Dagrún had been traveling for what felt like for two lifetimes, a blur of green and brown, one landscape bleeding into the next as he followed in what he hoped was Ragnar’s path though he could not be sure. Odinn was his half brother’s favorite God, and Fenrir offered no insight upon if Dagrún was even going in the correct direction. Several times the Viking doubted that there was anything remotely wise about his journey, but he was utterly sick and tired of living under Váli’s idiotic rule. The second youngest Eitrisson was air headed and was trying too hard to be Ragnar except he was failing miserably turn after endless turn. On more than one occasion Dagrún’s mother had whispered to him to conspire against his Váli, to take the helm beneath the fool’s weak rule. Without Ragnar there it would be easy and Dagrún couldn’t help but agree with that simple fact. It would be easy. But he was base-born, a bastard boy. They would not take orders from him, born of his slave mother and generally disregarded by Eitri. Ragnar, nor Váli had ever done anything wrong to him, had even accepted him and shared in their lessons with him when they had been children.
He could not see the point in feeding his mother’s obsession with revenge, revenge for being taken (in both terms) and for being a slave when she was a proud Amazon woman - exotic to the Northmen as she was. It had been her curse, Dagrún had assumed. He shared her sable fur, but in any other way he looked and was built like Eitri, even had the deceased Jarl’s peppering of silver through his sable fur as if the Gods - both hers and his - could not make up their mind if he should be more Amazon or Viking. It was mid morning when Dagrún had caught Ragnar’s scent tainting the earth - recognizable under the foreign stench of many others - of whatever pack he had infiltrated himself into at Odin’s orders. A silent thanks was sent up to the wolf god, Fenrir (the one that was fated to kill Odin during Ragnarök, ironically) as Dagrún followed it to the borders where it hung here, stronger than anywhere else. Black, leathery nostrils flared as he inhaled the unique scent of his half brother, knowing that he had finally found him.
“Ragnar…” His name was spoke upon the wind in Dagrún’s deep voice, his accent heavy and identical to his half brother’s own. "I have found you brother." In this, Dagrún felt only relief.