Horizon Ridge ~Singing softly to the empty night~

Björn, holding Pump’s proposition to counter his own in high regards - though the Viking could not truly pinpoint the moment in time that the hybrid woman had managed to catch him off guard by sowing the seeds of respect within him, it was there, regardless - worked on patrolling the borders, eyes and ears open for any potential stragglers whom had gotten lost from them during the landslide. Björn was not the type of man to come out and say she had his respect, more so it would be communicated through his actions. He had not came to this pack with the intention of holding respect for another, a superior no less, but Odinn had drawn him here for a reason and for the time being the Viking was contented to stay here and help the new leader gain her footing and help the pack raise to the glory it should be. The desire to prove that he was worthy of her trust despite that he was among other things dangerous, that he was worthy of being her enforcer, the second in command, yet it was not just her he needed to impress but the others as well.

The borders had been quiet, the silence of the Ridge calming compared to the clamor that vibrated the very core of the earth when the landslide had struck them, and the sun would peek out from beneath drifting clouds every now and then, warming the platinum silver tendrils of silken fur that lined his back, though sometimes the warmth would give cause for his wound under the wrappings Thistle took care of to itch and the Viking would pause and bite at the skin around it as it began to scab and heal. His fur was still matted with old blood from when he had torn it when it had been infected, for bathing would ruin the wrappings. Björn would be the first to admit he was not the best patient, not one for fussing, or healing voodoo but she worked hard and took good care of him, enduring him with a good nature. In a small manner, Björn admired Thistle’s patience.

A howl rose not too far from where he had paused to re-enforce the borders, and head rose, scarred and unscarred ears thrusting forth and swiveling atop his head to gauge the position before he pushed himself towards the stranger at the borders, subtly trying to hide the limp that marred his gait from his healing gash. Interestingly enough as Björn drew closer the female’s scent was overpowered by the sweet scent of a mother’s milk, and black leathery nostrils flared as he assumed that she was expecting. So many times he had expected to drink that scent in from one of his many wives or gifts but none of them had taken his seed, either from their young age or his own, the exception being Unnr whom had been to sickly to conceive. For a dark moment, Ragnar (the true name of the scarred Viking) considered many things, each more unsavory as the other as a wave of jealousy and possession stole over him, and the brutish and savage nature of his people came out with a feral vengeance as his darkened caribbean blue eyes took her in, lingering on the swell of her belly and the enlargement of her teats, assuming that she was pregnant before he locked such things away.

Thinking those sorts of things would ruin what he was attempting to build here, even a feral and savage beast needed a home.

“I am Björn,” The savage spoke his moniker, his tail raised over his back in a dominate position over his back to show that he was the wolf of rank here, for the moment. The ranks were in a unclear disorder as of the moment as Horizon Ridge struggled to find their footing again on the unstable ground the disaster had left them with, but Björn had a clear goal in his mind besides the Beta rank, figuring that gaining the co-rank of Warden couldn’t hurt, besides it being suited well to him. “What do you seek at our borders?” Of course, Björn had a fairly clear idea, however, he wanted to hear her say it for herself, just in case.