Dragoncrest Cliffs my tree house is on fire

That morning, she left Reek in the grotto to stew with their discovery. She ran - it was what she did when things got too complicated, or too overwhelming. To feel the wind in her fur and the earth at her paws was like tasting freedom; somehow, she imagined being an Alpha to be different from this. That life would be easier, being the top of the totem pole. Tavi couldn't go north lest she encounter Dragons, and she couldn't go south for fear of encountering Saena or the life that was left behind -- so she went west, along the cliffs and ridges, until the trees opened up to grassland and she could really run.

Soon enough Tavi's route was interrupted by large abutments of stone. They broke through the hillside as if trying to be mountains, but they were dwarfed by any mountain range she could think of; patches of stone and shale surrounded them like nests. Tavi did not linger long here, weaving between the strange stones, stopping to breathe only when the scent of the sea filled her every breath. The grass here grew tall and wild, different from the sparse array of grass that lived throughout the grotto.

She sequestered herself among some yellowing reeds so as to watch the dark sea, realizing a moment later that she was sucking air and that her eyes, they burned, which she assumed at first was the salt in the air. Everything was too much right now --- being kicked out of the Maplewood, fighting with Saena, becoming a leader, and now this? She wasn't prepared to be a parent - never wanted to be a parent. As Tavi breathed a weighted breath out of her lungs, she watched the sea, and wondered just how easy it would be to keep running.

Kjalarr, despite his recent stoke of the outrider (scout, now) fire he'd long since extinguished, had stayed within Saltwinter's claimed territory, venturing out only when he got the itch — or subsequently when he was summoned. Typically the viking did not venture north but rather stuck to the southern and western reaches of territories, partially because of his ingrained draw of Stavanger Bay among the fact that the Frostfur's inhabited Neverwinter Forest. He'd never ventured north of Ankyra Sound before and so he braved the day — albeit it was with a lot of squinting — and took to the Dragoncrest Cliffs. His purpose was of nothing particular other then to explore which wasn't overly specific. He loped easily along the shore, long legs splashing through the cold salt water, rather un-bothered by it.

It was the weighted sigh that drew the northman's attention and his leisure stroll through the surf ceased, stilling as the water continued to beat against his legs. His ears swiveled atop his skull, determined to find the origin of the sigh, for he wasn't half so creative to have imagined it. His hackles of platinum silver bristled in caution and alarm as he canted his head ever so slightly to the side in a very Ragnar bird like manner. “Hello?” The Scandinavian called out, his voice mimicking Ragnar's softened voice and accent of his dreams, caribbean eyes starbursted with silver scanning the landscape around him …not that it was going to do him much good. 

crap post is crap :c

She should have never hung out with Reek to begin with - that's what she'd surmised so far, with a mind bubbling with too many thoughts. It was Reek's fault; if he hadn't been there, preying on her, after Ukko left -- but no, that wasn't true either. Tavi sighed again, shifting position a little bit, but the breath caught in her throat when she heard a voice. For a split second she wondered if Reek had followed her here, and her fur puffed, she bristled and reared back so that she could see above the grass. But it wasn't her bedraggled co-pilot that met her eyes -- it was a big pale dude, and he spoke with a voice that sounded strange to her ears.

Tavi would have to stow her feelings for now - her thoughts, her fears, her indecision - lest she look weak before the stranger. He could've been a new recruit, or perhaps a danger to herself. She inhaled a slow breath to try and level off her heartbeat, and then rose out of the dry grass. Instead of presenting herself with her head held high and her posture mighty, Tavi was diminished. She couldn't help it - everything was weighing too heavily upon her shoulders. As she caught the eye of the pale stranger, she diverted her gaze and muttered, h'lo.

There was a rustling sound, hear above the lulling roar of the ocean — that which was never truly quiet but easy for Kjalarr who had lived portions of his life beside it to tune out. His head snapped in her direction, and accordingly he squinted having a hard time deciphering her from the dry grasses she was camouflaged in. For a second, he was annoyed. Not at her, but at himself. If she were a enemy he'd lose any advantage he might have had because he struggled to decipher her grayscale silhouette from the moving gray grasses. It was his own fault because he'd taken to the darker hours: dusk, dawn and night to ease the struggle of sight. At nightfall he was on a level playing field with everything else around him. In the light of day, no doubt made worse by his avoidance of sunlight if he could help it, he was at the disadvantage. Yet, he'd learned so very long ago to not let it show. He wore a bravado of a mask, determined to ask like there was nothing wrong with him. Few knew of his condition, and Kjalarr knew he wanted it to stay that way.

He ghosted towards the grasses, enough that he could distinguish her from the grasses that swayed around her. She was still pretty camouflaged but he could see her easier now. His muzzle lifted in the air slightly as he assessed her by her scent, canting his head to the side when he was finished. “Are you hunting?” He inquired her, though he had not scented any prey near them. “Or are you hiding?” He added. In truth, it wasn't any of his business but he was an innately curious creature, for better or for worse.

