Stavanger Bay Without tradition, art is a flock of sheep without a shepherd.

Thistle was still extremely torn about her decision to take the soft spoken female from the Isle for captivity. However, she also knew she had to do what her husband would do, to make sure she didn't make him upset, or have him go on some rampage after the girl. And truthfully, she had done the genteel thing, whereas her husband would have probably attempted and succeeded in ripping the poor girl's throat out. So in retrospect she had done the only thing she could have done, to keep the threat of blood shed to a minimum. Granted the girl would have a miserable existence for however long she was here, but at least she would be alive at the end of it.

She walked along the beaches, Tveir keeping her company, he was often in her company, Ein preferring to be in Ragnar's or Skolls both of whom he idealized, and Gyda well she stayed near the den for the time being. As she and her son walked in silence him looking around and she keeping pace to his littler legs, her mind wandered. She did however see the big wolf Beric in the distance and she knew she needed to speak with him, he had known the girl, and she strongly suspected that he had not been pleased with her orders, but he had followed them anyway and for that alone she wanted to thank him.

As they grew closer she chuffed quietly and spoke Hello Beric. I'm sorry I don't believe we officially met, I am Thistle Cloud and this is Tveir.