Stavanger Bay Well it's too late

Slight pp! Let me know if you'd like me to change it and I gladly will; also feel free to pp Kja as needed. <3

He drew in a deep breath, of salty sea brine, the tease of spring in the air but stronger than any of those things Kjalarr smelled her. It was not anything he could describe, a saccharine perfume than any he'd ever smelled from a woman before; and as it was he'd been around plenty of women, simply never one in heat before. He assumed that was what it was, and why he was reacting to it. Why reckless abandon was so willfully embraced, why he'd followed her scent to the Bay itself. His body would know what to do even if no one had ever had the “birds and bees” talk with him; instincts would take care of it for him; and that was the basis for this...for all of it: instinct. Raw and unbidden. He might not be able to bear children yet but he was coming into it and this was far from unexpected. 

Freyja, for surely that was who she was, had settled upon her haunches in the sand, offering him a wicked look that elicited another low rumble from the young jarl Loðbrok throat where it resounded. It was a warm sound, but it was also a hungry sound; not one he was accustomed to making, though he was in no fit state to stop and question what he was doing. A low warmth had began to spread to his loins, a smoldering fire that he felt at the apex of his thighs; unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It was an aching feeling, encouraged by the scent that seemed to radiate off of her body in droves.

Like his father before him, Kjalarr was not afraid to take what he wanted; and currently he had never wanted anything in his life more than he wanted Freyja (or whom he believed her to be, at any rate) in that moment. Fearlessly, he moved closer to her and touched his nose to her cheek, inhaling the aroma of her cycle where it lingered upon her fur. “Fallegur,” He murmured in the guttural language of his father: he was not fluent for his lessons with Thistle were cut short by his decision to leave Moonspear but he was confident he knew enough to impress the queen of valkyries. “beautiful.” He breathed once more, this time favoring the common tongue instead, hoping to flatter but also to express the honesty. She was all that Kjalarr could focus upon. He reached for her again, wanting to brush his muzzle against hers and if she did not pull away from him sneak in a few tenative kisses (licks) to her jaw. Right now, he was testing. Trying to find out how his advances would be received by her.