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Rest was not a luxury Ragnar had taken it upon himself to enjoy lately after he decided that the Ridge wolves would relocate to the Bay he and Julooke had first discovered. There was a lot of work to be done in the Bay lands while making sure he did not slack on the duties he had as Alpha and sole leader. He had performed an emergency Rite on the children so that they could be seen when the pack officially made it’s move to the new territory because Ragnar did not find the idea of invoking the wrath of his Gods all that appealing. Technically, they could be seen as of now and he planned to hold the official ceremony so they could properly be fussed over once everything was settled in Stavanger. Until then they would have to make do with the Rite they had received. He spent his time divided between Stavanger Bay, urinating out the borders — a monumental task that was clearly too big for him alone — and between performing his duties in Horizon Ridge. While he was absent from the Ridge he left it in Thistle’s charge as the Gamma and highest ranking wolf under him.
The trek itself to and fro wasn’t dangerous; but if Pump’s death was evidence of anything it was that Fate struck when you least expected it and though Ragnar held Odinn good on his promise that he would live to be a ripe, ancient age he knew that the All-Father’s favor could be removed if he did something to displease him.
His goal for creating scent markers to ward away any loners that might find their way into the Bay through the open and stretching lands to the south was perhaps unlikely but he wanted to finish the stretch he had began mid-day. The sun had began it’s descent into the horizon and Ragnar was tired …his sleep restless and very un-useful given that he was plagued by nightmares from the stresses that weighed heavily upon him with the pack still residing in the Ridge. Too close to the murderous bear that was prowling their lands and too close to the Isle wolves who had, no doubt, heard his mournful declaration the other day. Though Ragnar knew the Ridge wolves were strong and that he would never let wolves take them over while he still drew breath into his body he also knew that in their mourning they were vulnerable and he expected advantage to be taken of it because it was what he would have done.
He inhaled deeply and lifted his leg to continue on with his border marking, lingering in the shadows of the trees cast far in by the descent of the sun.
Nerian choose to hide and not draw close to Pumps death place, she choose to perform a ritual away from the body and on her own terms she barely knew the alpha and didn't want to be ridiculed, and she felt now god would not listen to her anyhow; so she performed her rites for pump's soul in privacy that was after her heartfelt song had caressed the earth and heavens
Nerian pressed her muzzle to the earth, she needed to seek out Ragnar she needed some sort of comfort, Though he had found a way to surround himself with wolves like himself they were not wolves from his birth place, did he feel her pain? could she too find solace in these wolves, in this place?
It was only after she came upon territory markers that she lifted her head and looked around, she had traveled far from horizon ridge without noticing it, she could always back track her scent but how she could loose herself so fully in the task of tracking Ragnar that she didn't even realize she had left 'home' was beyond her.
Nerian frowned and glanced around she scented water and male piss, her skin flushed below her pelt, and she frowned again, cursing herself. Nerian turned and sniffed behind herself and felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She couldn't find the plants anywhere in the Teekon wild that they used back him to suppress this natural body function. It irritated her and she felt moody she wanted to attack the next thing that past by in anger then thinking about hurting anything in that moment made her eyes hot with tears, ugh... how did these heathens put up with this?.
Nerian crossed the new territory and found herself some water to bathe in, sitting upon the sandy shore she licked herself clean and dry before collecting herself shifting her face and body into a more neutral outwardly expression and moving off to follow the trail Ragnar left.
She did not pee over this markings that may draw other males in, which would likely be far from what Ragnar wanted instead she kicked her feet at each spot where he had marked, releasing scent from the glands in her paw pads. Sometimes she rubbed herself against a tree added more wolf scent to make a clear boarder. She knew eventually she'd run into him, since her marks could be made faster then trying to eek out urine every 200 meter's or so.
