Hushed Willows den som ler, varer.

@Stjornuati

the traveler's tale was not so extraordinary; nor was it noteworthy. tragic, mayhaps - or troubling in the least. 

extenuating circumstances had driven the dispersal, like so many before her, from the territory of her birth. by chance, she'd chosen to follow the coast south - venturing inland and back west again at whim. such was how the nord had travelled through these lands, pressing south along the shore. 

evening had crept over the horizon as the sun dipped beneath it in an eternal dance with its lunar counterpart. the gentle lap of the grey waters - a constant companion on her right - the only sound aside from the soft shush of damp sand crunching under her paws as the she-wolf skulked along. crimson had begun to trickle through the canopy of the dark forests appearing before her as it streaked the fading, golden sky. 

surrounded by the frost-ravaged branches of wilted willlows, some bedecked in fine diamond pendants of ice, the tundrian parted ways with the tides in favor of sheltering within the trees for the coming night. 

the twilight was thick and silent. a sense of white enveloped the clearing as gunhild pawed together a nest of flattened snow and leaves. the air was bitter with it, crackling. every minute sound that was caused by those creatures that did not hibernate bounced back hollowly to where she settled among the trunks. snow clung in patches and ice encased much of the foliage - the sunset sparkling through like droplets of ruby and citrine. even the air seemed tinted with a pallid gauze as the day died and the shadows lengthened, puffs marking her every breath like a blinking heartbeat of a beacon in the frozen haven. 

despite the scents that overlapped the land, the havbræmme thought herself to be alone for the time being. a clan clearly resided somewhere in the vicinity, perhaps claiming the willows amongst their hunting grounds. it would be safe for the night but it would be best not to linger into the morn. 

winding tighter around herself, the icebear tucked her plush tail over her snout. nearly dissappearing into the banks of snow, if not for the bright scar upon her ear. rather than dozing, however, her sapphire gaze flitted about the trees like the fluttering wings of a bluebird. 

it would be some time yet before she slept, especially considering the possible proximity of a foreign clan. for now, she rested and watched the grove darken with night and reanimate in luminescent silver as the moon rose higher.