harder to find what's right

Ragnar watched, stoic, as the ebon man’s shoulders relaxed as to which Ragnar took to be an effort to appear less like the Viking’s presence was bothering him as he appeared to have realized how his body language was coming across. Eyes of Caribbean ice narrowed slightly; black, leathery nostrils flaring to take in the scent and commit it to memory. It would not hurt to know their scent at least until it was no longer around. Packs came and went in the Wilds all the time, not so long ago a pack inhabited lands near this …Sunspire and they now were nothing more than a ghost echo in the Wild’s vast memory. All packs were susceptible to it because it was the law of nature. Survival of the fittest. Not everyone could survive, a continuous cycle of life and death, the rise and fall of empires. Whether this infant pack was sustainable to provide any sort of threat had the Viking curious, but not threatened. They were far enough away from the Ridge for Ragnar to feel like they shouldn’t matter to one another.

A greeting was given and Ragnar dipped his head in a silent return of it, his left, scarred ear giving a twitch when the ebon creature asked him specifically what pack he was outriding for. It was a curious question that confirmed Ragnar’s assumptions and suspicions (or so he took it to be a confirmation). They were a branch off of a likely irate pack, just like Majesty and his Isle wolves. The Sunspire was far enough away that Horizon Ridge shouldn’t suffer any rebuke or consequences that would befall this infant pack, but Ragnar wondered why this was a sudden trend. It was like they stupidly painted neon signs to attract attention to themselves by forming a branch off pack of whatever one they had successfully managed to piss off. Why else would this male care what pack Ragnar was from? Why else would it matter?

It wouldn’t, his thoughts assuaged him.

For a moment Ragnar considered giving a lie, a deception to protect what was precious to him but the Ridge had no quarrel with these wolves and he expected it to stay that way. “I am Heimdall,” Assuming the Watchman of Asgard’s name was easy and less personal that using his brother’s name to take as a moniker given he often traveled to Midgard and paid visits and no one but those who were privy with Ragnar’s culture or religion would know the difference. “I come from Horizon Ridge, you can relax,” The Viking said in his soft, heavily accented voice, giving away his suspicions because it was all obvious to him. “So how did your…Sunspire come to be?” He inquired with a birdlike cant to his head.