Stavanger Bay They are growing like weeds

lol, Jorunn the future little shit. xD

Noises had begun to become something more abstract with each milestone that Jorunn hit, a trait no doubt not exclusive to him. After all, his littermates also happened to turn the same day or week old just as he did. Not that his rapid growth had any conceptual bearing on him beyond the new abilities he was discovering as he leveled up. At first they were strange, all of them. The sudden ability to see blurry and oft times fuzzy shadows, which was slowly beginning to clear up. The shapes began to take something less like a blob and more definitive in it's design. Enraptured by the world beginning to unfold around him, Jorunn couldn't keep still. He yearned to investigate the defining shapes, and when his hearing had began to develop, beginning like hearing something muffled by a tunnel into something that was directly heard, albeit misunderstood. Language was not something that the legend was able to perceive yet, but he attempted by childish babbling, though for all that he knew he was communicating just as efficiently as the adults around him. He did not yet understand that they could not understand him just as thoroughly as he failed to understand them.

Adventure. It was out there, he determined studiously as he squinted at the light breaking through the mouth of the den. His eyes were sensitive to the light that filtered in, and though he was not aware it was caused by monochromacy — a complete inability to see colors. Shades of grey, white and black were all he was able to see as to which direct sunlight impaired his vision. He could see colors in his dreams, though, vivid as they were, a gift and the curse of being a völva, a Seer chosen by the Gods, though both were nothing more than a side effect of the Berserker mushrooms Ragnar had consumed in his youth, passed from father to son. The young legend jumped to his paws suddenly, ears splaying on either side of his head as he sniffed at the gentle breeze that came in through the mouth of the den. Head whipped in Thistle's direction when he felt the soft blow of her breath against the fur at his nape as she exhaled upon her sniff, which was accompanied unwelcomingly by a bath. “Gahh nnnuuuuhhhh,” The twin gasped and rolled onto his belly, attempting to ward his shield maiden mother off with his paws which failed and pawed uselessly at the air.

Jorunn stared at his mother's gray-scale face, not experienced enough to tell emotions by facial expressions, something that would come in time. He was not sure why the atmosphere in the den had shifted to one that was resolutely somber, for he had quickly forgotten what Ragnar's presence felt like. His future lack of empathy towards the name that he would associate with father was not personal, but simply because he would find it hard to feel something for someone whom he'd never actually met. He did not know she was mourning, only that he felt the mood shift and did not like it.