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For a moment there was silence between them, and it was comfortable as they walked, though without borders to patrol the purpose was sort of lost on the wind that carried the sticky and salty brine of the sea as it wove through the tendrils of his platinum silver fur. Eventually, they would walk to the other side of the shore, to where their borders would begin once more. His alpha broke the silence with another question, inquiring about where Moonspear was located. “It's south of us, between the Altar of Twilight and Silverlight Terrace, right across from Ouroboros Spine,” Kjalarr told her freely. He didn't have any reason to question her inquiry and frankly, didn't really care what she did with the information. Charon thought he was some great jarl — the thought left quite the sour taste in Kjalarr's mouth who knew the last great Jarl that these Wilds saw was Ragnar not some little man child — then surely he could be a real man and deal with some shit on his borders. “For a while I considered being an Outrider so I know the path well.” He informed her with a slight shrug of his shoulders. He wanted to see Charon fail, he wanted to see him fall off his pedestal and crumble so that Floki, Wildfire and Thistle could see him for what he really was: a monster of their own creation. A child playing the game of thrones at being King, but Charon wasn't his concern anymore Kjalarr told himself. He was Moonspear's demon to deal with.

Kjalarr knew he needed to let the grudge go but that was so much easier said than done and it was likely that it would never dissipate. Nevertheless he shoved his grudge and horrible thoughts to some dark corner of his mind, inhaling the scent of the saltwater, sharp and tangy. The scent of home. It helped to clear his mind, and thus Kjalarr made himself to focus upon it.