Dragoncrest Cliffs Featherweight

The ghost doe and her kin nibbled gingerly at the last grasses of the year as Njord watched, transfixed. As a young man, Njord had rejected any weight given to religion or spirits… but now, as the seasons passed, he had begun to question this stance. How could he deny this omen? A white doe on an autumn day…

A small chuff stole his attention away. The red-tail turned to see the familiar young warden. Chacal’s boy, he presumed. It seemed the Tanzanite had chosen the same path as her mothers: there was no other male in Sapphique to claim the role of the boy’s sire. But, even though Sobo, Loko, Swordfish, Stingray, and Vixen had a father in Njord… it was as if they hadn’t had any at all, he thought bitterly to himself.

“Hello, lad,” Njord whispered under his breath. “D’ya see her? Tha Taibhse hind?” he asked under his breath, gesturing to the herd in the distance with a sweep of his head. “Ain’t she a sight…”