(J) it has begun

The woman resounded with a soft growl, presuming correctly when she inquired about Váli. A sardonic smirk tugged at the corners of the juvenile's lips, olive green eyes darkening slightly at the thought of his half uncle. “The King of Assholes himself,” Nazara murmured with a false grin. It did not occur to him that perhaps she would not appreciate his vulgarity in that instance, though in his defense it was not as if he ran around swearing all the time. In fact, he rarely swore at all. In the heat of the moment, it seemed like the perfect jibe at his half-uncle and Nazara had to take it. “I heard Björn wasn't a good man, either,” Of course, the eldest Lodbrok had been long deceased before Nazara's creation had been planned, or even considered, at that. The woman assured him that there was no need for him to worry, but telling him one thing, while he knew only one extreme didn't truly reassure him, though he did not speak this to her. Until proven otherwise he would remain skeptical of Ragnar. Expecting nothing more than being treated like a slave. Or worse than a slave.

“Most might disagree with your assessment of my father being kind,” He had a reputation for being a famous warrior in the history of the Cove, but he was brutish and just as ambitious as Ragnar himself was rumored to be, and in this ruthless when it came to getting what he wanted. Despite how much Nazara claimed to be like his father, he was as cunning as his mother, and though he attempted to deny that he was much of an “Amazon” it was staring him in the face that the Amazon in him toned down the brutality of the Northmen quite a bit. He wasn't vicious in the sense of brute force, but in the power of his wit, which was probably more dangerous than brute force.

"So I guess that this means that I've found the pack I'm looking for," Nazara hedged, unsure what it was that she needed from him to either accept him or send him away.