He didn't know what he was doing. His thoughts were running rampant through his mind and he was trying to calm down by getting rid of excess energy. But the running only made it worse. In his head, all his thoughts were focused on one thing and one thing only: He was a natural-born Alpha, playing the submissive underling, and he had been playing the submissive ever since he left his birth pack. He was tired of it. He wanted to lead, he wanted to have his own pack, and he wanted it now.
In anguish, he let out a howl that tore through the forest. Things were happening much slower than he had anticipated. He just had to work harder. He was no stranger to hard work. The rational side of his mind told him he was being a puppy about it - to grow up and keep working for it. But the whiny, young-adult side of him told him that he needed to have a pack now!
He kept running. And running, and running, and running. He would get it. He would get it if he just kept working.
Ragnar moved through his Ravenblood Forest, a limp quail clutched in the firm grasp of his jaws, salvia dripping down along the bird’s rich feathers. It made Ragnar hungry to clutch and taste the bird. It was a decadent torture because the quail was not for him. He had went through the pains of hunting it, nearly losing it twice when it had squirmed out of his grasp and rose into the air but fortune had smiled upon him for the silver Viking had finally caught it. It wasn’t even for his wife. While it was true she had claimed to not have much of an appetite Ragnar had not failed to bring her food continuously in the hopes that she would eat and be strong to be able to go through the hours of labor that were upon her in any given minute. She was due to give birth within the day, hours maybe, even. Though she had not complained of pain he had heard her soft gasps — very different from the surprise gasps when the children kicked; no these gasps were harder and Ragnar sensed (perhaps a paternal instinct) that his children were soon for the world. The quail had been a sacrifice to Odinn and Ragnar planned to bring it to Huginn and Muninn who frequented the forest often for the Allfather to consume in his honor and to carry a prayer to the Allfather, as well.
He had just reached the tree — a crab apple tree that resembled very closely the tree of life, the nine realms identifiable upon it, the soft cries of the ravens overhead a symphonic melody to the Viking’s ears who revered the creatures and saw them as good luck.
Glimpsing once at the ravens in dismay he offered them a grim smile before he turned and headed towards the direction of the howl and the rapid beating of paws against the earth. Against sacred ground. Shrugging into the small clearing of space he barked sharply to command the attention of the sprinting creature, sharp, icy Caribbean blue eyes fixating upon the wolf who …appeared unwell (at least Ragnar was not sure why he would just keep running - if the worn path of the ground was any indication he had probably been at it for some time) to the silver Viking.
Majesty skidded to a halt in front of a big, burly male wolf who was about the same size as him. His reeling thoughts did not allow him to properly process the wolf's words, so he ended up staring blankly at the male for a moment. And then the words suddenly registered, and he shook himself. He bowed his head to the silvery male. What was he to say?
"Forgive me, friend. I did not mean to disturb anyone. I have been… anguished lately. I was hoping that by going for a run I could relieve some of my stress, but… it seemed only to make it worse. My name is Majesty, of the Silvertip Mountain Pack. Though I don't know how much longer I will, in fact, be a part of Jinx's pack. I have… plans, you see."
Majesty was loathe to say more unless the male genuinely wanted to listen. He did not want to disturb anyone. So, he waited.
The earthen male that was acting as if he had consumed the drugged mushroom of the Berserker — or too many fermented apples as Ragnar knew from experience — by running around like a child given too much sugar came to a halt a few feet from the silver Viking who observed with stoic and cold eyes. The word ‘friend’ (Ragnar wasn’t keen on that word) did nothing for the Northman, though the slight bow of the earthen colored male’s head worked to pacify him for the time being. A glimpse upwards at the sound of beating wings confirmed that the two ravens, that Ragnar referred to as Odinn’s Huginn and Muininn (because in his mind they were) came into the party, cawing softly and lighting down on a nearby tree, their black eyes observing the two canines; likely to take the information back to the Allfather. Ragnar was well accustomed to how the ravens worked and that their purpose was to help Odinn truly see all. Healing leg shifted so it was facing the nearest tree trunk, pressed against it, the rough bark scraping against the silken tendrils of his fur. It helped to hide it and partially relieve the itch.
