(J) it has begun

No one had ever claimed that running away was the solution to all of his problems, but given the burden that he didn't want to begin with, running away seemed like the only viable option. Nazara probably looked like a coward — in the face of his father and his mother and yet the pre-teen couldn't really bring himself to give much of a shit about what either culture thought of him. There was nothing quite as detrimental as coming to find out that your only purpose was to broker a treaty between two tension-filled, massive packs. The anonymity between the Vikings and the Amazons had ran too deep for too long, the hatred was in born these days, and he was supposed to keep the peace? A peace that was fragile to begin with? That his half-uncle Vali deemed as appropriate who spoke that bastard brother would sire the child, apparently at the agreement of Nazara's aunt, Queen of the Amazons, who willingly shoved her sister at her desired Northman who was only chosen because Dagrun himself harbored amazon blood, even if it was “polluted”. Nazara knew enough of his father to know that it was unlikely that Dagrun minded having to procreate, of being allowed too despite his bastard status. Keeping the connections straight: the elitist Vali threatening his life when Nazara had made the grave mistake of calling him “uncle”. If not for Dagrun, Nazara might not be continuing to draw breath.

Holding a power over Vali though was satisfying, using the treaty like a sword over his head whenever his prick of a half-uncle tried to threaten him from that day forth. Nazara favored the way of the Northmen, but he was sick and tired of having to push his “uncle” who pushed him back, and could not bring himself to run to the shelter of his mother's pack lands. He did not want to be a slave, good only for breeding which he couldn't even do until he had reached sexual maturity...which he had quite a while to wait yet. Neither option was appealing, nor ideal, and so Nazara had bid his time, paid specific attention to the details that Dagrun presented him with whenever the boy would ask his father about his travels to the “Teekon Wilds”, and about his half-brother, Ragnar and when the opportunity struck: left.

It was cold, and Nazara had not necessarily been prepared to deal with the winter in full. Regardless, there was no point of return, no turning back. They could figure out their issues without him. No longer was he their markvörðurinn. And if they wanted him bad enough, they could come and find him. He was not their tool, and they could no longer chain him. He was closing the distance between himself and a pack's borders though he was not sure if he was at the right pack or not. All Dagrun had been able to tell him was that the pack Ragnar belonged too was upon the coast. Even if it wasn't the right pack he might have to condition himself to stay, just until winter's end. No matter how old he believed himself to be intellectually, or maturity wise at the end of the day he was still young, and though he could, pretty much, take care of himself he still needed guidance, and definitely needed a pack to call his home. Stopping in his steps when he was near enough, Nazara tipped his head back and sent up a howl, alerting the pack's wolves to his presence.

Thistle heard the howl come across the wind. It was a young howl, but a strong one. Realizing her husband was probably busy, she set off towards the sound. Coming to a stop in front of a hulking boy, with fresh face standing there. He reminded her of someone, but she could not decide who at the moment. He held himself with a begrudging noble stance, while trying to fade into the background, as if he was still learning exactly who he was and it was at war inside himself.

She tilted her head, he was about her own children's age, but he stood higher and wider than she, though who didn't really. She held herself upright though, her size was just that a size, it did not count for the heart or the fire that beat beneath her breast. Hello can I help you?

She then waited with astute eyes, and quite manner. Both relaxed and coiled ready for anything. While at the back of her mind, his looks nagged at her as if she should know who he was or at least who he belonged too.

It did not take long for someone to respond to his howl, of which the young Viking was internally glad of. Impatience seemed, most unfortunately, to be an inherited trait, and there was little doubt that it was Dagrún that it had came from. Or perhaps it was nothing more serious than being young, and restless. The wolf that appeared from the writhing, frigid looking shadows of the forest that wrapped around the coast — only known to Nazara from the sound of the ocean in the nearby distance — was female, her posture dominant, leaving no mistake of who and what she was to this pack. She was without a doubt either the Alpha or one of them. Handling dominant wolves was something that Nazara had gotten quite used too in his short six months of life and thus, the Scandinavian lowered his posture to one of respectful submission. Not quite full because he wasn't apart of her pack, but he respected her word as law, and her position as the leader of it, whatever name it bore. Eyes of olive green lowered to her paws, avoiding eye contact ...or anything that might resemble eye contact. Váli had considered staring at his nose eye contact despite that it wasn't, and had often become paranoid that Nazara was rising to challenge him. Which was ridiculous because Váli was less than half of his age, though begrudgingly thought to himself that despite his youth would be able to lead Odinn's Cove far better than he ever could, though the peacekeeper had enough sense to keep his mouth shut.

