Mowanza let out a long howl which hung on the air for a moment, before being carried over the forest on the wind. She then stood up and dug a hollow in the ground right in the base of the tree. Mowanza then laid down slowly and curled right up into the base of the tree trunk to rest. She was listening out for any sounds at all. "Right let's see what happens." she thought to herself , once again looking round at the forest.
Border patrols had become significantly easier and less tiring with every day that passed. At the end of each patrol he did not have to limp himself back to the community den area suppressing exhaustion of the mending sinew beneath the scab that covered the wound in his shoulder, nor the pain. Neither of these things were anything Björn would ever complain about - he was a Viking, he was used to these things, but still, it was nice. Plus it, hopefully, meant that Thistle wouldn’t about piss herself every time she caught him pushing himself. Of course, he deserved her lectures because he was pushing himself - and frankly had been - even when he really had needed to rest. That was why he had gotten the delusional fever and resulting infection previously. The gash, in comparison to the time he nearly died, was nothing, but the young medic of the Ridge fussed over him nevertheless and Björn found that, while, slightly annoying at times, he without a doubt enjoyed her attentions (even if they weren’t the exact attentions he had first hoped to receive from her).
It was on his sweep of the southern borders, nearing the sacred lands of Ravensblood Forest - Odinn’s forest as he now fondly thought of it - when the howl rose stretching on longer than was necessary. Yet, that was simply because Björn knew he was close at hand while the stranger at the borders did not. It did not take Björn long to reach the place where the howl had risen from, confirmed as it was by the lone female’s scent and yet no wolf was visible to Björn. Lips curled back from his teeth as his tail lashed viciously behind his hind legs, wondering, for a brief moment, if this was a trick of Loki’s. No, surely Loki would not dare to play such a joke so close to Odinn’s sacred lands, even the greedy god was not so unwise. There was dominance and impatience in the Viking’s stance as his icy eyes scoured the lands for the wolf who had called him and seemingly disappeared. A sharp, demanding bark pushed forth from betwixt Björn’s lips summoning the loner whom would either show herself or the Warden would move on.
Therefore she was not far from the borders either, when she heard the summoning howl. The same instant she was up on her feet and running towards the exact place and it was no suprise that the white warden was there already, looking a bit confused. Understandably so - the scent of the stranger was strong in the air, but the bearer of it was nowhere to be seen. She greeted Bjorn silently and then went past him, sniffing the ground to find the caller, feeling tense and ready to defend herself any moment.
Keeping herself as low to the ground as possible, Mowanza spoke. "Greetings, I come in peace. My name is Mowanza and I am looking for a safe haven to call home." She waited for the other wolves to respond.
Ragnar was tense as he paced the length of borders cautiously, like a jaguar high up in a tree as it stalked it’s prey below. The call had risen from some place yet there was nothing in his sight, and for a moment Ragnar played with the possibility that it had been a trick, that they were about to be ambushed; and that if that remained the case that they would be overtaken in a heart beat. The taunt tension did not leave Ragnar even when Pump joined the scene and moved past him sniffing for the caller. Pacing ceased, irises of ice watching Pump then, prepared to rush forwards and protect her if someone came attacking. A rumble of growls vibrated in the Viking’s chest when the wolf - likely the one who had summoned them, came crawling forth into their view. Her posture was adequately submissive but Ragnar did not relent. The stranger spoke of peace, spoke that she was in search of a ‘safe haven’ - of a home.
Yet, Ragnar had mistaken her disappearance - wherever it had been that she had gone after she had called for them - as impatience. He glimpsed at Pump for a moment as he neared his Alpha, scarred and unscarred ears slicking back to his skull, lip curling back to expose his teeth as a last growl rumbled in his chest. “I find your lack of patience wanting, stranger.” The Viking spoke to her, his tone as soft as it always was but hardened by his initial distrust.
She relaxed a little, when Bjorn came near her, but still eyed the submissive wolf distrustfully. For a moment she thought that they could take this fellow down with ease, but then again - there was no purpose in doing that. They wouldn't gain anything. Therefore she decided to near the wolf and invited Bjorn to do the same. She leaned over her to sniff her muzzle, head between her ears and scruff.
Satisfied with what she had found out, she stood back, cast a brief glance at the warden, in case he had anything to say, and then said: "What good are you to my pack?" In other words - prove that you are worthy to join my ranks.
