Kildeer Rest Jagerfly

Jörmungandr was watched by a wolf cloaked in shadow and draped in faded sun. The Svartravn had only caught a glimpse of the thing, just in the corner of his field of sight. He had turned his head to check his surroundings only that once. The black wolf did what he could to remain on guard. If a pursuit was in the stranger’s plans, Jörmungandr would address him.

Until the watcher opted to reveal himself, Jörmungandr did not have a need to stop and mull. The tracks of the wolves that he followed met a grouping. One of the scents that was recognized was that of the strange little witch wolf – the pale one, marked with a dark nose bridge. Jörmungandr had not liked the seer. He had thought it foolish to allow him in their midst when the Kvitravn clan had proven time and again… pale-furs were not to be trusted.

One last glance over his shoulder found Jörmungandr’s wine gaze resting upon the stranger. This time he held himself, drawing his snout upward in a show of his brute strength. What do you want, dark follower?