Hunting? What could she possibly be hunting in this desolate place? It was all dust and grass and wind, hardly conducive to finding and gutting any sort of prey. Then again, there were plenty of birds in the area. Maybe even something from the sea directly, though Tavi had no experience with that realm. She gave her head a light shake, but the motion paused when he mentioned hiding; and really, that was right on the money. She was sequestering herself from Reek and the grotto as best she could.

I'm... I don't know. He seemed to have hit the nail on the head, but she didn't confirm it with words. Still, Tavi kept her eyes averted from his own; she sized him up a bit more, giving him cursory glances. What did he want? Maybe he was the hunter, or maybe something about her was alluring - though she doubted that just as much. I'm not... This isn't my home, this place. The coast. I just kind of... Happened upon it. As she said the word home, the word caught in her throat and she struggled to continue - but then she fell silent, and watched the reeds shiver in the wind.

“How do you not know? Kjalarr was skeptical, if only because the fact that she, apparently, didn't know whether she was hiding or hunting was something that the viking considered very strange. Alas, he was amused — for whatever that was worth. “No one claims these lands,” Kjalarr murmured in a “I figured” manner, giving her a skeptic appraisal once more. “These shores are not safe,” He offered, wondering what had drawn her here. Though he hadn't heard anything more about the mysterious Bonechewers that did not mean they ceased to be a threat. Besides, they were not the only threat upon this coast, if he was being honest with himself. 

Black, leathery nostrils flared as he inhaled her scent, determining that she was apart of a pack but he did not recognize which. This did not surprise him, however. New packs were cropping up like weeds — a pestilence that he wouldn't mind chasing (or harassing) from Saltwinter's hunting grounds. Alas, that was not his decision to make. “I'm Kjalarr.” He offered her simply, just because it felt the socially acceptable thing to do; and though he found her a tad strange he was curious.

edit. you get my 200th post! c:

She didn't respond at first, in any manner. No word, not even a motion to indicate an answer. But his own admissions - that this coast was unsafe - she did hear, and made sure to take note. When he introduced himself, she looked him over again. The name suited him, being boorish and foreign, sounding heavy in the air after it was spoken - like him. He seemed like a rugged, hardy individual. And if these shores were his home - if he knew them that well - he was not a recruit, but a wanderer. Perhaps a scout from further ahead.

Octavia, she murmured flatly, and then fell quiet again - almost like she'd forgotten they were having a conversation. To be fair, there were many other things on her mind and so this meeting, serendipitous as it was, meant nothing to her. He was passive enough not to frighten her in to fleeing, but even if he was more of a brute, Tavi would probably take whatever he dished out; she was in no mood to fight or fly. She was still very much overwhelmed, and had no idea what to say - or do - next.

In the end, with silence dominating the space between them, she chose to break it.

It is quiet here. Aside from the call of the distant gulls, and the strange thrum of the sea against the cliff. And very open. Very different from... Absent-minded as she was in her current frame of mind, Tavi didn't finish the sentence, but rather looked behind her at the direction she had come. There were forests darkening the horizon, and the indication of far-away mountains. She pushed a sigh through her nose, and her head dropped, allowing her to study the sand at her feet. Out of nowhere, she blurted: I'm pregnant. As if he cared - but she was saying it more for herself than anything; and the words hitched in her throat.

Kjalarr had not warned her of the dangers the coast harbored out of the kindness of his heart, it was true, if he dared to look deep enough (he did not) it was probably more selfish than it was anything else. He felt the weight of the packs cropping up all over the places, competing with Saltwinter for resources, and he wasn't going to have some wanderer — regardless of which new pack she was apart of — making their life ten times harder. Every mouth that took food from these shores and the surrounding territories was putting him and the motley crew of Saltwinter in danger. Though, perhaps Kjalarr should not have concerned himself so much with it, for it was Caiaphas in charge, he felt responsible to worry about it to as a loyal subordinate of her's. He was a contributing member of Saltwinter and it was his problem to. She offered her name flatly. Octavia. He tucked it away for later reference but offered her no spoken word, reveling in the silence that had moved to feel the void of words between them.

Octavia broke it, however, and Kjalarr's scarred muzzle lifted in silent contemplation as she surmised of it's quietude. “It is calm, today,” Kjalarr reiterated in a musing tone, letting out a soft exhale of breath from his black, leathery nostrils, salmon pink tongue sliding across his chops for a brief moment. “but it is not always so. Sometimes Jörmungandr is angry and the sea is feral.” There was great power hidden in the calming laps of the waves upon the shore — something that Kjalarr knew from first hand experience and he had not even been swept out to sea during a storm (and personally hopes he never finds out what that's like). For a moment, Kjalarr lost himself in the tales of the sea serpent, replaying his mother's re-telling of Ragnar's stories of Thor and the sea serpent and how in Ragnarok they would battle.

