Stavanger Bay Life's a little sideways

“I did too,” Kjalarr murmured softly, mimicking their deceased father's accent carried through the tenors of his subconscious memory and dreams of the viking king. “it was only one wolf and I managed to chase him off.” Stavanger Bay may have been left to be reclaimed by the wilds, it was and always would be his birth place and in that a small piece of his heart belonged to it. “I know,” Kjalarr sighed, breathing in the salty tang of the sea brine as it whipped around them, two nearly identical shards cut from the same glass. “It's part of the reason why I had wanted mother to come meet me on a free territory,” Perhaps Ragnar's empty grave would hurt Thistle more than it hurt either of her sons. It angered Kjalarr, but because he saw it as a direct affront. It was disrespectful to the legend whose bones nurtured it and disrespectful to them as his children.

“Have you told her yet?” Kjalarr inquired with muted curiosity. Perhaps, he briefly considered, it was better that they kept their silence, especially if she did not actively visit the grave as she once had. Perhaps Thistle didn't need anything else to grieve over. “He isn't concerned with his corpreal body. It was just a stepping stone for him to reach his true goal: Valhalla. There he feasts and fights among the Gods.” A place that Kjalarr (believed) he'd seen in his dreams, though he did not speak of them. In fact, only Wildfire had ever known about them and even then Kjalarr had remained vague, at best.

“How are things going for you? Well?” Because he hadn't asked and this truce was a tentative peace; but it was a start, and Kjalarr was glad for it. It was certainly better than their last conversation with one another and that was something.