Dragoncrest Cliffs my tree house is on fire

Kjalarr, despite his recent stoke of the outrider (scout, now) fire he'd long since extinguished, had stayed within Saltwinter's claimed territory, venturing out only when he got the itch — or subsequently when he was summoned. Typically the viking did not venture north but rather stuck to the southern and western reaches of territories, partially because of his ingrained draw of Stavanger Bay among the fact that the Frostfur's inhabited Neverwinter Forest. He'd never ventured north of Ankyra Sound before and so he braved the day — albeit it was with a lot of squinting — and took to the Dragoncrest Cliffs. His purpose was of nothing particular other then to explore which wasn't overly specific. He loped easily along the shore, long legs splashing through the cold salt water, rather un-bothered by it.

It was the weighted sigh that drew the northman's attention and his leisure stroll through the surf ceased, stilling as the water continued to beat against his legs. His ears swiveled atop his skull, determined to find the origin of the sigh, for he wasn't half so creative to have imagined it. His hackles of platinum silver bristled in caution and alarm as he canted his head ever so slightly to the side in a very Ragnar bird like manner. “Hello?” The Scandinavian called out, his voice mimicking Ragnar's softened voice and accent of his dreams, caribbean eyes starbursted with silver scanning the landscape around him …not that it was going to do him much good. 

crap post is crap :c