Raven's Watch you only understand the language of the sword

The climbing seemed to never quite end, having scaled the ridge up into the mountains. Though he was a wolf made for it, the journey skyward took its toll. If not for the call of ravens in their roosts, Solpallur would have called their trek to an early end to rest. But the sight and sound of such little helpers was a boon to discover—the overlook revealed the lower climes that seemed untouched and unburdened. Better yet was that the ravens did not seem disturbed by them; he went one way, @Stjornuati another, and the surrounding scenery engulfed them soon thereafter.

Some time later, the two had reconvened at rest along the lofty pocket where a lake was.

“Mér líst vel á þennan stað,” he said to his brother with a sigh, lying out on his side with a stretch. “Þetta er eins og heima, með hrafnunum.” Had he been able to, he would have cawed for the effect, a poor attempt at a joke. They hadn’t known home in a long, long time now. Home was where they rested for a spell, whether it a night or a week; home was where the other was, and they had been consumed by their dispersal, bachelor life.

They were content, being alone. These lands were good to them.