Cullen dishonored him. Ivar had brought the trinket to the Lagoon and at the first opportune moment he had traded her off for his own gain. A deep growl rolls from his throat as he moves from the sea and into the frigid wasteland where it was rumored that Cherokee had been traded to. He pauses at the edge of the rocky shore, his dark gaze roams over the snow covered land before him. It reminds him of the Norðurland, of his homeland.

"Quit being so fucking sentimental," Fenrir growls.

Ivar's ears lay back against the thick sinewy muscles of his arched neck, as his eyes narrow. "Shut your mouth," Ivar scoffs as he pushes himself deeper into the Inlet. The snow crunches with each stride and it makes slinking through this land almost impossible. But then there is a movement that draws his dark gaze, a flash of crimson and gray. A wicked grin crosses his ashen lips as he moves toward the pair.

"Is that my spawn?" he growls into the still air, his dark eyes linger on Cherokee but then move to the filly. No pride flickers in his eyes nor does it set his heart aflutter. She is a child. The result of their less then romantic pairing. His dark eyes then travel the length of Cherokee's body and a smirk tugs at his whiskered lips. "It didn't take long for you to fill yourself with another's seed."