Ankyra Sound rock and roll could be your savior

As per Kjalarr's typical routines he found himself patrolling the borders in the night, though close to the cusp of dawn. Already, the sky was beginning to lighten though he had a few hours still until the sun would actually rise into the skyline. The moon offered little in the way of light, expect for the small patches when it would be free from the thick dark clouds that obscured it as they skittered their way across the velveteen darkness of the sky that stretched, endlessly before him. The gentle lull of the ocean in the shortened distance was nothing short of a comforting sound to the Loðbrok. It had been a long time since he'd been around it so consistently, and he found that he enjoyed living on the coast the most. It was where he'd been born and it was where he felt the most comfortable. Some feared the incredible power of the enigmatic sea but he found a strength in it, as unpredictable as it was. It had nearly killed him once, when he'd dove into it in a moment of nothing but flight or fight instincts to escape the gaping and hungry jaws of the (first) bear he'd encountered, yet it had spit him back up, albeit barely clinging to life, on this very shore. 

In that of itself he felt a connection to the Sound, though he could not find words to put together to explain it; and thus far he found himself enjoying Saltwinter greatly, though he had yet to officially meet his pack mates. It was true the only one he knew was their alpha female and not very well at that but he respected her in a way he could never make himself respect Charon, though there had been too much bad blood between the two young males at the word get-go. It was a relationship doomed to fail from the very start, and despite that they were angry with him (again it was nothing new to Kjalarr) he felt free in a way he'd never felt in Moonspear under the heavy scrutiny of a family that claimed he wasn't even one of them. They were right. None of them were true Loðbroks. His twin was a blind sheep, and Charon was a false Loðbrok only out of Ragnar and Thistle's pity, at that; at least this is what Kjalarr chose to believe of them.

Soon hardened earth gave way to the soft, cool sands of the shore and he found himself pausing to take in the sight of the monochrome ocean, it's waves crashing upon the shore in high tide, frothing with foam and tendrils of seaweed that washed up and remained upon the wet sand even as the waves receded. It felt like home.