Dagrún had deigned, giving the message of Thistle to pass along to Ragnar for his half brother to meet him in the hot springs these posh summer wolves called Firestone. Of course, that had been made before the dark Viking had became apart of Silvertip Mountain, and while he deigned to make himself useful to Jinx and her motley crew of wolves (and what a strange group they were!) he made it a priority to visit the springs for a few hours every day in the hope that it would be the day that Ragnar would meet him there, finally. Dagrún was confident that Ragnar’s wife would pass on the bulk of the shield maiden and dark Viking’s conversation yet he still wished to speak to Ragnar face to face. Brother to brother. After he had hunted for himself and to add to Silvertip’s caches the dark Viking had set out in the early cusp of morning, the sky still dark, the moon still high in the sky, lighting his path which had become familiar to the sable and silver peppered man given how often he traipsed it.
It was a distance to ask Ragnar to meet him at for both males but Dagrún, knowing what he did now of his new home, that it would not be safe for Ragnar to come to the mountain’s borders, and neither was the dark Viking particularly all that interested in making the trip all the way back to the Ridge’s borders.
Dagrún had just turned to head back to Silvertip, deciding that yet again, Ragnar would not be making an appearance when his brother’s soft voice resonated from behind the dark Viking whom turned and let his steel colored gaze fall upon the silver magnificent that was Ragnar, even with all the scars that marked up his body. Not that Dagrún didn’t have his fair share, the one that cut down over his eye his most noticeable. “You look good, brother,” The native language of their people came freely from Dagrún’s lips significantly deeper than his brother’s softer tone. Seeing Ragnar’s coy smirk caused Dagrún to grin widely at his half brother as he grasped the silver male’s scruff and pulled him roughly into a brotherly, bear-like embrace. “You smell like pregnant woman,” Dagrún chuckled, teasing Ragnar as if there had not been months between their last meeting. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come. It’s rude to keep your kin waiting, Ragnar.” Dagrún teased his half brother lightly, grinning rather like a fool as he pulled away from Ragnar, backing to give his equally bear-like brother space.
Cocking his head to the side, Dagrún examined the mark of Odinn upon Ragnar’s face with snort that escaped his leathery, black nostrils. “By the Gods Floki is a shit artist.” He remarked, again only teasingly, unable to help the giddy, little boy feeling he got at seeing Ragnar in the flesh before him.