Ragnar listened but did not particularly find much interesting of what the other male had to say. Anguished piqued the Viking’s interest if dully as he wondered what, possibly the other male had to be anguished about, he seemed healthy, he belonged to a pack — Ragnar could scent it on him even before the introduction came and along with it came the name of his pack. Silvertip Mountain. It did not sound familiar to Ragnar but then again Horizon Ridge stuck mostly to themselves except when it was necessary not too.
As it was Ragnar hardly cared about Majesty’s plans though it was easy enough to piece the puzzle together from the words. Head canted bird-like to the side, exposing the scars that marked up his left half of his face, the (what was supposed to be a) disjointed raven (it wasn’t really Floki’s handwork sucked). Ragnar did not believe in giving his name or vital information when meeting strangers. It was a strange quirk he had always had even as a mere boy. Usually he was introduced by someone else who gave his name for him, or eventually gave it on his own days down the road. Upon coming to the Teekon Wilds he had even adopted a moniker to go by though he eventually shed it having realized he didn’t want to be doing good to his first idiot of a brother’s name.
Majesty observed the two ravens who had landed in the nearby tree with a wary gaze. Suddenly, he didn't feel safe in their presence. It's like they were watching him, planning to do something horrible to him. And this male's subtle suggestion to leave him alone was not lost on the chocolate wolf. He gave the silver male a once-over, trying to decide whether or not he liked him. In the end, he couldn't decide. Not yet.
"This is a free territory - not yours," he stated bluntly, drawing himself up to his full height. "I will leave you be, however, because you are praying. Though… you seem just as anguished as I. What is troubling you?"
He didn't really know what he was doing, and he didn't expect the male to tell him anything. He seemed the silent type. But it couldn't hurt to try…
Ragnar did not share in the inherent fear of Ravens that everyone else seemed to have. They were symbols of death in his culture, yes, but they also meant that Odinn was watching. Always watching and listening. In the place of unease Ragnar felt only comfort by their presence. Ragnar watched the male draw himself to his full height as if that was supposed to intimidate Ragnar and proceeded to tell Ragnar that it was a “free” territory. Ragnar’s smirk simply deepened, turning more coy as his gaze remained relentless upon Majesty. Just because Ragnar hadn’t officially claimed it did not mean that he was not territorial over it — because Ragnar was extremely territorial over it as wolves tended to be (even pack wolves would get territorial over hunting grounds that were not in their borders).
Ragnar wanted it. So bad in that moment, to the point where for the first time he wasn’t even thinking about his wife and their children, or his respect for Pump. He wanted it just to chase this little man out of his lands.
Majesty could tell when he was not wanted, and he knew he had already overstayed his welcome in this place. Suddenly, his mind was much clearer - because he knew at least one thing. He did not want to be a wolf like this one here in front of him. He did not want to be a tyrant. He did not want to be an overly-territorial brat. But, of course, he would never say that to the male's face. Instead, he cleared his throat and gave a bow to the wolf.
"Pardon me," he said. "I must be going now. Do not let me continue to interrupt your praying." Something told him he needed to get out of there. He took a few steps back, to ensure a safer distance, and then turned and loped away.
It was lucky that Ragnar remained ignorant to the thoughts that were running through the earthen colored man’s mind of tyranny. In fact, it had been spoken, Ragnar might have laughed at it and then argued that if he thought that Ragnar was a tyrant he had obviously never known a true tyrant; and then ask how being territorial of lands that while did not belong to him technically were still too close to Horizon Ridge, — which was perfectly normal for their species — refusing to share personal information, and being unsettled that his praying had been interrupted equaled to being a tyrant. Regardless, Ragnar did not know Majesty’s thoughts and never had the chance to argue his points because he did not realize that he needed too.
Ragnar’s black, leathery nostrils flared and he let out a loud snort, reminiscent of an angered bull, when the male bowed, unsure if it was meant to mock or be truly respectful — Ragnar was past the point of being able to tell the difference, currently, simply wanting this disgraceful creature gone from Odinn’s sacred forest.