It had come to this, the founding of the Northern pack upon a glacier named for flames at the deadening of daybreak. Hatshepsut was rather taken with the name; she thanked the Gods for having led her back to the colder lands, rather than in the direction of the sea and its coastal inhabitants. Lestat would follow — this the Regent knew innately — and it was to her his loyalty would be bound.
But she had faith in Njal, a force of will that had not yet been compounded by her witness of his actions. He had done enough, she felt, to leave the Creek, to uproot his family to be reared as surely as he and his wife had been, to be steeped in their lore and their ways.
She lifted her muzzle then, paws gripping the new land, and let the cadence of her accented voice complement that of the Northerners, their children, their followers. A stranger in a strange land was she, but the Regent would not depart, nor die, without placing the stamp of Egypt in this place.
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