The journey to a new beginning

:D maybe she'll stay, maybe she'll go???? Hrafnsvaktin & other wolves welcome

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It seemed as though the companions she'd made, including her sister, had collectively vanished in union. Leaving no trace behind, no whisper of direction, no hint as to where they may have gone. Abandoning the haunting red trees that had temporarily housed her, Lagertha found herself wandering through the lower valley of an incredulous mountain. The word of a traveler's tongue was right, Mordfjall was an impenetrable fortress. Gnarled trunks clouded her view, dusted lightly by powdered snow. Her coat would soon meet the same fate, although the sudden drop in temperature was not unwelcome.

Lagertha was no fool the rest of her surroundings, for the stink of wolves clogged her nostrils. Undoubtedly, a pack lay amongst this mountain. The womans eyes narrowed, her nose arching towards what she would assume to be the direction of the mountain peak.

Snow crunched and broke way beneath her careful steps, trekking carefully through the iron wall of trees that guarded those who lay here. She'd been moving for quite some time, rest would be due soon. Lagertha secured a spot beneath one of the many mighty trees, ducking beneath its shelter to avoid the fat flakes of snow that dripped from the sky. She huffed, shuffling her paws closer to her body to retain warmth.

Life seemed to grow still, for the forest of Mordfjall grew silent save for the restless crows that watched.
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Another day, another wolf upon the borders. It seemed to be a constant, just as the snow on the mountains, or the leaves floating in the breeze. They were always there, just more or less frequent at times. It had been a little while since his last meeting upon the borders, but it would never succeed in surprising him when he found someone new.

This one was different, however. This one held the scents of the world, the lands beyond. He could smell the musk of dirt and foliage on her, the ever present soft stink of dried blood that lingered around so many wolves. This did manage to surprise him, as most upon his borders were freshly woken, born to the world as a babe might have been.

Here, under the canopy of the forest and the eyes of the great unkindness, Stjörnuáti would approach the woman, the outsider.

“Kona lingers near home that is not hers,” He would say to announce himself, dark eyes watching her with a coldness akin to the mountain's own. Indifferent, unshakeable, stern. “Why?”

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