Stavanger Bay Sing me a siren song

Ragnar rose early, as he usually always did, to work on filling the caches, and patrol his borders. It had became so habitual for him that it took nearly no conscious thought anymore. Wake up, stretch between his wives, offer each of them a kiss, leave the den, hunt, bury it, patrol the borders with constant vigilance (that would make Mad Eye Moody proud). The morning was heavy with fog, though, thick and dense and every so often Ragnar had to pause and lower his black, leathery nose to the ground to inhale the scents just to make sure he hadn't gotten off track. The fog was disorienting and in the midst of it Ragnar had stopped relying on his sight and turned, instead to his sense of smell and hearing. The cry of a raven overhead caused the scarred Scandinavian to pause, lifting his head towards the thick fog hidden canopy of the ancient copses above, searching for the black avian to slice through the fog. Odinn, Ragnar murmured skyward with a slight shiver in his spine, reverence for his All-Father felt deep in every beat of his heart within it's prison of his flesh and bone.

Somewhere along the line, the fog had began to thin, likely when the run began to rise a bit more prominently into the sky, making it a little bit easier for him to navigate based on his sight. Not that, mind, Ragnar gave much insight to vision. It could be easily tricked, he knew, and it could fail him where his instincts, hearing and sense of smell wouldn't. He scented Thistle upon the borders before he saw her silhouette cut from the fog. Good morning, Drottning, Ragnar purled at her in a greeting, as he closed the distance between them with just a few strides.

TABLE CODE BY JOHN