Stavanger Bay morning glow

@Kjalarr please? :)

she traveled far to find this coast.

she was not unfamiliar with seas entirely, but she had never lived on one before. yet it was here in a little slice of a haven that she found the beginning of a village. little scents peppered what would soon blossom into borders.

this was a place to settle roots.

so she was polite about her arrival to this place and let out a soft request for whoever was making their village here. she would like to meet them.

a breath leaves kjalarr's black leathery nostrils in a small plume of steam; the morning air biting and chilly. he is built for it, this cold: even if it settles into his bones with a soft ache he had not had years ago. but he is getting older, he realizes. still, he is not old enough to consider himself an elder.

the call rises, and kjalarr makes his way towards its' origin; steps drawing to a slow upon his approach. cerulean gaze sweeps over her: off-white, lilac colored gaze, small and stocky. hail, kjalarr greets. this is stavanger bay, he introduces the building foundations of his to-be kingdom. i am kjalarr. how can i help you?

he greeted her in a way that felt familiar, and she knew with certainty she had found the place she needed to be. perhaps not forever — she could not predict the future — but at least for now.

i am tove. she greeted with a thin smile. i have come looking for a village to join and i find the starts of yours, kjalarr. spoken almost as if she had come for him and him alone.

i offer skills in midwifery and an eye for better reading the land and nature than others. an important thing if one was to live at the sea, she thought.

tove, she calls herself. short. sweet. easy to remember. unlike the names that tend to come from those of his own people. he is quiet as she speaks, offering her his rapt attention: filing away her name and the skills she brings with her. useful and appreciated to a fledgling pack.

stavanger bay, kjalarr begins, assuming she'd want to know a bit about the place before she swears allegiance to it. is a resurrection of the first pack to claim this bay. my birth pack. it follows the culture of my people; a pack that focuses on community and tending to our own.

and she listens to him in return, just as captured by his own words.

stavanger bay.

i see, she hummed as if she was giving deep thought to his words. she supposed she was, but not nearly as deeply as implied. a good start for a village. her features softened and warmth spread from her.

i would be happy to help you, if you think your rebirthed village has a place for me, kjalarr.

he highlights the most crucial and important aspects of the bay: community. the religious and cultural aspects, kjalarr intends not to have a huge aspect on those who did not wish to participate. how he'll juggle that ...he'll cross when he gets to it. for now, the foundations are the most important and thus take up most of his focus.

i am grateful for the assistance and glad to call you one of the bay. kjalarr replies with a welcoming smile and amiable wag of his tail. come, he beckons with a gesture of his muzzle. i will give you the tour.

he welcomed her and it was all she needed to step into his village. one with him now. one with any who might come to rest their heads here. it will be a fine place to find her footing, to settle into and learn what she wishes for in this next chapter of her life.

perhaps, on your tour, you might point out to me good places for dens. medical dens. she encouraged in a calm but warm voice.

it was true that she might know best as the midwife, but he knew these lands better. he knew where would be sheltered from prying eyes or where might yield the best results come warmer times.

of course, kjalarr responds. this is my first time back here in many years, he admits. but if they still exist, i know of some good spots to grow and store your medicines. kjalarr replies as he leads the way, welcoming her into the bay's claim.

there was no telling how the years might've shifted the land: or how the earth had reclaimed what had once been his mother's medicine garden. my mother was a healer. though it was not his forte, he remembers in the wispy, hazy memories of a cubhood long since passed trailing after her when ragnar had been too busy to let him join in patrols.

to grow and store.

she cannot help the small rumbling sound of warm approval in her throat. perhaps she might tend to her own garden here, when the thaw finally came. it would be easier to not have to wander, to have everything that could grow here do so.

ah, but he’s speaking of his mother and tove sees the glimmer into this man’s life.

did she have a speciality? genuine curiosity. perhaps some of the mother’s knowledge had trickled down into her son.

though tove's question was perfectly rational, it brought with it a pang of guilt that lingers in kjalarr's chest ...somewhere near his heart. i don't really remember, kjalarr admits. he had been young and much more gung-ho to learn to be a warrior: like his father.

it was so long ago. six, almost seven years. a thousand lifetimes, it felt like, to kjalarr who had lived so many lives in that span of time. he did not want to admit ( at least not yet ) that he struggled to remember exactly what she looked like, the sound of her voice.

for a blip in time, she regretted the question.

only to realize there was knowledge in this too. perhaps he returned to remember these things that had been lost in time. tove was not one to be needlessly judgmental — especially to a man who stood here, kindly opening his home and arguably his heart to her.

oh, that’s alright. she offered in warm hushed tones. sometimes it’s hard to keep track of, even if you do remember.

a kind way to move forth from any memories that might haunt.

tell me of the new, kjalarr. what do you envision here when you close your eyes? a kingdom with heirs? a cozy seaside village?

he suspects it might be his age; and the fact that he has experienced much in his long lifetime that keeps memories of cubhood hazy and unclear. there are some things he can recall with clarity and others are like dancing will-o-wisps, fluttering out of his grasp before he can latch onto them. when you have lived a life like mine, some details and fade while others stand out with more clarity. he gives voice to his train of thoughts, then. i have seen a lot in my lifetime, he drawls with quiet contemplation. and i suspect i will see much more before i reach the dawn of my life.

a lofty, errant shrug is given.

her question is fair and kjalarr does not answer right away to put thought behind his words. was he interested in heirs? he had many children: those he knew of and those he did not. perhaps they are not his priority.

a ...cozy village, where i can practice my religion and culture and those who wish to make a home with me, whether they decide to follow my culture and religion or not. either way, kjalarr was not interested in forcing anyone. i have had many children over the years. if they happen, then they happen but it is not my priority.

fade and get them something new? <3

she wondered of the things he had seen. was it horrors or wonders? was he trauma struck into memory loss? or so blossoming with wonders of the world that he did not make time for the mundane?

she did not know and it was not her place to press — yet.

it was the first time she had heard an answer like his, though. men claiming land always seemed so eager to...create. create everything. children, wives, homes. as if they had to constantly be making things to prove themselves.

his answer is different than that, than those she had heard in her time. she likes him better than the men of her past — of husbands and fathers gone.

you will have to tell me of your religion and culture deeper sometime. perhaps i can...help you organize things.

she was no preacher or such, but she had seen her fair share of festivities.

though not too old to be unable to produce children, kjalarr has had more spawn than he can count and his priorities lay in calmer pastures. he had done his conquering. he had sired his heirs. he now looks to build a place where he can live out the rest of years and, with any luck, die. this is the place his father had died, after all. though not his final resting place, if the disturbed grave he remembered finding once upon a time was of any indication.

i shall. kjalarr affirmed in a soft murmur and nod of his head. instead, he offers her what he can remember of the sub-territories while he shows them to her before eventually allowing her settle in when they had reached the end of their tour.