Sleeping Dragon there's an old man sitting on the throne

Freyja had taken a momentary break from taking care of Seff to stretch her legs. After leaving the den that she was temporarily sharing with the Apprentice of Blackfeather Woods, a gentle, albeit icy, wind carried a tempting smell to the resident Fleima. Quickly changing her course, Freyja soon found herself tracking the sickly fawn that had happened upon the mountainside terrain. Tracking it had taken longer than she had anticipated and soon enough she found herself along the borders.

It was as she pulled to the borderline that the smell of her sister wafted upon her and she turned towards it, noting how it laced so effortlessly with the trail that she had been following. Traveling towards it, she soon crossed paths of her downtrodden sister.

“Sis,” she called, oblivious to what had happened mere moments ago. “Yu ai op trilipa?” Her question was accompanied with a gentle sway of her tail.