These thoughts were broken with her what appeared to him to be a random outburst: announcing her pregnancy, yet, curiously she did not seem thrilled about it as he expected mothers to be. For a second his thoughts flashed to Freyja and felt a relief that he wasn't sexually mature and would not be hearing those words spoken to him, caused by him, any time soon. “And you are not happy about it?” For what other conclusion could the young Ragnar prodigy come to?

He speaks of things she knows nothing about, and with her mind on her own issues, it is easy to ignore the brunt of it. Tavi is busy mulling over her thoughts when he responds, and it stops her; at least for that milisecond.

Happy. She tests the word, tastes it, the way she has been studying her thoughts - she now studies this. No, she isn't happy. Tavi knows herself - she knows that she is ill-equipped as a living being to be a mother, to be any form of parent, she is not ready and she is not willing. Her enjoyment of the affair with Reek was growing stale the longer it lasted. There had already been too much fallout because of their hedonism - and this, the life that grew inside of her, it would likely be the last straw.

No, her tone becomes mournful, almost. I never wanted this. Her chin drops, nestling in to the fur of her throat, and as her ears fall back upon her head she holds back a tiny sob; her body quakes, suddenly feeling so very weak, and she all but collapses before him. She sucks in a breath and hopes most of the feelings come too, to be locked up somewhere within her. Hastily she speaks, hoping to get the words out before she breaks down completely. Her composure has been compromised. We were just having fun, it was fun - stupid, though. It's not.. Not worth it, and I don't know what to do. I don't know if I can do this. Her jaw clicks shut and she grits those teeth, hoping the wall of enamel will hold everything else inside.

I'm sorry -- this is none of your concern, I.. I ran, Tavi feels her shoulders rising - or maybe her head is dropping further, hanging rather than standing tall and mighty - and she feels the overwhelming pressure of her emotions building up from the pit of her belly, radiating outward. I ran until I couldn't, and now I don't know what to do.

Kjalarr couldn't help but feel like he was out of his depth as the walls around Octavia appeared to come crashing down the moment she had collapsed before him. Her tone was solemn as she responded to his question with a no, only further reiterating her unhappiness by informing him that she'd never wanted it. Kjalarr was silent, but he was attentive. He could not entirely sympathize with her, of course, but he understood the fun part. The difference was: his body wasn't mature enough to produce children and his fun had truly — or so he believed anyway — been harmless. It made him think to Ragnar: wondering if any of his flings or wives had ever been in a very similar situation to Octavia. He didn't know because Ragnar had probably never said anything to Thistle. Kjalarr's experiences were limited to dreams and experiences of his parents told through stories. 

At first, the northman hesitated unsure what to say — or if he had any advice to offer her. He was just a year old (or about to be very soon) and all he could do was to take her emotions and try to find a solution by attempting to place himself in her paws, by running the scenarios on what he might do. “Then don't do it,” Kjalarr spoke softly, breaking his previous and contemplative silence. “you might not carry them to full term,” A miscarriage in and of itself was possible, he was pretty sure. “y'know in my culture a child has nine days for the parents to decide if they want to keep it. During this time it is lawful and morally acceptable to decide you aren't ready and let them to die.” It sounded cruel when Thistle had told him this ...but it didn't feel cruel leaving his lips now. During those first nine days the children could also be killed by members of the pack and nothing could be done as punishment against them. Kjalarr would have liked to believe that Ragnar would have never let that happen ...but he might have. It was their ways, it was the way of Odin (who also ate naughty children).

“It is ok,” The berseker murmured soothingly. “it's ok to be scared, it's ok to not want it.” No one ever said you had to be overjoyed about expecting. Kjalarr (at the current point and time in his life) was certain he would never have children; wasn't sure that he ever wanted any. “I can't tell you want to do, Octavia, but I can tell you that you need to put your own happiness first because no one else will. If he doesn't make you happy: leave. If the children don't make you happy: give them up.” For someone as selfish as Kjalarr this was easy to put into action; but he was cut from a much harsher mold, born of an archaic fire that burned with a ruthlessness that matched Ragnar's own.

Dont do it. Don't give birth? Don't risk her life for half-baked little people? Don't care? Her sobs were hard to control, but the more he spoke and the more she heard him, the quieter she got. While Tavi could not compose herself entirely, she did enough so that she could hear him - but the stranger afforded her an anecdote that was more bestial than she would have ever anticipated. It was a brutal way to deal with the problem, but it was an option - anything was an option. Nine days, she thought, can I survive nine days? And what of Reek? How would he take the birth and then the presumed loss of whatever - whoever - brewed inside of her? These tiny pieces of both of them, merged together.