The Sovereign broke the silence then, and Nazara rose back to a neutral stance, though careful to make the effort to not appear like he was attempting to challenge her. It was hard for him to make his body small by any definition, and he had the disadvantage of being quite larger than she. In hindsight, one from far away might have assumed he the adult and she the child, though that was far from the case. Looks, Nazara knew, could prove to be deceiving. “I am Nazara,” He did not bother giving her his Norse name, figuring that at this point in time it wasn't important. He had grown fond of his princess mother calling him “Nazara” something that was his that didn't signify any one culture, or faith. It belonged to neither Nahuatl or Scandinavian and thus he clung to it as if it were his lifeline to freedom. For the moment, he supposed, it was. “And I'm well I need a pack maybe for just the winter. I'm searching for someone. My father spoke of these Wilds when he spoke of my half-uncle,” Nazara used “half” in front of uncle in the case that Ragnar turned out to be just as big of an ass as his youngest brother. In truth, Nazara was just searching for sanctuary, and hoped that if he did manage to find Ragnar that the man would not send him packing back home.

Thistle studied the youth in front of her and wondered at him. He was a broad boy buil like a large bruitish creature with black fur and strange markings, but Thistle supposed she shouldn't think much on his markings for both her sons bore interesting markings themselves. Thistle was not into the huge forms of submission and had the boy chosen to look up higher than her paws she would not have cared as long as it was not direct eye contact, but she was a different type of wolf, built more for healing and loving than domination.

Thistle listened and she frowned at his words. Why should we feed you and take care of you and ask you to take care of our family when you will be leaving in a few months anyway? Perhaps it would be easier to find your uncle than to settle for a home that you would not be entirely loyal too? Whose your uncle Nazara? Perhaps we can find him and that way perhaps you could have your own home immediately without having to only seek shelter for winter?. She had noticed him put emphasis on half uncle, but she didn't care for that. If there was blood shared he was your uncle, or your brother or what have you. It didn't matter if there was a different parent there, there was still blood of at least one of the same flowing through you.

Nazara bowed his head lower, watching her through his lashes as she studied him. The Queen's questions were fair, and not entirely unexpected Nazara listened, ears lowering slowly towards his skull. It seemed pointless to accept him within their ranks when he intended to leave, adopting a gypsy-like life until he found his uncle. Or half uncle as Váli had been sure to snarl at him on numerous occasions, as if being only half of his blood made any sort of difference. At the end of the day they shared blood through Eitri and blood was blue and spilled red, no matter what. They were all creatures of the Gods, and despite how vehemently Váli was to deny it, Nazara was just as much of a decedent of Odinn as he himself was. Dagrún was just as much of Eitri's son as Ragnar and his siblings were, and Nazara remained his grandson. Genetics were not something that one could bend or re-write with will. Then again, there was a good possibility, Nazara thought with a slight snicker, that Váli was too stupid to realize that.

“I understand,” Nazara murmured in the common tongue, his accent a mixture of Scandinavian and Amazon, favoring neither, for despite that he'd been reared in Odinn's Cove and favored the way of the Northmen more than he did the fierce women of whose womb he was born from, his mother had been a prominent figure in his life, regardless. Though he did not love her culture, or their treatment of his sex, he did love her unconditionally, unable to help it. After all, she was his mother more than she had been anything else. Until he had been weaned from her milk she had deigned to stay in the Cove with her “heathen lover”, though Nazara would not have normally gone so far as to call Dagrún and Princess Xiuhcoatl lovers of any sort. Two wolves, under normal circumstance unable to ever take a mate and produce children had been chosen by their superiors, spoken at the decree of their respective Gods, forced into an unlawful and begrudging union to create not a child but a peace treaty. A weapon more like, Nazara amended with a thought that left a bitter after taste in his mouth. Of course, they were going to do it.

