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Silence. To say that Rå'stryke thrived in it would be an understatement. He prospered in the quiet, void of words like some stretched black abyss in the open space. Of course this absence of noise didn't stretch so far as the environment: the crickets chirped, the birds warbled and in the distance preybeasts made their racket, but this was all white noise. Rå could easily block it out and focus on what was important to hear: nothing. His own breathing was loud in his ears, and his heartbeat thudded like thunder, but, again, they were easily ignored.

Voices ruined his meditation, if that was what you wanted to call it. Voices required concentration to be allotted to understanding and response, and typically he was far too annoyed to give a response anyway. No, Rå could do without incessant droning. He was a lion of few words because no more than a few words were necessary to convey an intent.

Still, some topics required more verbal attention than others and he supposed whatever it was their new warlord was seeking him out for would require it. He saw the incoming leader, though he did not lift his head from his task just yet. He was picking at the remnants of ligament on a wildebeest bone, and he supposed he would be expected to give it up once the Warlord made his presence known, but Rå would not raise his bright eyes until he was addressed directly. He could be wrong, after all; the lion could pass him by.

So then there were words, marring the silence that had lay like snow around him. Rå exhaled, slowly, though not heavily enough for it to be deemed a sigh. Those words were his name, and he knew he had to acknowledge the Warlord. For a few seconds his bright eyes lifted from the rib clutched between his paws, but he did not look up. He merely looked. It was a hesitation that would possibly land him a blow, but he was not ready yet to lay respect at the feet of this lion. He had no reason to respect Aesir save for his position in the pride... and that was newly won.

Still, Rå recognized the gesture that the new leader had bestowed upon him. Aesir hadn't used the formal greeting of the Stormborn, which meant Rå didn't either. It wasn't that he didn't care for it, but it was lengthier than he cared for. His greetings were simpler, typically, and Aesir gave him opportunity to not speak. With a slight twist of his lips that could be perceived as a grin, he lifted his gaze then with a grunt of recognition. Slowly he lifted himself to his paws, letting the bare bone fall between them as he dipped his head briefly in greeting. "Warlord."

What else was he to call him? Rå'stryke did not know this lion well, and as for what traditions or technicalities the male would uphold, Rå could not say. His eyes remained trained on the Warlord, his expression clear. He was careful not to react visually until he had heard every word. Processing the implications quickly, his eyebrows rose as an obvious indication of interest.

The Captain's attention was gnabbed, and his interest was piqued - now he would see if the other could hold it. Inclining his head slightly to one side, he indicated - wordlessly - that he would like to hear more.

Aesir was right to keep the insecurity of his present position in mind. Every Captain knew that the position was well within their grasp, and if they hadn't known before - they knew now. With the relative, if not actual, ease that Aesir had ascended to the title, others within the pride were bound to have their eyes trained on it as well, calculating... plotting. They would be prepared to take advantage of the first opportunity: the first crack of weakness they found in their new leader's regime. It was a vulnerable time until Aesir won the Captains over.

But Rå'stryke was not such a lion. He had no ambition to become Warlord. Not now, if ever. He was content with his position in the pride, and did not mind that his father's soul probably burned with disappointment at his lack of initiative. After all, the Warlord would have to talk more - listen more - meet the demands of others. Rå'stryke would be a better tyrant than a leader, for he did not care much to meet another's demands save those he respected.

Which were not many within the pride, and the ballot was still out on whether or not Aesir would be among that short list.

His gold eyes remained on the Warlord, listening and processing what he was saying with little indication of his response. He noticed the slight trepidation, recognized that the other lion had paused to lick his lips and seemed exceptionally keen on convincing Rå of the merit of his plans. It surprised him rather than annoyed him, though his expression betrayed nothing.

After all, the idea was a good one. Rå had brought less home after his party's last raid, which was irritating and had left him in a foul mood. It wasn't that they hadn't tried, it was that there hadn't been much to try for. Considering the implications of a wider radius, Rå's golden eyes briefly swung skyward before resting on the other male once more. He nodded, briefly and curtly to show that he agreed but said nothing yet. He knew more was to follow, and would not say a word until he had heard it all and knew that one response would not jeopardize another.

