Swiftcurrent Creek Ghosts

The Sveijarn trod steadily towards the running water and walked straight from the bank into the shallows. Water rose halfway up his arms, obscuring his vermilion socks, while silt squished between his toes. Valtyr fell still and silent. He looked down into the gentle current to see his reflection. 'I look tired,' Valtyr thought to himself, noticing the dour expression upon his own face.

Footfalls caught his attention, which caused the Sveijarn to turn abruptly. He hadn't expected company. After all, the pack-scents had been stale. It was a she-wolf, honey in color, only a few lengths away. Instinctively, he sized her up, though her posture appeared easy-going and non-threatening. Valtyr licked his chops, a bit embarrassed he had been caught so off-guard. "Your land?" he asked her cooly as he sloshed through the water to face her.