Moonspear this is the art of breaking

 <3

Thistle slept restlessly as it was every night. When dreams and visions of her loves ones passed before her eyes. 
All those she lost both willingly and unwillingly, always starting with leaving her parents behind. It recycled there behind her eyes, each and every night. And she always woke wanting and sad, but she did not let on. She couldn't not now, not when she had promised herself she would do better. So she hid it, stuffed deep down where only the embers remained and she never kindled it, just let it set.

Thistle had not heard high nor tail of her own son being back amongst the living. She didn't know where any of her kin were other than Floki and Charon. Even Levi was missing. She supposed as always that the blame lay with her. She wasn't a good enough mother, she wasn't a good enough wife, but like everything else she tried not to dwell on those raw parts of her, didn't poke the wound. She didn't want to bleed out in a sense all the darkness and sadness and yes anger. She was very angry, but not at her loved ones. No she was angry at fate, or the gods or whomever or whatever saw fit to take everything from her. IT was what kept her spark alive, what kept her from wallowing in the pits of blackness that threatened to suck her down, she hadn't succumbed not yet.


Thistle woke from slumber with a start and she lifted her ears. Surely she was hearing things, but no there it was a again a quiet howl so much like Ragnars and Floki's yet so different. Who was calling at her this late hour? Trudging from the den, she pulled herself from within with a gentle shake. She licked down a few of the spots of fur that sat up each and every way, and she put her petite feet one in front of the other. She had to get by with her nose and senses to try and find the vague direction she had heard the noise. As she stepped into the small clearing that the wolf had called her stood she froze. He stood there tall and strong, just like Ragnar, even the marks on his muzzle so much like her long lost love. However, the gloves that he wore on his paws, were her own making, the simple little piece of her self that matched exactly that of Floki's. Her jaw dropped and she stood shaking in the light unsure what to do or what to say.

Finally, she ghosted forward and stood staring again. Jorunn? Oh my precious boy. Look at you all grown up. She did not dwell on the fact he had been gone, or what may have happened ot him. All that mattered to her that he was here in front of her alive and hardy and strong.