Dragoncrest Cliffs my tree house is on fire

Kjalarr had not warned her of the dangers the coast harbored out of the kindness of his heart, it was true, if he dared to look deep enough (he did not) it was probably more selfish than it was anything else. He felt the weight of the packs cropping up all over the places, competing with Saltwinter for resources, and he wasn't going to have some wanderer — regardless of which new pack she was apart of — making their life ten times harder. Every mouth that took food from these shores and the surrounding territories was putting him and the motley crew of Saltwinter in danger. Though, perhaps Kjalarr should not have concerned himself so much with it, for it was Caiaphas in charge, he felt responsible to worry about it to as a loyal subordinate of her's. He was a contributing member of Saltwinter and it was his problem to. She offered her name flatly. Octavia. He tucked it away for later reference but offered her no spoken word, reveling in the silence that had moved to feel the void of words between them.

Octavia broke it, however, and Kjalarr's scarred muzzle lifted in silent contemplation as she surmised of it's quietude. “It is calm, today,” Kjalarr reiterated in a musing tone, letting out a soft exhale of breath from his black, leathery nostrils, salmon pink tongue sliding across his chops for a brief moment. “but it is not always so. Sometimes Jörmungandr is angry and the sea is feral.” There was great power hidden in the calming laps of the waves upon the shore — something that Kjalarr knew from first hand experience and he had not even been swept out to sea during a storm (and personally hopes he never finds out what that's like). For a moment, Kjalarr lost himself in the tales of the sea serpent, replaying his mother's re-telling of Ragnar's stories of Thor and the sea serpent and how in Ragnarok they would battle.

These thoughts were broken with her what appeared to him to be a random outburst: announcing her pregnancy, yet, curiously she did not seem thrilled about it as he expected mothers to be. For a second his thoughts flashed to Freyja and felt a relief that he wasn't sexually mature and would not be hearing those words spoken to him, caused by him, any time soon. “And you are not happy about it?” For what other conclusion could the young Ragnar prodigy come to?