(J) it has begun

It did not take long for someone to respond to his howl, of which the young Viking was internally glad of. Impatience seemed, most unfortunately, to be an inherited trait, and there was little doubt that it was Dagrún that it had came from. Or perhaps it was nothing more serious than being young, and restless. The wolf that appeared from the writhing, frigid looking shadows of the forest that wrapped around the coast — only known to Nazara from the sound of the ocean in the nearby distance — was female, her posture dominant, leaving no mistake of who and what she was to this pack. She was without a doubt either the Alpha or one of them. Handling dominant wolves was something that Nazara had gotten quite used too in his short six months of life and thus, the Scandinavian lowered his posture to one of respectful submission. Not quite full because he wasn't apart of her pack, but he respected her word as law, and her position as the leader of it, whatever name it bore. Eyes of olive green lowered to her paws, avoiding eye contact ...or anything that might resemble eye contact. Váli had considered staring at his nose eye contact despite that it wasn't, and had often become paranoid that Nazara was rising to challenge him. Which was ridiculous because Váli was less than half of his age, though begrudgingly thought to himself that despite his youth would be able to lead Odinn's Cove far better than he ever could, though the peacekeeper had enough sense to keep his mouth shut.

The Sovereign broke the silence then, and Nazara rose back to a neutral stance, though careful to make the effort to not appear like he was attempting to challenge her. It was hard for him to make his body small by any definition, and he had the disadvantage of being quite larger than she. In hindsight, one from far away might have assumed he the adult and she the child, though that was far from the case. Looks, Nazara knew, could prove to be deceiving. “I am Nazara,” He did not bother giving her his Norse name, figuring that at this point in time it wasn't important. He had grown fond of his princess mother calling him “Nazara” something that was his that didn't signify any one culture, or faith. It belonged to neither Nahuatl or Scandinavian and thus he clung to it as if it were his lifeline to freedom. For the moment, he supposed, it was. “And I'm well I need a pack maybe for just the winter. I'm searching for someone. My father spoke of these Wilds when he spoke of my half-uncle,” Nazara used “half” in front of uncle in the case that Ragnar turned out to be just as big of an ass as his youngest brother. In truth, Nazara was just searching for sanctuary, and hoped that if he did manage to find Ragnar that the man would not send him packing back home.