Duskfire Glacier Trouble in the Stepstones

anoré listens.
she listens as draugr chews noisily, as faust speaks with pride, and as the woman called tikigâk settles by her mate like the sea returning to shore. no strangers here, the blonde-flecked man says. she does not avoid his gaze.
but when the last of his words fall quiet and the air fills once more with fire-smoke and the distant calls of nightbirds, she speaks, "i have not yet seen the stone circle," she admits, "but draugr tells me of his desires. the land he seeks is old. and it tests. warhall warriors will bleed for it. bow before it. and they will rise, shaped by roots, birthright, and bone." her voice carries, as strong and steady and sure as the thunder in odin's sky.
days before, she found such a thing to be a child's dream. to build in the old-ways. but now, with draugr at her side and adonis' mirror before her, it suddenly does not feel so impossible.
she lifts her chin, "you say darukaal stands for unity." a curt nod, "then may it stand tall. and may the south be its resolve." for what is unity, if not carried forward by will?