Stavanger Bay Heavy Hearts

The howl rang out clear as day, interrupting Atreyu in his search for some morsel of food. As usual, the call only went half-regarded and he set off at a lazy trot towards where the sound had come from, tail flipped over his back casually. It was when the howls of three others intertwined with Thistle's that he really stopped and regarded her song. It was deeper than usual, more sombre and mournful, creating a tune that sent shivers down his spine as the other members of the pack added their own voices. The boy stood stock still, one ear cocked as he listened, before his stomach suddenly dropped and a harsh realisation dawned upon him — the Jarl was dead.

A barely suppressed whine slipped from his throat, and Atreyu wandered forward several steps, stopping and retracing them, before falling into a sit, unsure of what to do. The howl had been only to announce Ragnar's demise; Thistle wasn't calling them to her. Not yet. Had she known? Had Ragnar been sick? Was that why he had been so scarce? Yet at the meetings, when their litter had been born, he had seemed fine. The boy felt hot tears well in his eyes, and he quickly swiped them away with a paw. Perhaps he had misheard; had Ragnar taken down another, some trespasser or prominent figure?

The yearling stared into the forest where the howls originated, battling with the urge to run screaming towards the Alpha and demand answers, or simply grieve with her and the others. Instead, he sat silently, quivering from shock. He would give the family time to grieve, but he wanted to know what had happened. He wanted to see Ragnar — whether he was dead or alive.