Arrow Lake my feelings are too loud for words and too shy for the world

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Kjalarr travels further from Sawtooth Spire than he has since the day he was drawn to it’s towering, treacherous peak. He can see it in the distance when he pauses to glimpse over his shoulder. The apex of the world, Kjalarr believes. Jagged and deadly rib-cage bone of Aurgelmir that threatens to slice the sky asunder. Kjalarr turns back to his path though he has no real destination in mind; he has not forgotten his once desire to hold the specialty of ranger and supposes that is what draws him from his chosen home on the Sawtooth. He knows he should return for Arrille before he is entirely ripped from his grasp but he has nothing stable for his son with Ondine. For a (very) brief moment he is overwhelmed with guilt that he is selfish and has yet to abnegate himself and crawl to the nearest pack on his belly and plea them to take him and his son in. Surely, by now, they could have been reunited. The time spent away from him gives over to Ondine’s influence and Kjalarr wants Calder to adhere to his viking culture. He wants to have an influence beyond looks. The guilt does not last long. His son is his son and Kjalarr has been generous with the stories of his Gods and spoke of his beliefs enough in the months he spent with his son raising him. Kjalarr is sure that he is doing the right thing — though if it is for Arrille or himself he has yet to try to deduce.

The hard earth gives way to sand beneath paws and he draws in a sharp breath for a moment, focusing back upon his surroundings. He thinks, for a moment, that he has traveled all the way to the coast, absent of raptorial focus as he was but he does not hear the sea. It is a lake, instead, that stretches out before him. It only reminds him of what else he has failed to do. He cannot remember the last time he has been to Stavanger Bay and though he seeks no trouble with the pack he believes still resides there he desires to visit his natal territory. It holds nothing for him. His claim of birthright over it has diminished over the years and with Ragnar’s grave and the shrines of the gods defiled and stolen it is no longer the holy place it had been for his father. Polar Caribbean gaze sweeps the small beach the lake provides and comes to rest upon a woman in the sand. Her coat is an agouti mixture of earthen colors and there is a small, bird-like cant to the scarred northman’s head as he studies her unbidden. Unaware of whether she has become aware of his presence or not he lets out a low, amiable chuff to garner her attention.

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