Totoka River We'll be sailing,

When she broke into his line of sight, she seemed just as much of a hellion as he did. Confidence eked out of her with severity, the sharpest of points in her gaze. Solpallur broke stoicism with a smile that was a bit too much teeth than politeness, his steps halting as the distance between them dwindled considerably.

“Ég svara þér ekki, reiður hrafn,” he rumbled back, his voice ever thick with a rasp that suggested disuse. But he had learned these wolves did not speak his native tongue; it was archaic to them now, he thought. They all spoke the same muddied words and too many of them. With a bristle of the hairs along his spine and the thick scruff of his neck, he continued: “Explain.”

Why did she approach him with a ferocity—was she among the drengr too?

He could wonder all he wanted; it was just as likely she was a Valkyrja come to try and steal him.

It made her beautiful.