Every creeping and crawling creature holds its breath. Even the parrots who insist on crackling, have quieted. It is as if the Isles themselves are holding their breath. Quiet anticipation for the War that is about to spill upon every shore, including that of the Ridge. Björn is on edge, his muscles are tense with every step and his ears rotate atop his crown with jerky, swift motion.

A call echoes off of the palm fronds, piercing the silence that surrounds the smoky king. His glacial eyes narrow, as he sets immediately in the direction of the intruder. His hooves pound the earth with a quick staccato, each step deliberate. The scent grows stronger with each stride, and his brow furrows. The scent is unfamiliar... and feminine. As he nears the woman, he slows and arches his neck proudly. His glacial eyes take in the spotted mare, as the questions begin to race through his mind. Who is she? And why is she here?

He closes the distance between them. "I am Björn, Bera Konung of the Ridge. What is it that you seek?" he asks, suspicion clearly written across his face. War is upon them all, and the time for chivalry has passed.