Duck Lake weeping willow

I kind of went crazy with this and most if it is fluff. No need to match the length. xD

Life was renewing with the coming of spring, Björn could feel the whispers of winter fading as Spring let loose her battle cry, even though the temperatures fluctuated drastically one day harboring warmth and the next stealing with it’s chill, however, Björn was used to extremes, though he preferred things to be more consistent. The birds were singing in the trees above and on the ground where they forged for worms and other insects to feed them in preparation for their mating season. Or so this was what Björn assumed at any rate, unsurprisingly because his thoughts were always lingering upon wolves’ own mating season; or rather the season most females went into heat though Björn was aware that they could go into heat at different times. Having left Odinn’s Cove in the temporary leadership of his trusted second and younger brother of whom was in charge of keeping an eye on Bjorn’s newest pet, a gift from the neighboring pack, a meant to be sacrifice saved. Björn’s interest in her had been as fleeting as was predictable of him though he had left without knowing if his children grew within her or not.

Odinn had spoken to him through his ravens: Huginn and Muninn, calling to the wolf who felt a deep kinship with the King God, in a dream and called Björn to these lands, to acquire knowledge, seed roots here and conquer. Or so this was how Björn chose to interpret the darkened dream.

Björn was drawn like a ghost to it’s final resting place near the claimed territory where he could depict Sveinn’s scent, fresher than some of the others, tell-tale despite that it was laced with the scents of the pack. The scarred Viking had no intentions of seeking his son, or pulling him into any of his plans, and according, trouble. While Sveinn was a Viking through and through to this Björn saw to, Sveinn was also exactly that a boy. A boy who was more finesse than a usual Viking despite that the lies and deceptions had been spun convincingly by Björn who would have made their mischievous God, Loki proud. Certain that Sveinn was among them, Björn felt no need to investigate further and stayed a territories’ distance away from the pack, lingering instead near a lake that seemed to be invaded by ducks. Their presence was barely noted by the bear-like man whose cold eyes flickered to them only as he considered a meal. Even so, Björn did not act upon this consideration for the time being, lost too much in his own thoughts as they hissed like the whispers of his ancestors in his mind, tempting and poisonous.

Black, leathery nostrils flared as the scent of the pack whose name he did not know became stronger than more than just a whiff on the wind, and for a moment, Björn’s muscles pulled taunt beneath his coat of platinum silver as cold, but otherwise stunning caribbean blue eyes looked for the source, scarred and unscathed ears slicking back against his skull. Sveinn. His son could not know of his presence, hence the reason Ragnar had taken a moniker - ironically the name of the brother and king Ragnar had killed in his youth. Narrowed eyes soon fell upon the source of the pack’s scent with a slight wave of relief soon trumped by curiosity. From the distance Björn noted only that she, beneath the scent of her pack was the distinct scent of a female, was colored as if she’d been kissed by fire, and that she seemed small, though he allowed that it could have been a trick of distance.

Expression of hardened and cold stone flickered to life, transforming into one of piqued interest as Björn rose to his paws and began to move in her direction, letting out a bark to announce his presence to her in case she had not noticed him yet.