Peace, Ragnar knew, could never last. It was an illusion because there were wolves out there always looking for more. Bigger pack lands, better hunting grounds. Just because Stavanger Bay was in untamed territory within the Teekon Wilds didn’t mean the lands would stay relatively untamed by wolves for very long. Ragnar wasn’t a fantasts and did not hold to that belief with any sort of concreteness. Still, the respite from intruding neighbors, what would likely be fights over hunting grounds, and a murderous bear (or in general the curse that he suspected plagued the lands of Horizon Ridge) was a welcomed one. The scarred Northman yearned for Stavanger Bay even now as he paused on his journey there. He was exhausted, though he never allowed himself to be exhausted to the point where it would affect his everyday functioning (he had too much work to do for that), but his motive lately had became a morbid one: I will rest when we are relocated or when I am dead. Though, of course, the latter wasn’t precisely true since he was well aware of what happened in Valhalla and it wasn’t rest. Even in death he would train to be apart of the most important army to come forth to battle the forces of Ragnarök.
For the second time within a week’s span of one another, a Wheeling Gull Isle wolf approached the scarred Northman on the Totoka River. Pupils within their pools of Caribbean ice narrowed as his brow furrowed as his face was still bent to the river, the crisp and cool water gliding over parted lips and splashing up against his chin as Ragnar’s salmon pink tongue darted in and out in a final lap of the water as his head rose, droplets of water clinging to the damp fur of his chin sliding off back into the endless movement of water along the bank of stone and earth. It was true, so far, that this ebon creature of the Isle was not hunting, did not smell to have been hunting and therefore the Viking could not make good on his promise of chasing them out even if it was free territory. Still, the Northman wondered if either Majesty was slacking on telling his the warning, or if he was becoming so arrogant that he simply didn’t care.
There had been no hostility in the smaller man’s approach, and none still in his greeting though Ragnar did not return it wondering how different this meeting might go from Beric’s. Beric had been looking to flee Majesty’s ship and Ragnar had offered him shelter and a place in the Bay though he had yet to hear of Julooke and Verrine’s relative. He suspected he was taking care of unfinished business within the Isle but that was only an educated guess. In retrospect, Ragnar didn’t really know. The male spoke again, stating what was obvious to Ragnar (he had became well acquainted with their scent so he would know it without doubt) though it burned his black, leathery nostrils like a physical insult he cocked his right ear, unmarred and pristine towards the creature. He stated that he was there to learn about the lands and other packs, though he, at least, made sure to include it was on his own designs and not Majesty’s — though Ragnar could not help but wonder if there was a difference so long as he served under the Isle alpha — and then came the question of where Ragnar was from.
For a second, the platinum Northman contemplated not answering, but then he could not deny this curious creature the harmless information, at least. He had to appreciate curiosity if only because Ragnar, himself, strove, following in the footsteps of the All-Father, knowledge.