Barrow Fields The interesting thing

239

Today was a day that was like any other. To another wolf, that might mean something boring, unassuming, but to Stjornuati, it meant rising with the sun, to confer with the ravens and to answer the call that sung deep in his heart. 

It was the hringja that was different this day, the melody twining along to a cadence that had him actively searching. Perhaps it was the dark-feathered birds that seemed to follow him through the Watch, the titter of their song excited and chatty as if spurning and encouraging him onward. 

What was it that they knew, that he did not? 

A breeze moved through the trees, chilly but… His nose lifted, paws stopped, one lifted as if frozen mid-step. Recognition fired across the synapses in his mind. Excitement turned his body and guided him along the scent trail, barely minding the branches and leaves that smacked his muzzle and caught in his fur. Familiarity launched him the few remaining feet, catching that ginger-furred menace vandræðagemsi with his body and tackling her to the ground.

A snarl, twisted and terrible, tore through the Watch, the birds flighting away a few branches before the sound died away, leaving a scene of comic annoyance: his sister pinned beneath his larger, stronger form while he mouthed at her muzzle and ears, seeking to greet her with the annoyance that he had made himself to be ever since they were but börn.