Sea Lion Shores the halls of our fathers

The sea lapped at her paws comfortingly. Though he had a strange way of speaking, Ragna liked the stranger, who smelled of the sea and did not ask many questions. Other wolves would pry, hearing the bladed edge of her first response. Other wolves would tread on boundaries in some misguided attempt to provide comfort. But not this golden-eyed stranger, and Ragna could appreciate that, in a way.

A nod, a response, and Ragna frowned. She tried to quash the first rumblings of rancor, for rampant emotion could ruin her quest for more information. The note of pride with which he affirmed her suspicions was like kindling, and she was unable to douse it completely. "I am Shieldmaiden. I am the daughter of Ragnar, who ruled the Bay as Jarl before you and your ilk sought to claim it," she said, gloating and triumphant. As a proud beast, she found herself most eloquent when speaking of her family's greatness. Her claim to the territory was far greater than that of whatever squatter had proclaimed himself Alpha there. Still she knew better than to vilify a pack's leader before one of its members, much less within sight of the place itself.