The Sentinels all change

The light snow that had continued to fall for the past several days continued its plight upon the Teekon Wilds, but Gyda, accustomed to the chill of Odinn's Cove in her months spent there was hardly bothered by it. She had stopped by Ragnar's grave again, offering a prayer and sacrifice of a hare to Oðinn. It was not much but it was the most she was capable of offering him based on her circumstances. Without a pack her choices in food were severely limited, dampened also by the scarcity of prey during the winter months. Surely the Gods understood that she made do and when she could offer the Allfather something worthy of his status she would. Her offerings were currently meager but offering them something was infinity better than offering them absolutely nothing. Ragnar had done the big sacrifice before her first birthday and they would be good again for another two years before the big sacrifices and ritual was required. 

That morn Gyda had her set on a different sort of errand, though, not in attending to her father's already attended to grave. Gyda did not know to whom the foreign scents belonged, though she assumed they were likely friends since at least two of them carried the scent of her mother, as well. Easily now, the viking queen could probably follow the fading scent trails right to her mother, like Hansel and Gretel following the trail of bread crumbs; not yet, Gyda deduced. Not yet, but soon. She very much wanted to see her mother again, to assure herself that she had not truly lost everything she had once held dear to her. Ragnar was enough, albeit his death left a massive hole in it's wake. An aching hole that nothing and no one would ever be able to fill; simply because there was never anyone that could measure to her father. 

For a while now Gyda had been aware of the pack's presence in The Sentinels, far too close to Stavanger Bay for her own liking — but this was not a war. Of course their claim made her feel like she could never reclaim the land that had belonged to her father, and while Gyda was not particularly happy about this per say, she knew it was not her only option; but it remained the burial grounds of her father and that meant more to her than anyone would ever know. When she neared their borders her steps slowed, black, leathery nostrils flared to inhale their scents as her frigid jeweled gaze swept over the familiar trees. How many times had she and her brothers hunted in that forest? Probably a few for they had not stayed together long, especially after she'd fled with a scared and only just pregnant Nerian to protect the Priestess. 

A respectful distance was left between her body and their borders and the viking queen tipped her head back and let out a call, alerting the wolves to her presence and her wish to converse with one of them.