Horizon Ridge i do like to be beside the seaside

Oh hai! :-) I'll probably use this for one of Bjorn's Warden threads, if that's ok with you. ^_^

Björn, with the gash in his shoulder softly scabbed over had let Thistle inspect it and rub it with whatever plant or berry paste she saw fit to supposedly keep the scab from tearing away from his skin and to protect it but he only let her dress it when he was going on long distance trips because the scab needed air, now. It was itchy and bothersome to him, forcing him to limp as to not upset it; however Björn did not tear at it because he knew another one would just grow back, Thistle would likely give him hell, and it was needed to mend the torn sinew and flesh beneath it. Still, he did not let his slight limp, or his injury slow him down or keep him from his warden duties, nor his goal for the Beta rank that was fixated in the attention of his efforts and eyes. With Thistle in her receptive heat cycle and Björn’s penchant for debauchery, however, she claimed a percentage, never mind that it was clearly unwanted by the fawn colored shieldmaiden, of his attention as well. Björn couldn’t help his savage self, but he resisted so long she rejected his advances because he did not want to place in jeopardy his deal with Pump.

Black, leathery nostrils flared as the wafting scent, as familiar to Björn as Horizon Ridges’ own, tickled his senses. The platinum silver Viking paused in her pursuit of his border patrols, knowing that he was nearing the origins of the scent. It did not smell strongly of Fox, though her scent clung to the undercurrents of Swiftcurrent Creek’s overall pack scent. It scented distinctly female, squashing any of the worries that it might have been Sveinn, that his son had found him out, anyhow, despite the careful measures Björn Ragnar had taken; and while it could have very well be inevitable in the end, Björn did not want his stolen son’s interference in the task Odinn had set out for Björn and him alone. The scarred Viking inhaled deeply, tasting the scent of the Creek, and the salty tang of the nearby ocean. Someone was at their borders with some kind of purpose, it was his job as Warden to greet them, though there was a slight nag of suspicion that no call had been raised to warn Horizon Ridges’ wolves of her presence.

It did not take the savage long to find her, her ivory coat a palatable difference to the waning snow that only seemed to linger in ugly patches here and there. “Why did you not call for someone?” Björn asked of her gruffly, caribbean blue eyes fierce, scarred and unscarred ears slicked back to a half mast atop his skull, his tail raised over his back, being the only pack wolf here to greet her he took the natural superior position in the situation. "Why are you here?" He was naturally defensive and protective of these lands, having formed an unlikely (and otherwise impossible if not for the landslide) kinship to the wolves he helped to keep safe.