Moonspear Like a toreador

Together, they shared scent. In her furs mingled a cocktail of aromas, evidence that this woman was a traveler. Sweet grass from the vallies, rich earth from dusty trails, and riverweed from water crossings. Was she a trader or simply a dispersal who hoped to carve out a place like so many before her?

The man thought of his son, Ray, and hoped that, like this wolf, he was happy and in good health.

Peace be. The vagrant’s delicate voice matched her refined appearance.

“Greetings, lass,” Njord replied in his typical Scottish accent. “Ye’ve found Moonspear’s borders. My name’s Njord. How might Ah help ye?” he asked