Wapun Meadow veiddur

She senses his hesitance, that which they share, and gives him a thin smile, remembering briefly the hunt for beavers in early springtide levity. What a difference the months have made for them both, and here they are, together again. This time hunting for wolf.

“A man residing as guest to Kvarsheim went out on a mission to track down a dangerous woman. She’s an active threat to a nearby allied pack, Swiftcurrent Creek. He lied about letting her go before disappearing, resulting in the injury of at least one Swiftcurrent wolf,” And a danger to her personal friend, Reverie, though she withheld this.

“As far as I know. I trust Gunnar and Taktuq to pass fair judgment.” She pauses then to look solemnly into the paleness of his blue eyes. “They are good, Íkaros.” She does not know why it is important for him to hear this, but it is.

Underfoot there’s a twist of rootlets, and something thicker upon the shed of air. Calf with a bundle of loose hairs, blood, and wolf. She draws the scents again, evaluating each one before seeking Íkaros’ endorsement with a throaty huff. Then she’s off, cutting through the veld, out into the noonday glow, tasting the tracks as they neared.

And suddenly, there is the ranger.

Right under their noses, unassuming and quiet, dark as the ravens that circle around him. He’s been a simple find, in the end. She isn’t sure if she should feel grateful, or disrespected. For he must know his sleight against the packs of this valley? Of course he does, why else disappear without word passed to Móðir or Faðir? Or the diplomats of the Creek? Or is this little clutch between teeth meant to curry peace and gloss over misgivings?

For the passing of one moment, they stand almost leveled in silence, her thoughts reflected only in the tip of a ticking tail. Is this not what she had sworn she would never do? To wave another wolf’s banners; fight his battles? Draw lines for “us” and “them”?

Only, then she thinks of Íkaros, of Gunnar and Taktuq. Of Skáld. The us worth protecting. Upon him she fixes her posture.

“Germanicus,” she addresses finally, raising to match his golden stare. “ You are wanted in connection with crimes against the pack of Swiftcurrent Creek. Your presence is demanded in Kvarsheim; Faðir requests to speak with you.” She bids her tail to half-mast and tempering her tone even as it threatens to waver upon delivery. In every way she and Íkaros are outclassed. If he wants to turn from them, he will do so.