dreamers of the day are dangerous men

There was another, and not a scent that Týrr readily recognized. It belonged to a female, though to none of the Amazon women he tentatively thought of as subordinates. His memories might not have came back with any sort of quickness, the idea of thinking of Amazon women as his subordinates felt strange to him. A good sign for it meant that while it might not have been conscious he was beginning to remember small tidbits from his life as Tezcacoatl. Tezcacoatl might have been Prince but women still ruled the Rise with an iron paw and he found admiration in that, in breaking gender barriers even if it meant leveling males where some pack leveled females. It was no mystery to him as to why the Amazon women were rivals to the Vikings (never mind that free women were more or less seen as equals among the Norse wolves). Both cultures dominated the Valley they held, the largest and strongest packs of them all, and the feuds between them had been tempered for generations; yet, Týrr couldn't ignore the irony of it. Born an Amazon, taken as a Viking captive. Ragnar had lied to him, given him a new and false life when it became apparent that he'd had amnesia from the wound he'd suffered, trained him only to be brought to death by the very training he'd ensured that Týrr underwent; and now he was not Viking nor Amazon but some combination of both. Something that was never supposed to happen but had, as he was both Týrr and Tezcacoatl and yet neither of them. 

At first, the Rekkr paid no true mind to the new, foreign scent (though he should have), assuming that it was another loner drawn in by curiosity. He minded it to an extent but did not know how else to garner potential interest — not to mention the only things he and his could lay claim to was the caches they'd built. With no official claim to the Ridge they had no ground to chase out those that would come to investigate. Yet, the scent grew stronger until Týrr found himself, startling, face to face with the woman in question. She had positioned herself as to cut him off, and Týrr slowed to a stop, puzzled at the icy stare she afforded him. “Have I offended you in some way?” The soon-to-be King inquired, a bit miffed by the frigidity she was radiating from every tendril of her fur.