Sleeping Dragon Here comes the future, it’s violent and bright

He slips up beside her and there’s nothing unnatural about it. Toxochelys had never been apart of Seageda, or one of it’s branches, but close enough that she’d run into him a time or two. He’d proven himself to her without realizing it and thus nothing else had been needed upon the borders. She moves with him in tow, moving toward one of the spots he will need to know in the future. Now that things had changed, to an extent, it would be easier, rather than throwing a new wolves into the mix of the unknown.

“I came here alone and found a friend of mine, from Odinn’s Cove. South of Seageda,” she explains, uncertain if he’s aware of the viking neighbors. “We took claim of this mountain and the invitation for the others followed. Those from home,” she pauses, glancing toward him, realizing she doesn’t know exactly who else he might know, “Gavriel, Rebekka, and Saria.” The list is short these days without the former wolves that had once been apart of their ranks. “Gyda stepped down recently and Drageda can properly grow, but there are things you’ll need to know.”

A tree blocks their way, to her surprise, and she examines it in her pause. A recent storm had likely taken it down but it’s new to her, roots freshly ripped from the ground. Before advancing over the trunk, she hesitates back for the time being. “There is a pack north west of us we do not have good relations with. They are not tolerated anywhere close to our borders and so far they’ve obeyed. They have an earth, sweet scent to them,” she explains the best she could, remembering the last grotto wolf she’d been with—Jhala—and what she’d carried on her coat.