The Captain listened and watched as the Warlord slowly, but surely, gained confidence in his words. Now he was sounding more like a Warlord Rå could respect, and his ideas were something that Rå could definitely agree with. He listened to each vague plan as Aesir elaborated with details and solidified his intentions for the pride. There was nothing that Rå could argue with here. The pride was, indeed, crowded and it made it difficult to say they would benefit from better plunder if they had no where really to take it. The blood feuds were annoying, like a buzzing fly, for Rå had nothing to do with any of them, but if that fly were to be swatted...

Of course, Aesir’s method seemed greatly more beneficial for the pride than Rå’s intention of simply wiping out those families. His lips pursed slightly over his muzzle as he considered, and his head inclined minutely to one side. Convincing members to settle outside the mainlands of the pride wouldn’t be too difficult, he supposed. They might be offered more space, better accommodations or any sort of incentive. The Stormborn were nothing if not greedy and prideful, so any opportunity to better their living situations would likely be grasped firmly. Indeed, it would be for those reasons that he was sure the Reavers would have nothing to say against venturing further past the boundaries of their previous raiding grounds. They would no doubt see the advantageous to all these moves.

And Rå did as well, of course. Already he was contemplating whether or not his own band should look into settling outside. Close enough that he would still be in the midst of the happenings of the pride, of course, but far enough out that he could have more space than was offered here. He wanted more thralls, after all, and more space to keep the treasures he obtained rather than constantly having to trade them for smaller more useful property. Rå liked treasure.

Of course the Warlord would ask him to survey the surrounding lands first, though he had to wonder if Aesir would know that Rå had every intent of taking the best lands (the most habitable, as it had been put) for himself and his Reavers. He agreed that Captains and Reavers should be the first line of defense for the pride, as well. They were the instigators, typically, in aggression from the neighboring prides, but they could also be a formidable wall of teeth and claw if it were required of them. His brows rose, only a tad, before he opened his mouth to speak in that deep, rumbling voice he’d inherited from his more boisterous and outspoken father, “Me and mine, we shall do this.” He inclined his head to the opposite side, lips pulling back to reveal his sharp fangs in a small smile, “We will settle the land as well, though we would like our pick, Warlord, for our work.” It wasn’t negotiating, really; Rå couldn’t imagine who else would be allowed to settle the choice lands that he and his band surveyed.

Rå'stryke would be glad that the other lion had shown no excessive signs of his appreciation of the Captain’s acquiescence. Not only would that be too overtly emotional for Rå himself, but he would consider it particularly strange from the Warlord, a lion he was supposed to respect and hold in high esteem. Still, the dark lion was watching the other with the unwavering gaze of a hawk. It was penetrating, but not threatening to a lion such as Aesir. A lesser lion, not of the Stormborn, might quake beneath it’s pressure – many had – but he did not worry over the effect it might have on Aesir. The thought didn’t even cross his mind, as he was too concerned with judging the reactions of the Warlord.

Rå had chosen his words with care, though it had been done with little thought actually put into each word. His answers were always well phrased and perfectly molded to the intent he wished to imbibe into them; after all, there was much to be done in the expanse of time in which he wasn’t speaking. He had wanted to see how the Warlord would react to the phrasing, a near negotiation. Rå'stryke knew that he and his Reavers getting choice would have been expected, but it was better to see if he could get a weak Warlord into his proverbial pocket or if he could at least get a better gauge on the lion. All said and done, Rå was pleased. He was not surprised by the response, nor was he particularly enthused by it – but pleased, because he did so hate to serve a weakling.

It seemed natural to Rå that there would be disputes whether the Warlord knew about the claims or not, but the large male dipped his head in agreement just the same. He would let the Warlord know which lands he and his band claimed, and they would be the choicest available. The Captain even had a bit in mind, to the Northeast, that he and his party would set out to survey and claim as soon as they were ready. He was beginning to grow tired of conversation, though not this one in particular, just in general. He was unsure whether it would be acceptable for him to walk away from the Warlord just yet, however, so he resettled his paws only and then raised both brows expectantly. If the Warlord, Aesir, had more to say, let him saw it. Rå'stryke would listen and provide counsel or answer, but he had never been one to take joy from socialization. And now the wanderlust was in his paws: he wanted to go check and claim that land before some other fool attempted the same. Who was he to say whether Aesir had spoken to other Captains yet?