It had started all so well - Osprey had left the plateau to track the deer herds few days ago. Happy to be on the move and have a job to do. Back at home she had taken longer journeys of that kind quite frequently, usually with her friend Pete. He was an experienced hunter, had been her mentor from the very beginning and later in life they had become a great team. They had learned to communicate without words - one look, one movement, one tilt of the muzzle - all was clear. Now that she was doing this task once again, her thoughts wandered back to him and the old days. It was very different to operate alone.
After a while she had found fresh tracks and the whole herd soon after. From that point on her path had followed those of the herd - observing them, calculating the hunting opportunities and trying to predict the direction of their next location. She enjoyed the process thoroughly - the feeling of being alone with the noble creatures had something primaeval and magical to it. She had made a decision to return, when something unexpected happened. Osprey didn't catch the exact moment, but the herd got scared by something and all of a sudden she found herself in the way of rushing, panicked mass of animals.
It took seconds for her to realize, how very deep in trouble she was, and it was those seconds that mattered, because, when she began to run, the first deer had reached her, a moment later she was running for her life, trying to avoid being trampled to death. It seemed that the deer were everywhere, she got hit and nearly lost balance, recovered in the last moment and continued to run, trying hard to find a way to get out of this hell. She received a heavy blow on her head and blacked out.
When she woke, she found herself alone, standing in unknown land, every bit of her body hurting, especially the head. She cast a glance around in a weak attempt to understand, where she was, but it didn't help. Eventually her hind legs buckled under her weight and she sat down, shivering and looking utterly confused.
ooc: she has accidentally trespassed Stavanger bay.
Despite Thistle's protestation otherwise, Ragnar would not rest, not let the fact that he gave his eye slow him down; and if he would have even if he wasn't the worlds most insufferable patient, it would have felt like an insult to Odinn anyway. Ragnar had no intentions of squandering away the All-Father's favor when he had given so much for it. Even now, God and Mortal they were more alike than they'd ever been before and even though there was still worlds of difference between them Ragnar felt indefinitely closer to the All-Father. Having to retrain himself to hunt was a pain, though, but he spent several hours each day attempting to train himself to use his single eye to focus on everything, without compromising his ability to hunt especially given that he had abandoned the counselor trade in favor of something more practical and that the Bay was in current need of: Gamekeeper. It had been during such a session that the scent of another wolf, one that did not belong within the confines of his border raised the alarm inside his mind and caused his hackles to bristle with unease. The rabbit he'd been chasing abandoned, it's life luckily spared this day, Ragnar headed off in the direction that the scent was coming from.
He came across her soon enough. The Northman's steps slowed and a low growl tore from between clenched teeth, a warning. She carried the scent of Blacktail Deer Plateau upon her heavily, though, and despite that the Viking knew it shouldn't have mattered either way, it threw a wrench in it nevertheless. Peregrine might not have resided in Blacktail Deer Plateau anymore but Blue Willow did and Ragnar supposed that they were at the very least acquaintances. He had nothing against her, and she had taken him loyally to Peregrine at first when Ragnar went to place a bounty and according threat against Crete's head. That was an old wound now, and even if Crete did magically reappear Ragnar doubted Thistle would go crawling back to him.
The woman before him looked befuddled, and was shivering, but he wasn't yet ready to play the martyr. He had a reputation to keep, after all.
When she heard someone walking up to her, her head snapped and she stared blankly at the magnificent stranger before her, his words passing through her mind. She knew the meaning of them, yet her mind found it hard to put them together. When it tried, an image of the running deer, hits and blows she had received, emerged. It gave up. Name, name, name... "I... I..." she whispered, while thinking hard with her brow furrowed. This had to be easy, this word... mentioned so many times in so many occasions.
"I... so many of them. So many of them together," her eyes filled with tears, while she tried to explain her fear to the stranger. "I couldn't take it. I thought I was going to die," she averted her gaze. Her forelegs gave way and she slumped down on the ground, sobbing hard. "I don't want to die..."
