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

Beric's head lowered, his gaze fell to his front paws, and his ears flattened upon his head. Thistle was right; he had spoken too openly, and he shouldn't have. Even words against the Alpha could be construed as blasphemy, and that was not his intent, really. He would not argue with her, though. I understand, he replied, his voice soft. He only hoped the male at her side wasn't paying attention. Pups could talk without knowing what they were saying, and if he accidentally said something, Beric could get into trouble.

She seemed to accept Claire's currently location, but warned that he should obey Ragnar, should he choose to want her moved. I will, I promise, he confirmed. Even if Thistle had told him to move her, he would have. He understood that what his leaders wanted came before his outside friends. He only hoped Claire could understand that one day, as well.

Thistle sat, seemingly getting comfortable before asking what brought him here. Verrine and Julooke, he said easily. They are my family... Last year, we all, including several more siblings of Julooke, and my brother, joined a pack. It disbanded, and we all got separated. I ran into Verrine one day not long ago on the beach, and that's how I learned they were here, he said.