Stone Circle father chose me

he comes to the wilds, cloaked in the caught flurries of a snow storm.

it froze to his fur, but valtivi does not feel it. his fur is thick; coarse. made for the glacial chill of the fjords he was born in, from lands very far away.

the afternoon is overcast, chilled. he shakes coat free of gathered snow and pauses as he nears a pack scent. steps slow before he reaches the borders, drinking in the scent, gleaning what he can from.

he tips his head back and lets out a howl for leadership.

@Bjarna, @Gunnar