Flycatcher Downs Vindhviða

The giantess rested her chin on the fallen tree's trunk. Arnarkla's tail continued to sway on the opposite side. There was the small curiosity to know the scorched wolf's name. Monikers floated in her mind. Even after the time that lasted since their last encounter, the mountain wolf refrained from being the one to shatter their silence. It felt sacred and yet was also spurred by a childish competitiveness.

She craned her neck as she bowed her head to sniff at the woman's nose to archive her scent.