The howl that rose into the crisp air of the dusk, quavering as it breached across the claimed lands of the Glacier, drawing Týrr's ears to stand erect upon his crown as he froze, each muscle pulling taunt beneath his coat of chocolate brown, straining the excelled hearing of his species to further and better assess the sound. Though the voice struck him as
familiar he knew it was not one of the Glacier's wolves that had made it, despite that he did not know all of the wolves that called it home. It was familiar to him but presently he was not able to
place it; instead allowing it to nag at the back of his mind, persistent even as he abruptly turned and leapt in the direction that it had originated from. A few others had beaten him there previously, his lip curling back in disgust at present that had been left on their doorstep, crystalline blue eyes rising to see an ebony woman take off in the direction that he scented Malachi and Manauia had gone, he assumed, in pursuit of the culprit. Despite the Rekkr's disgust and the
need to set off as well, eager to catch the perpetrator and see justice done upon them for threatening his
home, faces primarily Tuwawi's and Maera's flashing in his mind's eye briefly, he resisted. Already, three of them had gone off in pursuit and someone needed to stay behind and protect the borders. As acting sentry of their homeland, lest the trail was nothing more than a clever trap.
He took a moment to assess the scent aside from the one wafting unpleasantly from the present that had been left from them, smelling salt and ocean brine. His first thought was immediately of the Bay, and how he would love to sink his teeth into and tear Ragnar's throat from his body, to feel the last gasp of life in the Viking's throat as his fight was lost in vengeance for what he had done to Týrr — after all the Rekkr could think of nothing better; Ragnar had stolen from him everything he had loved, and if Týrr did not kill the whore and her child he called his family, then he would tear Ragnar from them so they might suffer as he was left too, except he would be kinder and allow them their memories so that his vengeance might be all that more cruel and sweet — but the scent of the pack was not that of the Bay. It was unfamiliar to him, though the nagging persisted.
For now the Rekkr tuned it out, focused on what he had chosen to do: to protect those that stayed behind. There must always be a wolf in Duskfire, after all; despite that he had momentarily caught Scarlett's scent retreating further into the Glacier, right now there were more pressing things on his mind aside from why she was retreating instead of pursuing or guarding.
