Ever since the head had been left upon their doorstep and the chaos that had ensued at the meeting directly after, settled by Tuwawi's abrupt rise to her throne once more, Týrr did his civic duty to his pack and ran patrols numerous times a day. He'd earned the journeyman trade of Chronicler and for now it was enough for him, allowing him to move onto the one that had now, more than ever, became important: warden. He had intended to go for it anyway but this threat had forced his hand into pursuing it quicker than he had originally intended too. There was nothing like a death threat and the looming point of the axe of war over their heads to cause him to make a spontaneous decision. With Tuwawi once more upon her rightful throne the Rekkr found that he was soothed though o nly a little. Discord and unrest still roiled in him like a storm out at sea, collecting strength from the near constant turmoil of the sea. He did not know if a scout had been sent to investigate his claims regarding Stavanger Bay or not, though he would be surprised to learn that someone hadn't went yet given Tuwawi's fierce desire to see Larus safely returned to her. On that, he could not and did not blame her. He was not a father and did not know the love of a parent in that sense; though in all fairness he did not truly know a love of a parent from the child's sense, either. He could not remember Quetzalcoatl or how his mother had loved him (if she'd loved him), and the notion that Ragnar had ever loved him was scoffed at quickly by Týrr who understood he was nothing more than a pawn in Ragnar's end game and that if the Northerner had truly loved him then he wouldn't have lied about everything.
Týrr would have volunteered for the job but his connection to the Bay, as embarrassing as it was, was too close despite that he wanted nothing to do with them; despite that he had every intention of killing Ragnar Lodbrok. He held no love for them, though no true grudge against it's members aside from Ragnar's family. It had been too easy to appease the Bay girl though, to twist her evident attraction to him to his own devices. He did not like the idea of hurting the innocent to get to the guilty, but he had to send subtle hints to Ragnar in some way. Play with the cunning Viking's mind, to get under his skin. Claiming to be the God, the all mighty All-Father, felt like a good way to do it, at the time. Fear was a weapon, and the Rekkr knew that out of everything in the world he could fear, Ragnar feared that his devotion to Odinn would not be enough and that he might lose the All-Father's favor. He saw no harm in playing the charming “date”, though admittedly it had been the Rekkr's first time at doing anything of the such. It was a learning experience and a message to Ragnar all in one neat, convenient little package. Perhaps he should have felt guilt, and maybe he did somewhere deep inside of him, that he had so blindly taken advantage of someone who had a crush on him ...likely in the same way his crush might appear to Tuwawi, should she have ever clued in or he ever told her of his true feelings. Child's play. Perhaps, that would only be fair after this. Perhaps he deserved nothing less.
The feral thing, a mashup of growing Amazon and Viking that he had no name for, within him dithered on caring and not caring. He wasn't romantically involved with anyone and likely never would be; so what did it matter? And anyway, he had no intentions of seeing Spectra again.
Turning his thoughts away from such things, the Rekkr breathed in the crisp morning air, the dawn lightening little by little though the rise of the sun had yet to break above the crust of the horizon. Crystalline blue eyes swept across the darkened landscape before he lifted his leg to add his scent to the markers before he trotted on, following the invisible scent line with every intention of carrying on his patrol.
a crime so old as the sky and bone
IC
Dirty filthy hound thought Comet as he spotted the brown-dashed wolf lift its leg and mark the ground. He had been gliding overhead, enjoying the crisp sunrise, and found himself irritated in the extreme to have his view marred by such sights. There was no real reason behind the anger, but it nestled in his feathers all the same. It took seconds for the feeling to snowball into all-out rage. Why couldn't he get a moment's peace to enjoy the beauty of the day?!
A dimly-lit navy sky blazed above him, lending him courage. "Craaaarckkkek," he squawked, and dipped his wings until he was dive-bombing straight for Týrr. The dark brown wolf resolved into one of the biggest he had seen as wind whistled past his ears - perhaps not the best idea he had had in a while, but he was too angry to care. Sharp but small talons extended forwards as he swooped at the wolf, intending to grab a claw-ful of chocolate fur as he skimmed over the giant's back. Unfortunately his war-cry had likely alerted the wolf to his presence which stripped him of the element of surprise, leaving the success of his attempt in the hands of the gods.
So caught up in the mundane routine of patrolling the Glacier's borders, a need that burned fiercer now than it had previously as the threat of war and death loomed over their heads, was Týrr that he did not initially feel the burn of the avian's eyes into his being. Even if he would have taken some semblance of a notice it was likely that the Rekkr would have simply written it off anyway. He was not so easily threatened, and certainly not by a creature smaller than he. Chocolate brown ears picked up on the ruffle of feathers nearby but again, this did not drawn the Rekkr's initial attention. Birds were all around him and with Spring upon these wilds those that had migrated Southward for the winter were returning. Songbirds, geese, and surely others.
