Curiosity dragged him away from the caldera, accompanied by unanswered anticipation and unease. Enough of time had passed since their arrival, should they not have gone into battle by now? Usually patient, he felt put out of place by this newly developed impatience, birthed from the stress brought on by a looming threat. He wanted nothing more than to head into battle already so that he could return home; separated from his sister, the main thing keeping him grounded was Portia, but she hadn’t travelled with them. She was still back at the coast, far from him and his worries.

And as time continued to move, he could bear the burden of his desires no longer.

Hvitserk left without warning, telling no one; someone may have seen him, he couldn’t say otherwise with confidence, but he had not intentionally shared his abandonment of the borders. He stalked through the plains, gaze focused solely on the treeline along the horizon. Yet, before he could even cross the halfway point, he was stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of another; slender and dark, discomfort evident in her gait. Appearing to be alone, he strode closer, head low and defenses high, not knowing if she was an enemy or not.

It was surprisingly easy for the yearling to forget his size. Times when he was needed to fight were few and far between, given that he was a gentle creature in nature, not yet influenced by his testosterone; the only times he truly fought were when his family was in danger, and he’d yet to be forced into said situation. So when the female lowered her head and whined, he slowed to an eventual stop, cocking his head to the side as he stared her down. He sniffed again, drawing in as much air as he could, but could find nothing—she was alone. As far as he could tell, there was no pack backing her, which begged the question: what was she doing there? Was she unaware of the troubles she could find herself in, should she stick around? He didn’t know and he didn’t ask.

Stealing a few steps closer, he huffed out a soft wuff and let his chest drop down towards the snow, bowing. After a few slow waves of his tail, he straightened himself back up, eyes never leaving her whilst he hoped to see some sort of change in her demeanour. He had no interest in harming her, realising that she wasn’t the enemy—he was pretty sure, anyways.

Neither chased away nor met with aggression, Hvitserk took it as an invitation to move even closer yet; his approach was slow and halted several times as he cocked his head to the side, tail never ceasing to wag. So long had passed since he’d last played with anyone that he wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed, nor was he certain how far he could take things; being with Freyja, not once had he needed to think these things over, for his sister was always just as eager as him and he knew how to tell when she’d had enough. But this wolf—this stranger—was entirely new to him, a variable that could not be measured.

She moved towards him and bowed again, paws smacking against the snow. Curious to learn—he wanted to better familiarise himself with strangers and how to deal with them, to prove to himself that he could function somewhat decently without his sister there at his side—the burly male finished closing the distance between them, each step crunching the snow underfoot, with the contact made against the ground causing his body bounce.

Hvitserk dropped down into a bow once he was close enough to see the finer details of her face, then immediately flopped over onto his side, tail sending the snow flying as is swept through it. From his new position, he stretched his body out, simultaneously pushing and pulling himself through the snow and towards her, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.