<style type="text/css"> r1 {color:#5e6d7c; font-size: 10px;} .r1box {background-color: #0b0c14; width: 500px; margin: auto; background-image: url('http://i.imgur.com/TdbsUHq.png'); background-repeat: no-repeat; border: 1px solid #4b4e55; outline: 10px solid #1f2633;} .r1text {margin: auto; width: 350px; color:#313d4a; text-indent: 15px; font-family: georgia; line-height: 15px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-top: 420px; margin-bottom: 30px;}</style>
It had been months since Ragnar had been up north, the last time had been very shortly before his admittance into Horizon Ridge, near Swiftcurrent Creek where he had met it’s Alpha, Fox but also it had been to assure himself that his stolen son had made it safely to the Creek. Just because Týr had chosen to go his own way and become his own legend instead of living in the shadow of what once had belonged to Ragnar did not mean that the Viking could not worry over his son’s safety. Ragnar had worried but also because he feared the Amazon Queen would send her little girls in search of Týr - wondering how far the ex-Prince’s “guard” would go to find him. It was …and was not any longer his concern whether they found him or not. Týr was beyond his reach and needed to decide if he was a Viking or an Amazon (if, indeed, his memory was ever regained though Floki had been confident that it would not resurface).
There was something that drew him to this Blackfoot Forest, but if it was Týr’s presence or not, the Viking could not say. It almost made Ragnar wish he did know. Thistle was close to giving birth, both of them knew it though she had assured him he would be able to be back from this brief trip before they came into the world. Ragnar wanted to witness the birth of his sons, wanted to watch a body give birth living, breathing and squirming babes instead of aborting them bloody and violently as Dagmar had; and too, he wanted to be there for Thistle.
The forest was dappled by the afternoon sunlight that filtered in through the green canopy above, sometimes stretching far enough to the ground to touch upon the bracken that littered the forest floor and hid the hard earth that lay beneath. This forest, as did Ravensblood, had the same kind of almost otherworldly feel too it, though he did not sense any particular God that might have claimed these lands as holy as Odinn had with the Ravensblood Forest. The savage’s pace slowed as he glimpsed all around him, his curiosity as his new surroundings getting the better of him, though he was always attentive even as his eyes wandered. Scarred and unscarred ear remained alert atop his head, each muscle pulled taunt and ready should something come bearing towards him abruptly.
For now, there was nothing in his vicinity as far as he could tell that felt remotely threatening to him.