Permafrost Hollows my bones do not taste of crown and silver

@Warbone.

Thuringwethil has explored the extent of territories surrounding Drageda at its far reaches but nearby, she’d not quite been as thorough. The river, the valley, and the ridge, she knew well enough—but the mountain to their western border had largely gone unexplored. It’s close enough that the dark leader doesn’t feel terrible leaving behind and she’s not far enough she can’t hear a call in need of her presence.

With their ranks filled, the presence of her former wolves, makes her feel restless. Exploring the hollows gives her pull, perhaps enough to expand, but the consideration dies quietly. Sleeping Dragon’s roots are just taking hold and her own responsibility is to them and making sure the reaches of the dragon are met before anything else. If she sends one of her brothers back to Trigeda with news, others might come—loyal ones, what were left—and so she knows she needs to be ready.

The night settles comfortably around her, masking most of her presence, but the wind blows around her. The chill of early spring touches through her coat but it does little to bother her. Comfort in the cool wind reminds her of the northern seasons that were never warm enough and quietly she searches, trying to find something to give her peace for her future.