Ravensblood Forest ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴘᴇʀsᴘɪʀᴇ

Caribbean blue eyes watched the raven with unhindered curiosity and continued reverence, sensing Odinn’s presence thrumming within the confines of the forest like the hum of some giant dragon beneath the surface. A sole glimpse was spared to the carcass of the deer, studying it for the briefest of moments as if he were determining there was anything worth attempting to salvage and take back to one of the pack’s caches before he decided abruptly against it. No. It would stay here and feed Huginn or Muinnin - whichever regal raven he was in the presence of, for surely this raven had to be one of Odinn’s pets. The sound of the raven’s wings tucking in close to it’s body called the Viking’s attention once more and obediently, his fierce irises turned their oceanic colored depths to focus once more upon the feathered creature. For a moment, he said nothing, leathery black nostrils flaring as he inhaled the rank scent of death and saccharine decay of the carcass a few paces from where he currently stood.

It occurred to the savage in the next few moments of thought that this raven could even, possibly, be Odinn. The Allfather had many forms and many talents, but regardless of who the raven was Ragnar knew one thing: Odinn was watching. “Huginn,” Ragnar breathed to the avian in his soft-spoken quiet voice, full of his inner curiosity, “Or are you Muinnin?” He was unsure if it even understood what he was saying to it, but waited with almost baited breath, anyway.