It was only after she began territory markers that she lifted her head and looked around, >>>>> to >>> It was only after she came upon territory markers that she lifted her head and looked around,
There were days when Ragnar felt like his life was some kind of joke to the Gods of whom he was obviously the butt of but whose punch line he didn’t get. If it wasn’t some kind of joke it was definitely full of enough obstacles and trials that he was slammed with over and over without what felt like reprieve then he better become something legendary so his struggles were not forgotten to his children, to his grandchildren. He had taken a break from urinating upon the borders if because he needed to replenish what he had lost. He lapped lazily at the cool water, thinking for once that the path ahead of him was becoming easier to navigate, that he could see the reprieve he sought because he was weary; weary and blood sick. However, he far from being done. The stresses of leadership, menial in the face of the intruding pack and the murderous bear, of which he would gladly welcome fully back with welcome arms once they were relocated back into Stavanger Bay.
For once the Viking imagined something closely resembling peace, even if it lasted only a little while…the wolves of the Ridge deserved at least that: a little bit of peace after the aftermath of the tempest that raged over them. Ragnar was battle born, following Eitri’s famous saying among the Berserkers of the Cove: I came into this world covered in blood and that’s how I’ll go out of it. Ragnar was born and bred to raid and fight, to lead and ensure his wolves prospered at any cost. For now, however, the Viking simply wanted a break from what he had considered a shit storm that had begun ever since the Isle wolves had parked on the Ridge’s doorstep. …Or maybe it had started before that when the landslide had nearly destroyed the small pack.
He recognized the Priestess’ scent almost immediately as she drew nearer to his little spot of respite, and almost as immediately sniffed at it again, black, leathery nostrils flared as he shot to his paws, startled. Of course Ragnar was no stranger to the scent of a woman in heat, the enticing perfume they put off to let any man capable of reproducing know that they were receptive. Still, as he ghosted his way towards Nerian’s position he denied it, told himself it was something different. That the Gods weren’t that cruel to him, all the while knowing that he hadn’t scented it wrong. She came into his view soon kicking back grass, marking the borders with scents in her paw pads rather than squatting and, closer now, it was impossible to deny what he had foolishly tried before. His Priestess was in heat. At the same time the Viking’s heart sunk as it sprinted in it’s prison of scarred flesh and blood that pulsed like the thump of a booming drum in his veins.
This had to be some kind of trial.
The primitive urge was there, the drive and desire to stalk forth to her and claim her. To take what he had claimed was his that day long ago when he had stolen her from her home and sister Priestess’. He was nearly three and had yet to sire a litter of his own …or a living litter anyway. Twisting it to his way of thinking: it wasn’t particularly fair. Thistle had been pregnant with Crete’s (deep in Ragnar’s heart he wasn’t that stupid to think the children were his) when he had filled her with his seed and when he had fallen in love with her…even if he had thought about killing Crete’s children it would have destroyed Thistle. In that: he had been stuck, hook, line and sinker. He did love the children, the sons and the daughter he had deluded himself into thinking was of his seed because she was silver, too.
Nerian busied herself in the task she had taken upon hereof, picking up the slack as it were. She would prove to Ragnar one way opt another she was useful and worth having around dammit. She no longer wanted to go home. She could not call that land and those wolves home, not when she would suffer greatly for returning there. She looked around as she continued marking sometimes marking between Rangar's marks she made her own commentary in her head about the plant life there, though there were no poppies that she could find around the boarders there were other very useful plants and a few mushrooms underfoot. She licked the top of one mushroom as she passed by, though she did not eat it, she wondered if these were the ones Ragnar called berserker mushrooms.
Her feet scraped the ground rhythmically when she heard 'his' voice behind her. Her body buzzed with electric tension and she froze in place, her head did not turn to seek him out, not yet. She hadn't heard or even scented him coming up to her was this normal?? Not when her body was under her own control and not that of mother nature, Time seemed to actually tick by in audible seconds, her body was more aware of him then it had ever been. Nerian slowly turned to face him her tail dropped limply her eyes briefly met his oceanic one and she closed hers though even with her eyes closed she could see nothing but his intense gaze. Her tongue ran across her lips once before she reopened her eyes and looked at him once again, the shadows hugging his masculine form.
She was untainted by any other male and she would not ever allow a male beyond Ragnar touch her. In conformity of her vows she should not even allow Ragnar too. The vows screamed themselves over and over in her minds ear, before she began to speak and squelched those little voices.