He would, if he'd have been in their position. It was stupid to be outlawed from having children or taking a wife/mate simply because, in Dagrún's case he was a bastard, a “half breed” between two opposing cultures, or if one was to believe Váli a mistake that should have never happened, and in Princess Xiuhcoatl's case because she was not Queen and would never be queen given that she was the younger sister. To Nazara, whom might have been clouded by childish ignorance, those rules seemed stupid. Luckily, though, this woman seemed determined to help him search for his half-uncle, of which he was internally grateful. “Well, sometimes he goes by Heimdall on Outrider missions, but his given name is Ragnar. Ragnar Loðbrók.” Nazara told her, figuring that it might not hurt to give her his alias as well, in case she had stumbled upon him and he had given her the guise of 'Heimdall'.

Thistle felt that her questions were fair, she didn't really care if no one liked them. Not that anyone didn't, it was really just common sense. Why should her family give shelter to someone who was going to leave. To go away.

Thistle listened and the youth before her had a accent, but she wasn't sure where it was from. It sounded a bit like her husband's but it wasn't as pronounced and there was something else to it. She was puzzled and stood there for a moment with a furrow in her brow trying to figure it out.

Thistle heard her husbands name and she laughed. Well then Nazara I believe you've come to the right place. Your uncle is my husband and he will be pleased to meet you I am sure. Dagrun is your father? he was the only one that she could think of that was her husbands half sibling other than hati, but Hati was far too young ot have pups at least she was fairly certain she was.

To Nazara, what he had asked for was no different than what some wolves did: joined with the guise of being a fixture in the pack only to vanish a week or two, or even months later without so much as a word. At least, unlike them, Nazara was up front about what he wanted, and what they could expect from him in the foreseeable future. Even so, the Amazon Viking had no interest in arguing with this woman about it. It would seem that Freyja and Frigg had smiled upon him this day, for it soon came about that the half uncle that he sought happened to be this woman's husband, and likely the leader of this pack as well. There was a part of Nazara that felt a rush of relief to have found him so fast, but he was also filled with trepidation at meeting him, as well. After all, the only Uncle and Nephew experience he'd ever had, had been with Váli and each time the two had came into contact with one another had been extremely unpleasant. Váli treated Nazara as he treated Dagrún: like someone's steaming pile of feces he'd stepped in; though it was long since determined by Nazara that if Váli had, had a shred of intellence he wouldn't push Dagrún around like he did for Nazara's father was larger and stronger than the currently crowned Jarl of Odinn's Cove.

“Right,” Nazara was skeptical about Ragnar being pleased to meet him. “You'll have to excuse my skepticism. My experiences with my known half-uncle were anything but great.” Nazara told her bluntly, hoping that she did not take it rudely, but in the end she could take it however she wanted. He had stopped caring if he insulted others because it seemed that all anyone ever did was insult him. Like being called a “half breed” wasn't insulting enough. He would have never fully been accepted into the Cove, and though there was no question of being accepted into Coatl's Rise, he did not want to subjugate himself to being a slave. Why were those his only options? Why did he have to settle for those or nothing else? He didn't. He wouldn't.

“Yes, Dagrún is my father,” Nazara responded slowly, confused as to how this woman knew of him. “Do you know him?”

Thistle had she been privy with his thoughts could have agreed that others left and did not stay. However, when one was accepted into the pack, they were taking them at their word that they would stay. So to tell her up front that he would not stay was upsetting and she was doing exactly what she thought Ragnar would do.

Thistle growled softly Vali I assume? I have not heard very good things of him. You do not have to worry here. Ragnar views Dagrun as his brother, perhaps his only brother at this point. She wasn't really sure what to say there. The other brothers had all betrayed him, Dagrun had not. She was pleased to offer him that small bit of good will.