It was as the Rekkr paused to sniff at the borders an unfamiliar scent catching his interest that he realized he was being watched, though this conclusion came about during the time in which Týrr noticed the owl's presence — which was simply because the thing had let out a shrill cry and was making a dive directly for him. A low growl tore through his throat, a clear warning. As far as the Nýeldur was aware he hadn't done anything that warranted such hostility from the owl and yet it was with hostility that he was met. The skim of the owl's talons at the guard hairs of his back, bristled in defense as they were to make himself look bigger (not that it was overly necessary?), caused the Rekkr's teeth to snap together viciously as his head wrenched back as far as it would go. Likely, this move was rendered utterly futile for the simple fact that the owl had wings and Týrr did not.
“What is wrong with you?” The canine demanded, unsure (and frankly not in much of a caring state) if the other creature could even understand him.
a crime so old as the sky and bone
His talons raked through fur, however the rising of guard hairs caused them to stand near-vertically and their shiny surface at this angle meant Comet was compete unable to grip even a single fur. The rage which burgeoned in his hot-tempered soul flared brighter, and to top it off he saw the wolf's head whip backwards. In a split-second of death he saw fangs flashing, corrected his course upwards, and managed to escaped with only a graze along his left leg by one errant tooth.
He cried out again, but this time in pain, and barely managed to hear what the wolf was snapping at him as he attempted to stay in the air and gain height amidst the throbbing. Within seconds he was high enough above the wolf's head to avoid jumping-distance and evened out his flight until he could glide in a slow circle. The pain of a graze soon ebbs, and Comet found his head clearing. Some of his anger had been dulled by the other emotions blasting through his core, and he answered with a sullen shout which floated down to the wolf just a couple of feet below. "Why were you peeing all over the floor? Couldn't you find somewhere private and out of sight?" he was, of course, conveniently forgetting he tended to deposit droppings every which way when he flew. Then again, his were beautiful white and black splats, delightful when they landed on an enemy, and didn't stink of stale wolf.
If this offended creature had attacked prior to Týrr's mental and emotional shitstorm he would have handled it in a much more docile manner. Diplomacy, these days, remained strictly reserved for those of his own species and even then it was an iffy subject at best. The Rekkr still prided himself on keeping calm, on being level headed but if he were truly capable of maintaining that anymore he did not know. Everything had changed and Týrr understood the simple truth that if he did not want to let it destroy him, if he wanted a place in this up-heaved world then he had to change in accordance. He was not ignorant as he had before, but not totally aware of who he was yet, either. There was uncertainty surrounding Tezcacoatl and Týrr even though the two dominate cultures and personalities had begun to merge into one. There had been no inner war; yet. Though this brought with it the question that if he did not fully remember the Amazon Prince within him — would Manauia continue to follow him? Considering that she was following him now was even a bit of a stretch, mind, for he knew that the Amazon woman would never fully bow to him. Always, she would feel some level of disgust for him for he was nothing more than a slave who had risen higher than his meant to be station at the decree of a sympathetic Queen who had made the mistake of loving her only child: her only son.
Despite his assurances that she could leave him and return to Coatl's Rise at any time that she wished, that he did not need her, it was the Amazon woman that he turned to for advice, or when he had questions that he was brave enough to ask and whose answer he sought regarding who he was before the injury and it's resulting amnesia.
Wrenched back from his thoughts when his teeth made contact with the avian's leg, the shrill cry from the creature causing the Rekkr's ears to splay back against his skull as crystalline blue eyes watched the other creature's climb where he stayed safely (and smartly?) out of Týrr's range. The owl's question brought puzzlement to the forefront of Týrr's mind, offering the feathered fiend a quizzical look until realization dawned upon him. It was such a natural thing for wolves to do, and the only time he could truly claim he came into contact with other creatures was when he was hunting them; and it wasn't as if he held conversations with his prey. “I wasn't relieving myself. I was marking the Glacier's territory. Lands that we, as a pack have claimed. So there is a clear warning to those who are unwelcome.” The Rekkr explained with well tempered and mannered patience, as if he were explaining it to a very small child.
a crime so old as the sky and bone
But then the response graced his ears, a gravelly voice that slurred its words more than an owl's, which usually tended towards sharp and abrupt. The patience in the wolf's voice shone through, touching at Comet's relatively young mind and drawing him closer. He hovered as well as he could, moving in a low and lazy loop, descending towards the wolf slightly. Perhaps foolish, but Comet was barely a yearling and often had a mindset below his year. "Really?" he chirped, cocking his head as he flew above Týrr. Hopefully he wasn't making the wolf dizzy.
"But how do they know that it's you that did it? Not someone else? Can they see it even after it dries?" The owl's greatest senses were sight and sound - sound certainly didn't seem to apply to a pack-scenting situation but perhaps wolves had immense colour-distinguishing capabilities. Perhaps wolf pee dried orange? Comet tilted one wing and debated landing near the wolf, but he waited for the response, to ensure he wasn't about to be snapped at again. His anger had dissolved, given this chance to learn new information. He was a keen scholar.