JOHNNY BROUGHT A ROCKET TO A KNIFE FIGHT, HE GOT SICK OF PEOPLE THINKING HE'S A GOOD GUY Nosing through foliage sprouting up from the base of an odd stone structure, the Aeris male found himself wondering how much of this shit he could sell. If he could string together enough sturdy logs, he could get a functional raft across the span between here and the mainland. He was a strong enough swimmer, provided the weather didn't turn against him. Magenta gaze turned skyward, scrutinizing the pale cerulean vastness overhead. There were hardly any clouds, and there wasn't too much in the way of wind. He could probably make that work. Attention turned to the small pile of useful bits and bobs he'd been accumulating as he foraged through the nooks and crannies. A few intact bottles, dull blades that could be fixed up by even a shit tier blacksmith. He was sure he could get his hands on some useful goods to get him through the winter, and perhaps even some tinctures or salves if he found the right crowd. Shifting gears from the beat up crap he'd been collecting, he decided to take a break to hunt down a few hunks of driftwood. If it floated here, it could float to the mainland. The seawater tended to smooth it out well enough anyways, and he wouldn't have to break a million tiny branches off the things to drag them together along the beach. Broad paws carried him along the edge of the surf, brilliant gaze roaming the waterline for debris. He didn't need anything gigantic, because he was still going to have to drag it across the water until he hit the coast on the other side. The first solid chunk he found, he wedged the tips of his tusks and fangs into, and pulled along the sand until he was close enough to where he'd started. There, that was already a good starting point. Carefully, he checked his surroundings to see if there were any other good candidates. Sure enough, another hefty chunk of pale wood bobbed near the edge of the surf, just shy of washing up entirely. Perfect. Gripping the cracked edge where it must have broken from the main trunk, he backpedalled across the sand until he could drop it beside the first. The routine of collecting wood was simple, and monotonous. Soon enough, the repetition became mechanical, and he was lulled into a single minded focus that dragged him from one edge of the beach to the other. With a none too small pile of driftwood gathered at the edge of the beach, he shook the exertion from his muscles. Time to get back to the matter at hand, with that all out of the way. He was certain he'd caught a glimpse of something shiny further into one of the wooden shacks, and was curious to see what it would reveal itself to be. As he closed in on the shack, however, he realized that it was going to be more of a chore than gathering raft materials. The door was stuck fast, and the wood had warped in a way that the frame was wedged into place. He growled to himself, but now that he had it in his mind that he wanted in, he wasn't going to be deterred. Rearing back on his hind legs, he slammed his forepaws against the weathered wood of the door with all of his bulk behind the blow. It splintered, and one paw slipped through the gap. "Fuck!" he snarled as the splinters scraped along his forelimb where it had punched through. "No need to get testy," he grunted quietly, a scowl painting itself across his features. Now he had to work at making a gap big enough to squeeze through. This is where the curved tusks arching up and back from his lower jaw came in handy, breaking apart and clearing the ancient, half rotted wood. Chunks that proved too large to clear away with his tusks were grasped carefully in his teeth to avoid splinters in his tongue, and he found himself falling into the same mechanical rhythm as before. ""

Valkyrie had grown restless over the last couple of seasons. She'd expected some amount of discomfort considering the plethora of changes, but she hadn't thought it would strike her quite so hard. From nomadic to settled, ruler to subject, unwed to married, unattached to mother...all in what felt like the blink of an eye. Though she did her best to take them in stride occasionally a malcontent spike would scissor her heart. Valkyrie had no regrets. Coming to her mother's people for a mate had produced the desired results. Five hardy, vivacious children wild enough to make any raider jealous and wary. But sometimes she chafed under the changes. Sometimes, when she was struggling with the overwhelming tide of developments she couldn't help but long for the simplicity of Hjarrandi when she could just pick up and go as she pleased.

Restlessness had brought her to the Isle. A little day trip was in order; a small respite from the rowdy children, foreign customs and saucy husband that her world now revolved around. Valkyrie was aimlessly roving the beach with no real plot in mind besides reveling in the sounds of the beach when her eye was drawn to the drag marks that marred the beach ahead. She followed them, curious, and after a time reached a place stacked with driftwood. From there her ears detected the sounds of distressed wood. She followed the groans and cracks back to a shed and upon seeing the source of the noise reared back like a startled horse. It couldn't be. Valkyrie leaned forward with a suspicious squint. No one else alive looked like that which meant...

Deion. Valkyrie made a noise in the back of her throat; a sound that wished to be a growl but got strangled by indecision at the last second. She didn't know if she wanted to be happy to see him or mad that he'd abandoned her all those years ago when she'd been trying to put the band together. Bringing her wolves together had been like herding cats and she'd been counting on those she'd grown up with. She'd been counting on Deion and then, the bastard, just up and disappeared leaving her with cats to herd and no one to help.

Just like Aesir. Valkyrie's eyes narrowed to slits. That revelation sealed the deal. Now she was angry. "You," she breathed, on the verge of leaping at him, but riveted in place by some unseen force. "Are a spineless bastard."

