Perhaps he should have boasted about it, like Sven or anybody else would have done. He did not quite know why the fame made him so uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because he felt he was not worthy of it. "You bloody daydreaming again?' Sven asked. 'Or can't you answer a civil question?' 'You'll find out when you ask one.’ Ragnar responded, his nostrils dilating, catching the faintest hint of an acrid inhuman scent on the wind. He looked over at Sven to see if his friend had caught it too. Sven's marginally less keen nose twitched. The long moustache he had been cultivating since the campaign on Xecutor moved like the whiskers of some great hunting beast.
"You smell that?' he asked. Ragnar nodded. 'Ice fiend, I reckon. Not too close, not too far either.' 'Perhaps you're not quite so bad at tracking as I thought,' said Ragnar. "We can't all have the razor keen senses of the blessed of bloody Russ.’ said Sven. 'Maybe I should let you go and check this out on your own. After all, the cubs will give you all the credit for killing the beasts anyway. Even if I were to
kill a whole bloody tribe single handed, while you stood back and applauded my fine bloody technique with a chainsword, they would praise you for it.’ Ragnar checked his weapons. Tracking down the ice fiends was the whole purpose of this expedition. They had been raiding along the coastal glaciers and slaughtering the mastodon herds. It was time they were taught a lesson. 'I think you're just jealous of my well-deserved reputation.’ he said. 'I would be jealous if it was well-deserved.’ said Sven. 'Unfortunately all you do is hog the credit for my own heroic deeds.’
'Like I did on Micah.’ said Ragnar, 'when I pulled you out of that squig pit, before they could gnaw you to death?' 'You always have to bring that up, don't you?' said Sven in a tone of mock gloom. 'I would have fought my way out in a few heartbeats if you had not interrupted.’ 'Your plan was to choke the squig to death by thrusting yourself down its throat then, was it?' 'I was lulling it into a false sense of security.’ muttered Sven, his eyes checking the horizon. Ragnar could tell he too had spotted the massive white shapes until now near invisible amongst the snows. Sven made a few practice passes with his deactivated chainsword just to loosen up. 'I don't remember that being covered in the Codex Tacti-cus.’ 'I am a brilliant improviser.’
'Apparemly.’
'Well, what about it? I don't cast up all the times I have pulled your fat out of the bloody fire. What about that time on Venam? When I saved you from those heretics before they could chop you up with your own chainsword? You never bloody well hear me mention that, do you?' 'Not more than once or twice a day.’
Sven was in full flow now, not to be stopped. 'Or how about on that space hulk near Korelia or Korelius or whatever it was bloody well called - when I saved you from those tyranids? I never mention that, do I?'

'You just did.’
'Or what about that time-'
'Sven?'
'Yes.’
'Shut up.’
'Don't tell me to bloody well shut up, Ragnar bloody so-called Blackmane. Just because you have a head swollen to the size of a small bloody planetoid, doesn't mean I can't kick your-' 'No! Can't you hear it?'
'Hear what?'
That!' There was a sound of cracking ice. Ragnar saw a crevasse start to open ten strides away. 'Glacier's breaking up.’ he hissed, beginning to run forward, as the crack splitting the ice came nearer.