Dragoncrest Cliffs god is a shapeless hunger

She’s stood before Heda many times, even before Thuringwethil become, but looking upon a thin, sickly form reveals an entirely different woman. The child to ascend at merely eight moments old isn’t the same child in front of her and though she is a ghost of her former glory, she can see their former leaders within her still and perhaps not everything is lost.
 
Dio is the first arrive and then Eske, greeting those already here, making themselves comfortable to hear what she has to say. Ajatar opens her mouth to speak first but Thuringwethil’s sharp glance gets her to shush and attention falls upon her. An ear twitches and she clears her throat.
 
“We sent a messenger here weeks ago for aid. A pack decided to move into the area and took over Maungeda,” she explains, her features grave as revisits fresh memories. “Trigeda took in those that remained and tried to reclaim the mountain with no success. When we did not hear anything from the messenger, Ajatar, my son, and I, set out for Drageda ourselves.”
 
“I see,” Thuringwethil says but falls silent, though Helix can’t tell if she’s contemplating or waiting for her to continue. The prolonged silence urges her forward.
 
“The wolves in Trigeda demand your return. Warriors if you have them.”
 
Thuringwethil takes a deep breath and Helix’s ears droop back. Drageda is not as big as she expected, with fewer warriors—what can she take with them? what can they leave behind?—but it is not the end of the world. The guidance of their head is all they ask for and she worries upon her return if she shows up emptyhanded.