Thistle nodded, smiling softly Yes I know your father. He actually gifted Ragnar and I with a wonderful hide when I had my first litter. He was a kind wolf at least to me, though i know his nature is savage as is Ragnars.

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.

Thistle chuffed gently, but didn't reprimand the boy. Realizing that he probably had never been able to speak of the Jarl of Odinn's Cove in any capacity other than master and slave. If it was to be believed how badly Dagrun had been treated, then surely his son had fared worse. Also the simple fact that Thistle could swear like a sailor if she so pleased, having grown up with brothers well one learned vulgarity quickly. Thistle shook her head I don't know Ragnar has not told me much of Bjorn, other than he was dead and for good reason.

Thistle chuckled I imagine they would, most would say the same of Ragnar when I say he is a good man including him. But well he is a good man to me most of the time as was your father. So I hold no nature against them. They are savage and brutish, but they are also very well..complex they are complex. that was the only way she knew how to put it.

Thistle nodded and looked him over I guess it does. I assume you can hunt and fight if needed? Yes? I can't imagine you wouldn't know these things.

The woman let out a chuff when the word 'assholes' slipped freely out of Nazara's mouth, for despite his mother's prestigious standing, she was not what the teen would have considered prim or proper. “Not that either of my families can claim sainthood,” Oh, they liked to talk big, and boast of how they were better than each other but at the end of the day they were both the same. Conniving vipers ready to strike at one another at the first sign of true weakness. If they were not so busy being enemies, the Vikings and the Amazons, they would surely make one hell of a tag team if either of them went for alliance or pacts. They did not, but still they could likely conquer the world if they worked together. They would not, nor would they likely ever so there was no immediate worry of a Viking/Amazon take over any time soon. Which was likely more than the world could handle at any given time so it was probably, as far as Nazara could see, better that they didn't like each other enough to have any sort of solid or real alliance.

“Most are too busy being terrified of them, claiming that they are savage and heathens to see that they're actually well cultured,” Nazara spoke thoughtfully. “Even the Amazons' culture is well structured. Ruled by a Queen of War, and a Diplomatic Queen. Though I shy away from their culture for obvious reasons as a male, I do respect how they reign.” He liked to believe that he was well cultured and his father had always told him that one must always respect their enemy even though there was animosity between them. Technically, he was an enemy of both the Amazons and the Vikings, but he was also, so long as he lived, their only chance at salvation. The only thing that kept them from slaughtering one another. If the Cove and Rise went to war with one another the Eldingar Valley would undoubtedly be crimson with the running blood because it was unlikely that either of them wouldn't drag the other packs in the Valley with them.

It was a terrible burden to bear.

“Of course,” Being the son of a Berseker Warrior and the Princess — who held the unofficial title of War Queen — not having knowledge of battle would be nothing short of an insult to both sides. “But I am willing to learn other things. Whatever the pack needs the most I will set my focuses too.” He told her, wanting to make sure that she knew he was not set in his ways. He was not a war machine, nor was he a just a peace pact, and he did not want to be treated like either or. He just wanted to be normal, or as normal as he was ever going to get. The impressionable years of his childhood were long over but he wanted to live while he had the chance.

Thistle did not know the betrayal that was rift between the two families, having never seen such a thing even as a child and further into adulthood. Therefore she could not fathom the terrible way with which so many acted and treated others thus. It was depressing when she thought about it and often she wanted to scream with anger at the way other's acted. If there was only more kindness in the world, maybe it wouldn't be so terrible. Can anyone really? It was a rhetorical question, one she did not wish to have an answer for.

Thistle chuckled at his words, Oh but they are savage and ruthless, but they are also only canine and they feel as much pain as the other. Though usually their pain and upset manifests into anger and irrational thoughts usually. It was true, Ragnar had been hurt before, upset and he had lashed out in anger rather than any other emotion. He could barely say he loved her, he did, but she knew it was not easy. It's good to have a healthy respect for those who bore you and their culture. You come from two very admirable sides.

Thistle listened and dipped her muzzle to him. At the moment we need gamekeepers for we are short on meat and we have little ones to feed. Come i'll show you around and then you can have your leave to find Ragnar unless you would like me to be there?