Horizon Ridge i do like to be beside the seaside

Thinking of Odinn’s Cove, a pack his family had not always led, but nevertheless been apart of for numerous generations did not make him as homesick as he had thought it might have. He missed the certain measure of comfort his own people brought to him, and he did miss leading them and being thoroughly true to his Viking blood and origins, as opposed to this laying low crap that he endured all for Odinn, because the Allfather, Björn’s descendent (or so he believed anyway) demanded it of him; and who was he to defy the Gods? Björn had heard her sentence about the sea but did not know what to say to it, other than admit that Odinn’s Cove had a section of shore and sea within their claim, as well. By the time Björn considered that he would tell her they had reached the cache and she had taken what she had wanted from it, cleaned it and began to eat away at it.

In return to his rarely given information she spoke that her father had taught her how to fish too. It had been easy to forget that in his father’s youth he had been a simple fisher in the pack not the fearsome Jarl that they had came to love and fear. The stories his mother had told had not sounded of his father, but instead if someone else entirely. Someone their mother had gotten the Jarl confused with because for Björn to imagine his father as anything less than a Jarl was impossible. Yet, in the Cove, the leadership was not automatically passed to the children of the current Jarl. The only reason that the original Björn and after him Ragnar had succeeded their father on the throne had been at the death of the current Jarl by the son/brother’s own teeth. For a moment, the savage considered telling her where he came from in truth, but thought better of it. She was in the same pack as his son. “Maybe,” Björn allowed, following with, “if you have Viking blood in you.”