Dragoncrest Cliffs ae dilla marjaaniyaan

After his defeat by Kigipigak’s fangs, the red-tail had slunk back to Sapphique to nurse his ego. Though the northerner had not cut his skin, Njord’s face was swollen and bruised from the hard impact. On the first and second day, he avoided any other members of the pack – Erzulie, especially – and by the third, he was out on a solitary patrol when he heard a familiar voice on the wind.

His dampened spirit was lifted, like a bird on a swell, but a sudden rush of negative emotions tempered these sunny feelings. He hesitated, ashamed by his pitiful loss and the gift – the shell – he never brought her. A familiar feeling of unworthiness poisoned the Sapphiquian’s mind… only this time he didn’t have Rosencrantz or Merlin to build him back up. Still, he proceeded with caution. If Meerkat was Kigipigak’s kin, perhaps she had given him the ammunition, the knowledge of his heritage, to attract his ire on purpose.

Njord’s tall form broke the treeline and he saw her: sandy fur flowing in the wind, bright orange gaze expecting him. His heart skipped a beat. Njord wished he was half as presentable – one of his jowls drooped from the swelling.

Despite his recent events, Njord’s gaze softened. “Ahoy, Meerkat,” he called as he approached. “Ya came… I’m glad.”