Sleeping Dragon our backs tell stories no books have the spine to carry

Never had the boy taken to hunting, finding the task to be uninteresting despite how necessary it was. He’d not partaken in the hunt, nor had he really paid much mind to it. His focus had remained elsewhere, gaze trailing out over the land beyond the pack’s claim. He was curious about what could be found out there, and had been ever since his short trip with Twix—speaking of her, when was the last time she’d been spotted? He couldn’t recall, but also hadn’t spent too much time thinking about it. The thoughts were easily replaced by whatever images his imagination could come up with, various sorts of land formations rising up along the earth as he looked it over. Hvitserk wasn’t at all interested in becoming a scout, but he was still curious about the region and everything beyond it. He’d thought to venture out into the unknown, and had nearly done so, having only stopped thanks to a silent reminder of his lessons. It had been with a shake of his head, and some reluctance, that he’d abandoned the idea of a journey and turned to seek out the others.

As Hvit arrived, he’d quickly noticed just how many had come before him. With his ears pulled back, he’d attempted to creep up alongside Freyja, totally attempting to play it off as if he’d been there all along. As for the elk, he’d ignored it, wanting to hang back until his favourite sister moved forward to eat.