He had to be constantly on alert - he could not afford to drop his guard in the new land despite the peace he had seemingly come across. Where there was peace, there was often conflict brewing or past and for the time being, he wished to be involved with neither. If there had been conflict in the past then let it die, and if it were brewing, it would be none of his business until situations were pristine. See, civil wars separated even those without pack affiliation and made for an easy take over - you could take one pack with no more than a thank you from another. That was pack politics - his own clan had taken the land from another from right beneath their noses. They had been so preoccupied in battle and counting their casualties that they had forgotten the southern border and allowed his folk in without the ability to stand their ground. The world was cruel and if you were not opportunistic, then it would devour you.

He had been thinking on it as he stood waiting for whatever company might have come to him, thoughts long and joyous, his muzzle marked with a small grin. Though alien-like in its nature, Moladion certainly held a special kind of majesty about it that he'd grown to appreciate more and more. It was difficult to understand why some of the packs had chosen less than ideal locations for their clans when so much of the 'free lands' as he had heard them called remained unclaimed. He'd watched out over the raging river with furrowed brows, considering whether or not he could simply take the ridge and planes for himself but alas, such thoughts were short lived. There was another nearby, the pitter patter footfalls all too clear to his ears.

He pivoted, allowing his large frame to sink lower in preparation of fight or flight but he was taken aback by the female before him; she, like him, was sturdy and thick of pelt, reeking of the Northernmost edge of the world. At first, he was taken aback, his eyes blinking away any confusion before she spoke - her accent, thick and beautiful rung true to his ears. His chest reverberated with a hearty chuckle as he dipped his head low in a bow.

"Det har vært en lang tid siden jeg har sett en av mine egne," he breathed, rising up to meet her gaze with a tilted skull though a sincere grin finally crept across his broad muzzle, "Valkyrie? A splendid name. Mitt navn er Ragnar."

He rocked back onto his haunches, completely enthralled by the female before him - this Valkyrie, chooser of those who would die, or so her namesake was at least. He knew too well that the Valkyrie's of the stories appeared much differently and it was no time for him to go to the next world, not yet. Perhaps it was just his luck to have such a girl find him though, or perhaps she had been sent to him as a gift for his marvelous finds in Moladion. He did not mind either way for he was glad. His fox-like tail looped across his paws, his eyes fixated on her, unwavering.

"Sitt, takk," he motioned down with his muzzle to the position beside him; they overlooked the river, a hawk circling overhead and the sound of pebbles skittering across the riverbed a hymn in the background of their meeting, "Hvor kommer du fra? I am most curious of another Northerner being here."

She was not from his own clan - he would know such things, but he did not know of others sending their scouts out. Was she an enemy cloaked beneath a guise of kindness? He would sit, and he would listen - he would know soon enough.