Greatwater Lake Vann

The sun had set many hours before the dark wolf appeared on the edge of the lake. He stopped to step onto the ice. Shadowed ears perked at the sound of crackling beneath his step, as if the water was reminding him not to journey too far out. The winds were cold. Not cold enough to freeze the entire lake, but they reminded the one-eyed wolf of his home. There was comfort in such familiarities.

The Svartravn wolves had dispersed, from what he could tell. Jörmungandr had only met a few during his initial visit to the new lands. The healer woman had been prominent in his memory. She had tied herself to a pale-fur’s pack. She had willingly accepted orders from that abomination. The man was sickened, but he had journeyed for many days and his anger had fallen away.

Crackling ice ceased as his dark paws found snow. Jörmungandr bent and tasted the frozen water, melting it on his tongue.