Sand curved to the shape of Ragnar’s paws, squishing between his toes as he made his way towards Surra, glad to see the other male here. As far as Ragnar was aware — from the scents at any rate — everyone had made it here except for Sköll and the children (this included his sister, Hati, who he still considered a child). The last time he had seen Surra his paws had been stained with Pump’s blood and he had answered Ragnar’s howl with his appearance, which had been good for the Viking because he did not, at the time, want to have to get Thistle back to help him take care of the body. “I don’t want to cut into your time to explore but any assistance would be a great help,” Ragnar admitted with another impish twitch of his lips. “I may not be able to relive myself for a month,” Periodically marking the borders during patrols was one thing but actually making borders was a whole other ballpark and when he had nothing left to mark the borders with he enlisted the help of whichever Ridge wolf he could find exploring the Bay…besides the fact that it was good for them to add their scent marking to the mix, as well.
It was, admittedly, the first time Ragnar had ever had to lay down his scent into the form of a border, making it where there had not been a border for a long time, if at all. He had inherited the Cove in an eerily similar manner to the way he had inherited the Ridge (except he hadn’t killed Pump where as he had killed Björn). It was a disturbing trend he hopes he did not have to repeat again.
Ragnar smiled at Surra when his subordinate commented on the beauty of the Bay and Ragnar took a moment to glimpse around again, to take it all in as he had when he had first followed the raven to it. It was a magnificent sight, safe and sustainable for their pack and for any numbers they might grow too. It was a nice place to raise children, as well…not just for him and Thistle but for any other mates that might come to be. “It is wealthy with life,” And the best part was there was no packs right up their butts, either. The closest was probably Silvertip and even then there was a good and adequate stretch of distance between them. The Viking’s ears twitched as he began to lead the way towards the borders, glimpsing over his shoulder to make sure Surra was following since Ragnar had began to walk without giving much of a warning, listening to the other man’s question. “Yes,” Ragnar responded, paused to lick his lips before he followed up with, “Stafr means ash or branch depending on which way you use it, and Angr means bay. So when you put the prefix’s together it creates Stavanger,” His tongue formed the word like a caress; the use of his native tongue much smoother than his use of the common tongue. “Basically it’s named Ash bay Bay but no one needs to know that, and I thought Stavanger Bay was a nice melding of our languages. It represents the melting pot of our pack. We are different but we are one family.” It also helped that it had a really nice ring to it but with that Ragnar wasn’t terribly concerned.
