Heimdall stared at the crackling and roaring fire, a beacon of light and warmth in the harsh wilderness that was Fenris. He was grateful that the claw had set up a fire for warmth and to cook the meat of the huge and deadly razor-ursine. All that him and his genetically enhanced brothers wore were simple pelts of fur for warmth in these harsh conditions. Heimdall would never get used to it, even though he had spent his entire life on Fenris, either in his former life before the chapter or when he became one of the Emperor's Angel's of Death.
Fenris was one of the harshest climate's known to the Imperium, more deadly than most worlds. This was shown in the quarry that they had tracked, huge deadly and smart it could of ripped through an entire tribe, even unprepared initiates. However he was a member of the pack now, and as long as they worked together they would survive and succeed. He respected his brothers that had fought alongside Wolflord Blackmane, though they were more distant to him and the newer members of the pack.
Alrik was particularly hostile, but Heimdall cared not. He would prove himself eventually, patience was all that was required. A hard thing for him to do, he was used to acting impulsively and was known for his short temper. He had played a part in killing the beast. Not as great as some of his other brothers but still, he played his part. He longed to have his flamer back in his hand, the rush of roaring flames once more. However for now he would have to make do with his spear, one which was close to him even now. They were close to home, close to the Fang. But they still had a little way to go and Heimdall would not let his guard down.
Alrik, spoke to Krhal, who had put him in harms way to get the killing blow. Heimdall felt for neither of them, he wouldn't want Krhal behind him, and he wouldn't want Alrik either, he couldn't trust the new members like a space wolf should. They were all off the same chapter, and the new members had been chosen to fill the void where others had fallen.
Heimdall sighed as he watched two of his brothers fight over meat, three sat away from the group conversing too quietly for his enhanced hearing to pick up. If it was anything important then he was sure that the rest of the pack would be informed. But when? The older marines would converse, plan with each other, but not with the newer members of the pack. It did not bode well in Heimdall's opinion, but what could he say.
He stood slowly, drawing his spear close as he turned away from the fire. He would be vigilant in case some wild beast, or pack, caught their scent and decided they would be a fit meal. Heimdall doubted it, but he would watch out nonetheless. If his newer brothers wanted to fight over scraps of meat they could, and if the older ones wanted to keep secrets that was fine by him. As long as it didn't threaten the new Claw, which he was now a part of and had a responsibility to.