Hushed Willows álfardómstólinn

The wolf that appeared to investigate their presence was indeed familiar to him, her ink-dipped features stark in his memory. The cast was her, another wolf laced of this smell, and his dark-coated brother, deep in the watch where Solpallur had just awoken the unnamed one thinking she was their Engi. Push came to shove, shove began to turn into a real fight and Stjornuati had stopped it before blood could be drawn; a lucky thing now that he was face to face to her once more, though in decidedly better circumstances.

This one remembers you as well, lítið blek vel. How fares the other? He asked after her health, and perhaps the potency of their unhappiness with his brother (or him). How fare you?