Totoka River Meet me near the water's edge

Ragnar felt her eyes touch upon the scars of his face, even if it was a brief touch that did not linger. He was used to stares, used to the repulsion from wolves that were not of the Cove. The Viking had come to expect it, though this was not Blue Willow’s first time glimpsing them. Many times the stares had followed questions of why; why did he want to scar up his face? A face that he supposed was still handsome if the unscarred side of his face was of any sort of indication. Ragnar really couldn’t say because it wasn’t like he had access to mirror to study himself in. Sometimes lakes gave a mirror like property but the water was always moving and the picture that stared back was typically unclear.

Ragnar was silent as she expressed joy that at least one of the children, as far as Ragnar believed anyway, was one of his own. As far as Ragnar was concerned, in general, they were all his because Crete had long ago lost any right to the children; and though Ragnar did not hold a grudge over the mute man for taking Thistle when he had no right to her body (even though at that time Ragnar and Thistle were far from being mates) the threatening promise he had sworn to Odinn still rang true. If Crete were ever to return and come around the Ridge Ragnar would kill him. “I will give all of my children my equal attention.” Ragnar told Blue Willow a bit stiffly, not wanting Gyda to receive any extra or special attention from him because he believed that she was of his seed. Ragnar had grown up in the shadows of his older and young brothers, the spurned middle child whose achievements exceeded both of his brothers’ combined and his father’s own. The quiet Viking had conquered and still strove to do so even in these Teekon Wilds.

Blue Willow carried some interesting news with her, words that one of the Plateau’s own had deserted them, it would seem without a word &mash; at least that was what Ragnar took from the word ‘deserted’ for a new pack. “If he deserted how do you know that he joined this new pack?” There was a brief moment of confusion on Ragnar’s face as he contemplated her words. “I believe that a male called Majesty from Silvertip Mountain has claimed Wheeling Gull Isle. He spoke of not intending to stay in his pack long when I chased him out of Ravensblood Forest,” Ragnar informed, gaze moving to the Isle coolly. “I am certain it is a new pack but I have to have evidence before I can go to Pump about it,” The Viking spoke with steel in his voice, black, leathery nostrils flaring as he exhaled sharply. “If he has claimed the Isle he is a bigger fool that I thought. He is too close to the Ridge and if I have my way I will make him regret ever claiming it.” Ragnar wanted to make their lives hell for being stupid in his opinion, for not even bothering to inform the Ridge whose claim had been there much, much longer at the very least. “The Isle cannot sustain a pack. They will be in our hunting grounds, yours and Silvertips, not to mention the tide could easily carry them if they cross into the mainland onto our shore.” His hackles had began to bristle just talking about it, but he wanted Blue Willow, as a neighboring pack and as an acquaintance to be aware that if he could get Pump to see his thinking that shit would be going down.

If Ragnar had it his way he would raid them, and try to cut them off of the mainland and would openly attack if he found them hunting on the grounds that the Ridge saw as theirs. Too close. There were penalties and these wolves had made it to the top of Ragnar’s enemies list; of course Ragnar couldn’t do anything without Pump’s permission (which irked him to no end) but he would pester her until she let him have his way. On this, he would not back down upon.