Why do you say that Ragnar? She questioned softly... She had the same question of her god, Her god must think this a cruel and horrible joke. Why else would her god allow all this to happen to her. She did not voice her opinion of god aloud for that would be blasphemy. Blasphemy!? that word used to hold a lot more weight to it; for it was easy to think of everyone else being blasphemous it was alot harder to see that from the 'other side'
The Viking watched as his Priestess turned to face him after a few moments that seemed to tick by with the conscious awareness of the achingly slow momentum of time in those few seconds, her tail hanging limp behind her. For a split second their eyes met and then she closed hers as if he were a nightmare and she were a child trying to will him away. If only it could work. If only he could be willed away like a figment of imagination. It wasn’t that simple, of course; he was real and he stood on tumulus ground, rocked between the most basics of instincts of whose embers were stirred alive at the hormones her body was putting off, beckoning him to draw forth, to come nearer and do the carnal act that had been done since the dawning of time to create and seed children. To claim what no man had been allowed to claim before, to show her what true corruption of what was once pure felt like.
No. Because he couldn’t. Because while he definitely could he knew he shouldn’t. Because the image of Thistle’s heartbroken face if he did was enough to feel like a clawed hand had grasped his heart and squeezed mercilessly, because though she had spoken of anger and killing him with her poisons (and he did not doubt that she would) he could not help but think that more than anything she would be hurt and he did not ever want to be the source of her pain. Because he was trying to convince himself he was a loyal man and a loyal husband.
Of course, it wasn’t Nerian’s fault. She couldn’t help that she had gone into heat. No more that Ragnar could help that he had caught the scent of it on the wind. There were elements out of their control at work here, too, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Her question made the Viking realize that he might have slipped, that he might have clued her in on what was happening in his body and mind currently; he knew he had to fix it before this situation became measurably worse or escalated into something the both of them would, no doubt, regret. To hide it Ragnar gave her a careless, coy smirk, a trademark of his.
The Viking shrugged and pushed away from the tree he had unknowingly rested against trotting ahead of her a few meters pausing at the next tree to lift his leg and mark it. Marking borders was what he was meant to be doing not Nerian. As long as the distance was kept between them there was a chance that they might both make it out of the day without guilt or regrets and so that was what Ragnar was attempting to do. Keep distance between them and focus on marking the borders.
Nerian thought it over quickly, Fate had done this, maybe that was the gods design but more so it was fate. Ragnar would have never been able to move the pack here while Pump still lived. He needed the extra shove, the his gods had provided. Were there more then one god. Her god that she had served and the other gods that Ragnar served or rather the ones that seemed to serve him.
Her scattered brain shut down any further comprehensible though the moment Ragnar moved toward her. His male musk sinking into her brain; she knew his scent but yet somehow in her minds eye it had changed. It was a scent unlike anything else, addictive and soothing, yet Nerian wasn’t soothed. He moved past her, unable to help herself she reached out and touched her muzzle to his side as he glided by. The contact her muzzle made with his pelt made her muzzle tingle and sing, then all to sudden it was cold, she opened her eyes she hadn't realized had closed and stared after him unable to move. Her body felt hot and heavier then a ton of bricks
Ragnar, help me.... She uttered very softly, pleading for something she had no clue that she wanted. Her pink tongue again sought the outer edge of her lips tasting the very faint taste of him that was left behind by the very delicate touch.
She wasn’t supposed to touch him. She wasn’t supposed to touch him for that had been his entire purpose him moving ahead of her, moving away from her and yet she had reached out to touch him anyway. Granted, she couldn’t have known he was trying to avoid any all versions of physical contact for reasons that were probably pretty open and logical to the both of them given they were both adults. Of course, she was a Priestess and had promised vows of celibacy — useless things he had once tried to tell her but now wished she would pay more attention too — and it was possible she didn’t know. He didn’t know what her Nuns had taught her and why, on all of Midgard would they have taught her anything relating to her heat cycle when she had no use for such a thing among her sisters? Yet Ragnar had felt the touch of her muzzle against his side as he passed her and felt it sear into him.
