Gyrfalcon's Keep Dangerous Temptation

The days were becoming cooler, proving Thistle's prediction that the Harvest months were upon the Teekon Wilds. Stavanger Bay had begun preparing for the winter that was to come; Ragnar did not put much stock in the Naturalist trade but he would turn to his Priestess Wife to see what she thought. Would Fimbulvetr be upon them — the harshest of winters — or was it just like any other winter? What defined winter for these Southern wolves? Each winter at Odinn Cove was harsh, unforgiving, merciless ...much like the Nordic wolves, born of her blood. Ragnar did not fear winter, having endured many harsh ones in his three years of life. His coat had already began to thicken, the tendrils of platinum silver becoming coarser in anticipation. They were wolves and Ragnar was faithful. They would adapt and survive. Their weekly hunt had not been a success, their prey slipping from the grasp of Death's jaws like smoke. They felt the loss of the elk, and it had been like a slap in their faces, but he was determined to try harder the next hunt. It was not the first time prey had eluded them and it would, surely, not be the last. As long as they avoided taking from the caches and made sure that they were filled then Ragnar did not worry so much. Thistle, he knew, was nervous about Verrine and Julooke's children, and the to-be children of Nerian and Ragnar himself, but Ragnar knew that he would die before he let a single child die of hunger or freeze to death. Be it Julooke's or his own. The fact that his children with Thistle were old enough to begin contributing to the pack was a bonus. A great bonus.

He had been wondering around Ravensblood Forest, enjoying the presence of the ravens, those of Odinn. Odinn's life force was felt within the ground, the trees, his voice resounding upon the wind within Stavanger Bay but his ravens housed in the Forest of Ravensblood and sometimes, Ragnar enjoyed the presence of the avian(s). He had been on the borders, watching Huginn and Muninn circle one another, their cries a soothing sound to the scarred Scandinavian when a howl went up for him. It sounded closer, within the Gryfalcon Keep territory — a little too far from Stavanger Bay. Brow furrowed with caution and for a second Ragnar considered not seeking out whatever beast had called for him, the sound of the song unfamiliar to him. Curiosity won out, as it always did and Ragnar found himself heading in the direction of the call, pace slowing when he came upon the ebon colored male, eyes of caribbean ice narrowing as he took him in. Who are you? Ragnar demanded in his soft, accented voice. Why have you summoned me? He smelled of the pack that Silvertip had became — the name escaped him currently because he had no real reason to remember it.

TABLE CODE BY JOHN