The sound of a furious scuffle, accompanied by protesting chattering of the rodent-like creatures - squirrels - caused the chocolate colored Viking to stir, restless in his light slumber, nostrils flaring as he inhaled freshly disturbed dirt where his muzzle was nestled against his forepaws, using them as a pillow of sorts. The pungent scent of earth was tainted with the nut-like aroma of the creatures, and the lingering scent of the pack that clung to the silken tendrils of his fur, conquering what ever had been left of Odinn’s Cove’s scent. Crystal blue eyes peeked open, groggily as he peered at tendrils of sunbeams as they appeared and disappeared, giving the impression that it was cloudy. Breath spilled in a hefty sigh, snaking forth from his lips in a faint, white furl of steam that evaporated as quickly as it had formed. Stiffly, Týr emerged from his den, glaring at the chattering heathens that had scurried up a tree trunk in their quarrel at the sound of his movement (or so he assumed anyway, Týr did not pretend to have any inkling as to how they thought) not sure if he was amused or not as their tails twitched behind them before they continued on with their chase. Týr plopped down upon his haunches suddenly, overcame with a random itch at his neck he paused to scratch at it. After the itch was relieved he rose back up to his paws and presumed to stretch, lingering in the feeling of his muscles extending and contracting, attempting to stretch the stiffness away. His den was cramped for it was a little too small for him, but he had designed that it was more important to help fill the caches than it was to ensure comfort whilst he slept.
The morning was chilly giving Týr the distinct impression that the weather in these …Teekon Wilds was abruptly fickle. How it went from gloriously warm one day to chillingly bitter the next was something of an enigma to the young Nord. Týr was no stranger to harsh cold given where he originated from but the constant flux in weather was deceiving. Yet, despite this, Spring would be upon them soon, he knew. New life would be forming in all shapes and sizes, in the form of flowers, plants, trees, and babies of all species. The next generation was coming, females would be going into heat - if some of them hadn’t already. Though Týr himself had never experienced anything so carnal as a female in heat before (not to mention he doubted he was of the age yet to sire children) he was not naïve to it. Ragnar had never shied away from informing Týr about all the aspects of adulthood -- even if Týr found the whole ‘birds and bees’ talk to be humiliating and awkward. Shaking that awfully unwelcome memory for him his mind, he focused on what was important in the current moment: food. Admittedly, he had intentions of hunting for himself first before he went to work filling the pack’s caches.
After all, he could not exactly function properly on an empty stomach.
a crime so old as the sky and bone