Somehow, by some small miracle, he had managed to keep going, hell bent on continuing on with marking the territory, trying to ignore the enticing scent that radiated off of every tendril of her fur, trying to ignore the heat and desire that flushed his body because he knew if he gave in he would hurt Thistle and he didn’t want to do that. Didn’t want to be the source of that to his wife. His wife that he loved. It was unfair. The polygamy relationship would have solved all of this, just saying, lol He couldn’t cheat on Thistle. He couldn’t die a slow, painful death knowing she had caused it because of his own stupidity in getting caught (literally) in the heat of the moment. Or worse yet, if she didn’t kill him, he did not want to watch her steal his children away from him and go elsewhere.
It was Nerian’s utterance, the plea for him to help her that made the Viking stop though his body was taunt, ready to shy away from her if she deigned to touch him again. His toes curled into the soft earth beneath his paws and he asked with a rapid breath,
Don't call me that.... Her voice was more husky then she meant it to be. She drew a deep breath holding it in her chest and willed herself to hide her emotions from her face.
Unable to collect herself Nerian shuttered and moaned softly, desperately wishing for the blue hued plant of her birth lands the one that held this ... what ever 'this' is, at bay last year. She had been forced to eat the bitter stuff for three weeks last year. She knew naught what she was going through and this function was never thoroughly explained to her. Gods will to procreate burning within her, who was she to deny such a thick need, it was his will was it not? Was this now what god wanted from her? or was it as Ragnar said, were the gods laughing. Slowly her mind was accepting the idea of more then one god, switching between the word god and Gods, though this was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment.
Nerian didn't move, couldn't move, as she watched him get farther away. The tingle across her pelt grew, made her itch; her body begged her to run to him and run her body along his side, like a cat, bury herself in his touch and in his scent. The further he got the stronger her desire to run to him became.
One step closer then she paused, Her mind suddenly cleared for thought again. She knew Thistle, would Thistle believe she had been with a male other then Ragnar if she never went back to the ridge but remained here to protect this new place. Would Thistle even have to know? Why then was she even thinking of her, was she jealous of the pups Thistle had born. Yes, yes she was, she wanted them now, not Thistle's pups but her own, a burning need for pups drove into her heart deep into her soul her true purpose on earth radiated from her every fibre. Ragnar always spoke of pups would he give her, her heart desires? He did promise to take care of her and this was a need now, Her body needed this, it was no longer a want, not anymore, that was not how mother nature worked. Who could blame the gods when nature preceded everything.
Help me. With this... She couldn't finished her throat was thick. Her voice heavy with the desire, she couldn't control no matter how much she tried. Her eyes sought his, she wanted to see the blue crystals that haunted her when her eyes were closed, she wanted to see him for the mortal wolf he was. For the male who wanted his own pups as much as she wanted his pups right now. Her heart beat heavy in her chest, if he moved much further away she was going to have to move to catch up with him.
and this plays kinda in hand to the series. Since Rangar leaves and goes to King Horik's kingdom and is tempted there. :D also it's beginning to define Nerian turning away from her god
Brow rose into a wicked arch when he heard her, her voice husky sounding as it rose from behind him, tell him not to call her that. Priestess. He had called her Priestess from the very beginning, before he knew her name and even, obviously, after it. He did not look over his shoulder though he had paused for a hairsbreadth of a moment before trudging on to continue his ploy of claiming the borders because while it wasn’t terribly effective at distracting him it was enough to take his mind off of her to help him think with a small sliver of clarity though even that much was a struggle given that every breath of air he took was saturated with her siren’s call. It became quickly apparent to the Viking that if he waited for her to chase him off he was going to be met with overwhelming disappointment because she seemed pretty adamant on following him. Of course she did because resisting a woman in heat was bad enough, resisting a woman in heat that clearly wanted you was just about damn near impossible.
