresh water. once those were found he could think about finding a place to rest for a while.

In this post, Strand is referencing the character Smokestep, who attacked her on Wheeling Gull Isle a week and a half or so ago, since we’ve forward-dated the thread to the 15th.

Strand wandered along the cliffs, staying well back from the edge lest the ground crumble beneath her paws and she plunge to her death. The crashing of the waves against the rock below was a much more intense sound than that of the waves against the shoreline on her island. Her island that she wished to return to. Her home, where Padma kept her company. But since her shoulder had healed well enough to walk on it, she had felt an overwhelming urge to wander. Not forever, but for now. Wander to new places, but always near the coast. She had followed the line of the ocean upwards, keeping it always to her left side as she made her way along. And now she was here, at these magnificent cliffs, staring out at the ocean.

She had been so busy staring out at the water that the appearance of the ghost startled her. She stood still when she saw him, every hair on her body standing up. It was the man who had attacked her. (It wasn’t really, but she didn’t know that). This man was big and bulky and scarred and seemed the right type to be the one who had attacked her. She stood and watched him, tracking his movements with her eyes. Her shoulder twinged seemingly at the sight of the one who had destroyed it. What would she do? This was her chance to kill him, which she had sworn she would do if they ever met again. But at the same time… she was terrified. She knew she didn’t have the strength to kill him. But if she ran away, she would be a coward. At a complete loss, she simply stood and watched.

the familiarity of the wilds is a feeling that is a bit of a mixture of unbridled nostalgia and exoticness. it has been some time since he'd last stepped paw in the lands of his birth and his uncertainty of what has changed and what has remained is high. kjalarr does not expect company, but at the appearance of another — though it would appear that kjalarr had been the one that had crossed the threshold of distance so that their presences became known to the other — his steps slow to a cease all together. the wilds was not like the glacial and isolated north, he remembers now, where he could walk for what felt like eons and never run into another soul.

the sandy colored woman across the way didn't move, didn't make any attempts to communicate. instead, she just stared at him, tense. he was used to being mistaken for ragnar or floki but ragnar has been dead for a long time and floki ...well, perhaps his brother made a reappearance but he'd always been kjalarr's better half. kveðja. the hardy, stalwart northman offers the verbal greeting to her when it becomes obvious that she is not inclined to do the same. kjalarr does not realize that he has spoken in his father's native tongue, even afterwords. it's been a long time since he has last spoken anything in 'common' and the switch might prove to be less seamless then he'd probably like.

Sorry for shortness and how long this took to respond to! I’ve been sick with the flu so I’m getting back into the swing of things.

The ghost turned towards her fully and spoke a word she did not understand. That was when she realized it wasn’t the man she thought it had been. It wasn’t the ghost. It wasn’t her attacker. This male had grey along his muzzle and captivating blue eyes and sandy legs and paws. Strand felt herself deflating, the tenseness in her muscles melting away. She would not have to decide what to do about the ghost today. Still, now she was left in an awkward position, staring at a man she did not know who had spoke a word to her that she did not understand. “What?” she finally asked, long after such a question was relevant. Internally, she cringed at herself, but there wasn’t really anything else to do unless she just walked away.

The male seemed disinterested in her after his initial greeting, and soon she gathered the courage to get the hell away, keeping her muscles taut lest he attack her from behind. He did not.