- it is ok to be scared, the white beast rumbled, attempting to sooth her, she assumed. His suggestions would find their way in to her mind like a worm within an apple, and maybe they would spoil what was left of her; but Tavi couldn't help but agree with what the stranger was saying. Before the Maplewood, she had always put herself first; even among her siblings, she had always been an arrogant little shit, causing trouble. This was just a new level of trouble, but she would survive it - putting herself first, that was the way. Maybe Tavi was desperate and that was why she listened, and why the beast's words made so much sense to her. Maybe, looking back on this, she would blame the foreign ghost for whatever else went wrong in her life from this moment on.

She sucked in a breath and then, teeth still clenched, let it whistle slowly out of her. Her sobs finally quieted, but she did not lift her gaze to look upon him, or upon the cliff-side. Put myself first. She murmured this, her tone quiet and reflective. I can... I can do that. But when the time came, she wondered if she really, truly could.

His advice was as barbaric as his culture was claimed to be by those who knew of it but did not understand it; perhaps they were heathens in this respect. Yet, it was what their Gods had deemed long ago and it was the basis for their laws. Kjalarr understood that his morals did not align with that of many, though this had not come apparent until quite recently. Yet, Octavia's sobs had begun to slow and she appeared to be contemplating what he offered her. He doubted it would probably go over well with the father of the children she carried, unless, he too was a viking — but this was as much her choice as it was her lover's; and Kjalarr wasn't about to apologize for the out he'd given her. A different perspective from his culture. 

“Others will make you put their happiness first,” Kjalarr knew this first hand all too well. “and sometimes choices are hard but you have to do what's right for you.” His own choices to pursue his happiness had (almost?) entirely cut him off from his biological family; but Kjalarr felt no guilt. After all, Ragnar had done worse; and it seemed that Kjalarr was fated to walk a similar path to his father's own. Building something from nothing and giving awful advice, pls stop Kja. “Besides, your leaders might not even give you the choice of keeping the children, if it wasn't supposed to happen.” Kjalarr offered another possibility, entirely unaware that, that wasn't the case with Octavia.

He was right, and she knew it. At least the part about putting herself first - it was the most important lesson here, and one she had forgotten. Tavi could put herself first indefinitely now; she was the alpha, she was the one in control, nobody else. In a way this conversation was serving to corrupt her against her own partner -- the very thought of Reek at this point made her heart cleave in two -- yet she knew she didn't need him. She knew that to survive this, it was her way or no way. The woman nods, not entirely hearing the rest of what the white wolf is saying; she has accepted some things as truth, but it would take some time for her to put anything in to practice. Maybe when the time came she would fail to remedy her problem - but all she could do now was wait out the changes to her body, and resist everything else. It would be harder than she could ever imagine to ignore any motherly instincts, but Tavi told herself now that she would. That she had to. Put myself first, before all else, before even the children she would bear.

The woman pulled herself back to a standing position, abruptly forcing herself to stand still and calm, gathering her thoughts and her plans as best she could. Everything was in pieces - she was still choking back a few tiny sounds, licking salt from her lips - but Tavi knew she was stronger than this. She was half-convinced that the pale wolf was right about everything, but she was tired now. Too tired to keep her mind on the conversation. I.. should go home, Tavi mumbled towards him, her voice evidence enough that she was fading. She wouldn't be going home, but her paws began to move and she shuffled across the sand, passing the northern beast within moments. I'll go back and fix this. She knew what to do now.

Except of course, Tavi was heading in the wrong direction - but Kjalarr wouldn't have known that - and resumed following the cliff-side, too busy thinking to realize where she was heading off to. If she wasn't careful she'd go off the cliff herself -- but somehow she would stay the course.

She seemed, to Kjalarr, to be a bit of a mess but for all he knew this sort of behavior was the norm for women who were pregnant...especially women who didn't want the children. Though his evening shared with Freyja had been fun as she had described her night Kjalarr couldn't help but feeling that he was inherently glad that he'd dodged this particular bullet. The goddess would not return to him with ill news of bearing his children and that in, and of itself, was simply, perhaps, luck that he was too young. “Probably,” Kjalarr agreed with her when she mumbled about going back home. In truth: he'd given her the out, the only advice the young Loðbrok was capable of giving her given how out of depth he truly was, never mind how barbaric it had been; and as cruel as it no doubt was: he didn't want to deal with this any longer. 

He was not a beast made for handling tears, apparently.

Kjalarr did not offer her any parting words as she made her way past him, heading back to her home he presumed. He had not asked her because he had not cared and turned to watch her departure before he licked his chops once, yawned and loped back towards the borders of Saltwinter, thinking that something from one of the pack's caches was calling his name.