So much had changed since Kipling had met the strange man by the lake that she had seldom thought of him after their meeting. Other pressing matters had been clouding her thoughts, like surviving and then after that came joining the Sunspire which arrived with its own bundle of new responsibilities. It felt good to know she was no longer alone like before, but she remained uncertain; especially since she’d done a good job of ripping ties so soon between her and one of her packmates.
Her brief fight with Fang hadn’t left her with much physical consequence, a simple soreness in her neck that had healed fairly quickly. Surprising herself she’d done a lot more damage to the hybrid even if it was slight, and yet he’d let her go with barely anything. And with that release she was gifted a wave of doubt and guilt. Kipling assured herself she’d done right, to put him in his place after his nasty little threat and yet a part of her was hesitant to find the action she’d taken as just. Something wasn’t linking right, and it haunted her to point of driving the she-wolf away from her own packlands.
At first, she wandered with no real destination, and then the scent of the sea caught her attention and pulled her closer. His memory came whirling back into her mind then, the wolf, the curious wraithlike man with gem-like eyes and heavy scars. When she reached the lip of the beach Kipling squinted out to observe the family of sea-lions dotting its shores. The sun burned against the horizon as it readied itself to dive into the depths of the seas and allow the moon its rightful reign. The she-wolf merely tilted her head in admiration having never witness such a spectacle but the sight radiated warmth that spread from within her chest and comforted her.
The beach was miles long and in either direction she couldn’t be sure where the pack the stranger once spoke of was, or even if it still existed. She thought she remembered him mentioning something about the North, but she didn’t trust her own memory to commit to the path. Casting out her luck like a message in a bottle tossed into the sea, Kipling lifted her lips and out poured a single note: Heimdall.