Sun Mote Copse conflagration

I spent some time there, she said. When Gyda, my sister, ruled. Half-sister, in truth, but most of her kin was not connected to her by full blood. Ragnar had taken many wives and sired many children, but as far as Ragna knew, Thistle Cloud had only mothered Ragna and her brothers.

Saga's demeanor changed to that of a co-conspirator, and Ragna leaned in obligingly. The girl spoke of strange, wonderful dreams. They sounded fantastic, far more rich than the dreams Ragna had, which were far more mundane.

I have no memory of my father, she said. All that she knew of him came from her mother and the wolves of the cove. Some had been more honest than others in their tales, and some had tried to paint her father as a hero of legend. Ragna suspected that neither take was completely true and that she would never truly know her father. Yet it was not her father she thought of then, but of the girl's dreams. A grizzled man her father may have been, but Ragna knew that the wolf of whom Saga spoke was not Ragnar. I inherited my father's eyes, and he had but one. You dream of another wolf. I am sorry, she said, bowing her head slightly.