The woman was trembling, her whole body wracked with shiver and shakes that made Ragnar ponder if he should call for Thistle. His wife was the only healer that the Bay currently had, with the departure of Nerian, and Ragnar was left relying upon her heavily, for his own sake and the sake of the others. In this, the Northman was glad that there were several months to go before she went into heat, and that he had made the very hard decision to evaluate the status of the pack before they went and brought children into the world, if the Bay could not provide for them. It wasn't necessarily a fair decision on his part, when he thought of it selfishly, because he was the Jarl and why did he have to sacrifice what he wanted, what Odinn had promised him just because they already had small children that needed the attention of not just Thistle and himself, but the pack as well. At any rate, if any of his subordinates found mates he was going to be a lot more picky about who was allowed to mate. The standards had yet to be set, and Ragnar was in no real rush because Thistle and him were the only couple in the pack (that was official at any rate?) but nevertheless he knew he was going to set the bar quite high. If he had to sacrifice what he wanted most in the world, then he had no qualms asking others to do the same. Even if it cost him favor within his ranks.
Ragnar's attention was brought back to the women when she began to stutter out what he presumed to be a response, but then began to babble about so many. The desire to ask her of so many 'what' was pressing but a quick glimpse at the hoof stamped ground told the Scandinavian what he needed to know. She had gotten caught in a stampeding horde of prey. In hindsight, she was lucky to be alive, and it was understandable that she had no choice, if she wished to live, to follow the herd even if it meant, in the massive confusion, trespassing; but this was a rare circumstance and one of the few that Ragnar could allow for an accidental trespassing and believe it. Clearly, she wasn't lying to him: she was terrified. That was obvious.
Ragnar watched her, a bit helplessly, as she slumped down to the ground and began to sob. The Viking recoiled back as if her tears would lash out and bite him. He had never known what to do with tears, and only a few times had he ever cried them himself. Despite the rumors that circulated around Ragnar and his culture in general, the Jarl wasn't heartless. He was still canine and capable of generosity and mercy ...when circumstance begged for it. It seemed pretty clear to him that he wasn't going to be able to have a lucid conversation with her until she calmed down.
The stranger had softened his voice and reassured her that nothing bad was going to happen with her. It was hard to find solace in his words - she lifted her head and eyed him through watery gaze, seeking any sign in his expression that would tell of a well-meant lie, but nothing. And she decided to believe him, because no one else was there and she was in a desperate need for someone she could rely on. "They kept c-c-coming... I couldn't do anything," she explained. "I ran, I found myself h-here. Where is it?" she asked.
Despite his reassurances, though given the way he had initially greeted her Ragnar could see why it did not necessarily come off as overly reassuring her water works did not cease. Though if it was because she was still terrified that the herds that had stampeded around her or not the Viking did not know. She looked up at him then, her eyes brimmed with tears that were preparing to spill over the edge, not that she hadn't already began to cry to start with. It was in these situations that Ragnar had no idea what to do. He couldn't help but feel that Thistle would be much better for these types of scenarios than himself. He wasn't soft enough for be consoling, especially when someone was upset. Not that he was very good at being consoling enough to begin with; and trying seemed to be failing. In the end, all he could think to do was to let her cry it out, and hope that eventually she would calm down and realize that she was safe on her own. He supposed the next logical thing was to ask her if she was injured, which would then involve him calling Thistle, if she was injured. He couldn't see any from the quick sweep he gave but that didn't mean anything.
Then something happened, her vision got blurry, there was throbbing pain at the back of her head and she suddenly felt a wave of nausea. Osprey half-raised herself to her feet and turned her muzzle sideways, emptying the content of her stomach in three attempts. She then remained there sitting, breathing heavily - the pupils of her eyes dark and wide, gaze unfocused.
It was suddenly hard to remain conscious and her mind drifted from a state of momentarily clarity to all consuming silent darkness.
The woman did not respond to his question, and Ragnar watched with muted concern. Even if she would have insisted that she was fine he was not extremely likely to believe her, though he was no healer he considered that she might be suffering from shock. Or hysteria. Or whatever else was happening inside her mind that she was not outwardly showing him. He watched, reserved as she half rose and wretched to the side, causing the Viking to take a few steps away so the contents of her stomach did not splash onto him. Luckily, Ragnar had been blessed with a iron stomach, though likely it had been conditioned during his days as Berserker. Three times, the Plateau woman heaved up, and his singular eye sought out her own, noticing that her eyes were glazed and that her pupils had blown wide, swallowing nearly all of her irises, leaving little but a thin halo. A morbid look crossed the Viking's facial features as he studied her as she seemed to lose consciousness. For a moment, Ragnar hesitated, wondering if now was the time to call Thistle's attention to this situation. Especially considering this was more of her area of expertise than his own. He was the half that was good for killing not saving.