The black wolf then proceeded to sniff her all over and asked her what she could bring to the pack. "I was in the first litter born into the pack in some years. I have excellent hunting skills which were taught to me, when I was old enough by my mother, who was a notably good hunter. However the thing I enjoy most doing is looking after pups, seeing them grow and develop and helping to teach about life a pack. My gentle and caring nature shone through from an early age and once again my mother, noticing this decided that when the next litter of pups were born, that I would have a major role in helping to raise them.
When the second litter was born, I was a year old. My mother would enlist me to stand guard and watch over them, when they were old enough to begin playing at the den entrance. She would also leave them in my care for long periods of time whilst she went off to hunt. As they grew older, she also asked me to begin teaching them to hunt, just like she taught me when I was younger. By the time the third litter was born a short time before the pack was wiped out by a large group of hunters, my mother had fully entrusted the previous litter's care and training to me. I was three years old when the third litter was born and once again my mother relied on me to help her." Mowanza replied softly.
The stranger seemed to realize her mistake of startling both himself as well as Pump and had flattened herself closer to the earth in submission. Despite Ragnar’s appreciation of her realization his hard stare did not lessen any. Even so her words were muddled with an apology to him, followed by a quaking that made Ragnar wonder if she wasn’t going to soil herself then and there. She should fear him and the Viking did not shy any pity or remorse but said simply before he would let it drop, “You were hiding in the earth,” The clumps of dirt clinging to her fur were evidence enough of that. “I cannot see through rock and dirt.”
Ragnar listened to the female list her skill sets, presumably talking to Pump moreso than she was him though he lingered and listened, nevertheless. She boasted of hunting and of being a caretaker to pups and gave them, accordingly, a run down of her history in the process. Thus far, only Ragnar was aware of Thistle’s tryst with the Plateau wolf (and further with himself). He did not speak of it but there was a pretty good chance that pups were in the direct future of Horizon Ridge and while a caretaker might be, theoretically nice, he felt the innate urge to make the fawn colored girl’s children into Vikings. Their young minds would be the most welcoming to his ways and it was the easiest way to “convert” to Odinn’s cause.
The platinum silver savage remained silent knowing that he had no further say and that everything to this point relied solely upon Pump.
Pump would have very much liked a brief summary of what good the girl was to them, but soon she found herself filtering the girl's story for certain words, such as - a hunter, caretaker, guardian - and she had a pretty high opinion of herself. "Very well then..." Pump said and turned to Ragnar, not because he had any say in, whether she was going to accept her or not, but because she wanted to hear his opinion. "She sounds like an accomplished person," "want to test her?" and then back to the girl. "What is your name?"
Ragnar acknowledged the stranger’s second - or was it third, he had lost track - apology with acceptance. He had not meant to frighten her - though he was not inherently surprised by her fear because really, it was well placed when it came to Ragnar - but the Viking did not return the courtesy of apology.
What followed made the Viking hesitate, his hackles bristling when the she-wolf at their borders shut her eyes tightly after giving her name and began to whimper. Traumatized. Trauma was something the Berserker recognized having seen it plenty of times - mostly from the slaves they captured - though sometimes the younger Berserkers suffered from it. He was also aware of post traumatic stress and after giving a loaded look to Pump, wondered if maybe the girl was suffering from it currently.
She looked back at Bjorn to see, whether he had any clue of what had happened now and his idea of calling Thistle seemed to mirror her own, therefore she remained silent and waited for the girl to reply.
Ragnar could not so easily shake off the trepidation that overcame the newest member of Horizon Ridge despite how casually she had dismissed it. She had seen enough of battle - had killed enough - to find wolves who cowered and whimpered out at mere memories to be rather …alarming. It was a small wonder that Ragnar himself did not suffer from some kind of post traumatic stress, but maybe it was because killing and/or seeing it simply did not bother him. Or maybe it had something to do with the drugged foods he and his fellow Berserkers had been forced to consume to call upon the blood rage erased them. Giving her a last skeptic look the warden nodded and left the scene quietly, anxious to continue on with his sweep of the borders once more.
"Ragnar - good work," she told the white beast, before he went off to return to his guarding duties. One joining was enough for the day, therefore she trusted him to drive away the rest of the would-be-joiners or lurkers.
"Better keep your word," she turned her gaze to the girl and warned, then stretched and shook her coat, happy that this encounter was finished successfully. "Come on, Mowanza, I will show you around a bit," she beckoned for the newcomer to follow her.
ooc: my last post here.