(J) it has begun

No one had ever claimed that running away was the solution to all of his problems, but given the burden that he didn't want to begin with, running away seemed like the only viable option. Nazara probably looked like a coward — in the face of his father and his mother and yet the pre-teen couldn't really bring himself to give much of a shit about what either culture thought of him. There was nothing quite as detrimental as coming to find out that your only purpose was to broker a treaty between two tension-filled, massive packs. The anonymity between the Vikings and the Amazons had ran too deep for too long, the hatred was in born these days, and he was supposed to keep the peace? A peace that was fragile to begin with? That his half-uncle Vali deemed as appropriate who spoke that bastard brother would sire the child, apparently at the agreement of Nazara's aunt, Queen of the Amazons, who willingly shoved her sister at her desired Northman who was only chosen because Dagrun himself harbored amazon blood, even if it was “polluted”. Nazara knew enough of his father to know that it was unlikely that Dagrun minded having to procreate, of being allowed too despite his bastard status. Keeping the connections straight: the elitist Vali threatening his life when Nazara had made the grave mistake of calling him “uncle”. If not for Dagrun, Nazara might not be continuing to draw breath.

Holding a power over Vali though was satisfying, using the treaty like a sword over his head whenever his prick of a half-uncle tried to threaten him from that day forth. Nazara favored the way of the Northmen, but he was sick and tired of having to push his “uncle” who pushed him back, and could not bring himself to run to the shelter of his mother's pack lands. He did not want to be a slave, good only for breeding which he couldn't even do until he had reached sexual maturity...which he had quite a while to wait yet. Neither option was appealing, nor ideal, and so Nazara had bid his time, paid specific attention to the details that Dagrun presented him with whenever the boy would ask his father about his travels to the “Teekon Wilds”, and about his half-brother, Ragnar and when the opportunity struck: left.

It was cold, and Nazara had not necessarily been prepared to deal with the winter in full. Regardless, there was no point of return, no turning back. They could figure out their issues without him. No longer was he their markvörðurinn. And if they wanted him bad enough, they could come and find him. He was not their tool, and they could no longer chain him. He was closing the distance between himself and a pack's borders though he was not sure if he was at the right pack or not. All Dagrun had been able to tell him was that the pack Ragnar belonged too was upon the coast. Even if it wasn't the right pack he might have to condition himself to stay, just until winter's end. No matter how old he believed himself to be intellectually, or maturity wise at the end of the day he was still young, and though he could, pretty much, take care of himself he still needed guidance, and definitely needed a pack to call his home. Stopping in his steps when he was near enough, Nazara tipped his head back and sent up a howl, alerting the pack's wolves to his presence.