Dragoncrest Cliffs I was snared by a sickness, some fever in my lungs

It had been a few days since arriving at Dragoncrest, and Njord had begun to understand the lay of the land. It seemed a different had lived here before, some time ago. He had happened upon an old, worn den site carved (seemingly) into the rock. How many families had lived there over the years? Wolves always seemed to re-use the best spots, their dens like heirlooms passed down through the generations.

Life was quiet, but the islander did not know of Rusalka’s turbulent history or the danger bubbling to the East: their neighbors purposefully antagonizing their border. For now, Njord was naïve to this assault or the pressure put on Rusalka… he was simply happy to be meeting other pack members.

With a happy pep-in-his-step, he traveled towards the fringes of their territory, spotting a russet women in the distance. She paced with a fervor only seen in agitated wolves. Not knowing exactly who she was (or her rank), Njord approach slowly. “Hello?” he called with a wave of his red tail.