For a moment Osprey managed to grab the thick blanket of darkness and push it in the corner of her mind. It cleared just enough for her to get to her feet, make few wobbly steps away from the puddle of her vomit and then slump down heavily. The world still appeared foggy to her eyes - colors were mixed up together, the forms were distorted, the sounds grew first louder then quieter.
She lifted her head, trying to locate the place of the white pelted stranger. Osprey wanted to say something to excuse her weakness, to tell him that she would soon be well and would leave his lands, that she meant no harm, that she didn't need help - just a little bit of time to recover. She half-opened her maw, but couldn't find any words that would fit the situation. Instead her forefeet gave way and she lied down in a sphinx like position, resting her aching head between her paws.
Thistle strode towards her husband's call unsure of what she might come across at the moment, but a little bit anxious to see. It was probably grave for her husband to call to her for a stranger. Was it a friend? A family member? One of his many dalliances? She just simply wondered at it, but continued on doggedly determination in her step.
Upon arriving she took the grave sight in stride and continued forward to sniff gently and touche a nose to the prone form of the she wolf. She studied her trying to make the other female look at her, to determine if she had a head injury. Turning to Ragnar she spoke softly What has happened? And what are her symptoms dear heart?
The woman seemed able to stagger away from her puddle of vomit before she collapsed once more to the earth. A frown creased the edges of the Viking's lips, as he wondered what he was supposed to do. He did not, really, know what was wrong with her, and even if he did he still would have been no help. He knew basic field surgery, enough to “patch” himself up until he could get to some place where he could seek the attention of a healer after the fading heat of a battle, but the extent of his knowledge ended, disappointingly, there. For a moment, it appeared as if the Blacktail Deer Plateau woman was going to say something to him before she managed to wrangle herself into a sphinx-like position and seemed to have given up entirely, her head going to rest between her fore-paws. His howl had pierced the air then, urgent and demanding for the only healer the Bay currently had. The strain on her in the coming months, Ragnar feared, would likely be great and he wondered if she could handle being the only healer and his alpha female all at once. She was tough, yes, with a fire in her heart that had no match, to whom like a moth, Ragnar was drawn too. Even so, he wanted her to be healthy if he assessed that Stavanger Bay could handle more children in her upcoming heat season. It did not take Thistle long to come upon the scene and immediately stride up to the injured woman, touching nearly nose to nose with her. Ragnar took a step back for his wife, willing to let her do what she did best, trusting her judgment and the life of the woman entirely in her paws.
The pain was dull and the sound of her heart beating, her blood rushing through her veins was overwhelming. Had she not felt so bad, Osprey would have been more terrified. But there was no more place for fear - not for anything but her desire to get over this and move on.
She was aware of someone else arriving and she lifted her head a little, looking at the stranger with glazy eyes, managing to sway her tail few times, trying to merge a timid "hello" with a "I am so sorry". It was bad as it was already. One thing was to meet with the weakness on your own, completely the other - when you were at someone's mercy.
The white beast had said that she would be safe here. Could she really trust the words of stranger?
Ragnar knew he wasn't being of much help. Then again, there had to be some forgiveness in regards to the situation. He was no healer and had not actually seen the incident happen with his own eye, merely stumbled along to find the aftermath. If he'd have seen it occur then perhaps he would have been able to give Thistle more assistance, to tell her from a third party observer's account what had went down. Alas, the Northman could not. Ragnar watched as Thistle rushed to the woman's side again, fixing him in a stare. A grim expression stole across the Viking's expression, though it was cold and stone-like in it's edges. According to Thistle if they allowed the woman to sleep then there ran a chance that her life might not continue forth for very long. There was a part of Ragnar that knew the Gods had ordained this and knew that try as Thistle might there always run a chance that the Gods wished for the Plateau woman's life. At the same time, Ragnar was not going to stop Thistle (not that he'd be able too because even if he told her 'no' he had no doubt she would go behind his back regardless) from trying her best to keep the Plateau woman alive. In many ways, Ragnar did not want to have to explain to the Plateau why one of their wolves had died within his territories. The first time being non intentional.
Ragnar watched as Thistle attempted to shoulder the woman as a crutch, wondering if instead he should take his queen wives' place. After all, he was bigger than her and physically stronger, at the very least.