THE BOY WHO FELL INTO THE SKY, HAD NO ONE THERE TO WATCH HIM CRY Had he been a smarter man, he would not have taken the isolation of the island as an indicator of privacy. He would have maintained an awareness of his surroundings while he worked on dismantling the door. By this point, he'd nearly worked up a sizeable enough gap that he could squeeze his head through without scraping all of the fur clean off of his face. Now, here he was being defamed without the decency of knowing who was talking shit. He dropped back down onto all four paws, and made a point to back up a few paces and turn slowly to face whoever had a death wish. One brow raised in question, he finally laid his gaze upon... Oh. Well, he supposed that made a fair bit of sense. "I suppose you're right," he grunted, expression settling into something that might have been morose, if you squinted. For the most part, he wore a mask of resignation. He was a failure of a Thane, and he knew it. Had known it for some time now. That was the thing about apathy, though. It made it very difficult for him to truly care what it meant for Valkyrie and the rest. There was a part of him, though, that retained that hint of self loathing that any right-minded wolf would bear after abandoning their duty. Alabaster rimmed auds tipped back towards his skull. "for what it's worth, I don't think I would have been much help to you anyways. I'm sure the others were more than enough to suit your needs, without an outsider dragging you down." he added, a heavy shrug of his shoulders tacked onto the statement as more of a bluff towards nonchalance than true disinterest. He didn't know how things had gone down after he'd left, after all. The rest of them could have easily struck fear into the hearts of all the soft little pack wolves without him, and moved on without ever giving him a passing thought. ""

Had her eyes not already been narrowed Deion's willingness to agree with her would have done the trick. She hadn't given the outcome of the confrontation any thought, but it was safe to say she hadn't thought his acknowledgement was a possibility even though Deion had been in the wrong. Her goal, if she'd had time to decide one before confronting him, would have been to right the wrong that had been done to her. Part of that was an admission of guilt, but this way? A simple four word concession? That was unsatisfying. Valkyrie started to growl lowly as Deion began speaking again. The sound grew louder as the point he was striving to make became clear. As the last word left his mouth it was like permission had been given for Valkyrie to move. The shackles of rage fell away and she lunged forward intent on slapping Deion across the face with her unsheathed claws. "You idiot! Of all the low, weak mewlings I've heard that is the most pitiful!" One slap wasn't enough so success or failure she would continue trying to claw him as she shouted. "You were not some outsider, you were my friend! I was counting on you!" Oh, she wanted to tear him to ribbons. Every day had been a struggle. The wolves of Boreas were weak and lazy, and goading them into anything other than a raid had been a lesson in futility, especially in the beginning. By the time she'd made her agreement with Fireside their numbers had dwindled and the only a few loyal wolves remained. Valkyrie didn't regret any of it, but how different would life be today if her friends, those who had agreed to join her way back in the old country, had kept their word?

THE BOY WHO FELL INTO THE SKY, HAD NO ONE THERE TO WATCH HIM CRY ooc. did I drop off the face of the earth for several months? Yeah for sure. Am I intent on ignoring that and continuing all my old threads? Yeah you bet. The growl that was rumbling deep in Valkyrie's chest grew to a roaring crescendo and she lunged for him. He stood still as the grave and allowed the first blow to land, sharp claws tearing through the thin flesh of his face from the base of his right ear and across his eye until they slipped across his muzzle and lost purchase. Thankfully, he wasn't a fool and shut his eyes tight against the oncoming blow. It would be wise to let het blow of some steam, take out her frustration on him. "You idiot! Of all the low, weak mewlings I've heard that is the most pitiful!" well, her words might well have stung worse than any blow she might land on him. The echo of her cry rattled around in his skull until her voice began to sound like his mother's. Oh boy, her ghost would certainly skin him for abandoning Valkyrie like he had. At least as far as drawing the first blood. He heard the sand shift and the wind whistle through outstretched claws, and he flinched away from the worst of the second blow. It glanced off the broad plane of his left cheek, leaving only a few bloodless scores in their wake. Taking advantage of his size, he reared back and lifted his head out of the direct line of her attacks. If she was really determined, he was certain he wouldn't be stopping her any time soon from tearing his face into an unrecognizable mess. She was, after all, an unstoppable force when push came to shove. "You were not some outsider, you were my friend! I was counting on you!" the raider bellowed, far too loud amidst the gentle ambiance of the deserted island. Massive jowls parted wide and snapped shut, a show of force against any further assault. He wouldn't hurt her unless she forced his hand, because he'd earned this beating as much as he'd earned the one that would come in the next life when he encountered his mother's spirit. "Then I will right my wrongs!" he roared back, auds flat against his skull and ivories flashing. "Name your price, Val!" he snarled, daring to squint his eyes open. The blood weeping into his right eye stung, but he held firm. "I will work myself back into your favour until you can call me your friend again, and we shall see where we end up then." ragged breaths huffed through dark nostrils, and he stared down the woman he'd wronged so horribly. All he wanted was to belong again, but he wouldn't admit that to her right now. Perhaps he never would. There was some part of him that hoped things could be the way they were before he'd become a ghost of his former glory, but the realist in him knew that was impossible. ""