Ragnar, who was trying to put his libertine past behind him, who was trying to be loyal to his wife because he loved her something that he hadn’t been able to claim with any of his previous wives was feeling war torn. He hadn’t loved them, or any of his conquests. They had just been that: play things that satisfied him and when he was bored with them he pawned them off elsewhere. To Dagrun who did not seem to mind Ragnar’s used seconds, or neighboring packs as false peace treaties when it came to his wives. He hadn’t changed in anything else, not really, but in the aspect of women he liked to think he had; if he were to give in to Nerian now, well, he would deserve the fate Thistle had promised him because he, in turn, had promised he wouldn’t cheat on her. Even if she didn’t kill him he was an Alpha after all and he doubted his pack mates would take it that well — of course there was always the fact that they might side with her and say “he had it coming”, she had the power to leave him and the pack, and to take the children with her. Away from him. Was one woman in heat worth the pain it would cause him to lose his children? To lose Thistle and watch the pain in her face that would be like a thousand knives in his heart?
No, it wasn’t.
The Viking kept moving, determined not to break his stride, pausing only long enough to urinate on another tree. He was aware Nerian was following him, even more so when she pleaded with him again to help her with what she wanted. If things had been different she wouldn’t have even needed to ask; but things were as they were and he was trying to keep his vows to not only Thistle but Frigg who represented married women, as well.
Nerian caught up to him her breath coming in heavy pants even though she was far from exhausted. She thought over her words carefully as she measured the situation.
She pressed her lips together before she spoke exhaling softly through her nose no she admitted with a heavy weight upon her, she did not mean for him to break his vow, nor did she want to break her own vow, but over time vows changed and morphed and allowed for growth. Of this she was certain, she had to be. Else-wise she was a lost soul with no purpose.
She caught herself drinking in his scent. Her own scent thick in the air, the mix of their two scents was nearly unbearable.
Want... she echoed his words I do however, want you. Her eyes sought his and whenever he stopped her paws scraped the ground adding to scent marks that he was insistent upon. She still respected the fact that he did not want to draw other males near with the scent of clearly feminine piss. Nor did she want any other male around infact any male drawing close her her outside of Ragnar while she was in this state would likely be met with savage rejection. She continued; I want you to be happy too, A male like you would be happiest with many of his own children.
She had no idea that the pups thistle had born may or may not be his she had no idea that she could be drudging up something painful for him. She moved around in front of him and blocked his path momentarily
I want to share you, I want your pups. Her heart raced in her chest, her whole body tight like a heavily wound spring. The thought of sharing him was not unpleasant, she was used to sharing, her god loved all not just her. Sharing him would not be unpleasant she loved and respected Thistle in her own way.
I want you to show me the world, You have wanted me to know.
She closed the gap between them buried her head in the ruff of his neck, drinking him in revealing in the contact her voice a husky whisper now Ragnar I want you
He inclined his head towards her slightly when she admitted she didn’t want to cause Thistle that kind of pain but he kept trudging forward, hoping to put distance between them that she kept persisting on closing. Yet, the fact that she admitted that she didn’t want to cause Thistle that kind of pain didn’t match up with her following words and her final push to get him to succumb to what her hormones were doing to him. It wasn’t fair. And oh, there was no doubt that the Gods were laughing at him, now. He shook his head vigorously when she told him she wanted him, as if he could unheard those words. As if they did not sear into his brain accented to temptation by the scent of her body in heat. He couldn’t give Nerian what he wanted because if he did the outcome, he knew, would not equal his happiness. It would equal a lonely lifetime without his wife and the children he planned to have with her, or it would happen with his slow and painful death a few days from now. In no outcome would him accepting Nerian’s offer to take her body equal his happiness. Not in any long term manner, anyway.
Nerian did not squeak nor complain and did not move from her place upon the ground, she allowed him to place her there. Even as his teeth took her ruff it had elicited a response from her body that she did not understand. Her neck ached because of the contact and yet her body cried out for more, But he left her then, cold and fragile
Nerian barely moved for an hour after he left, slowly the burning under her pelt tingled away. His gods may be laughing at him but In her mind her god had turned his back to her, rejected her, and now Ragnar too the physically embodiment of rejection literally turned his back toward her. Was she that worthless, the bay, this land; empty of wolves without a pack to live upon it seemed a fitting place for her to be left alone.
Slowly the bitch stood and very stiffly she walked the outskirts. She may be worthless in her own mind but at the very least she could be useful. She continued to mark the borders of the bay with her feet and scent, refraining still from urinating. Not once did she look toward the way Ragnar went