Gyrfalcon's Keep Salty dogs

Each day, Thyra performed her duties, having received the word that Hjóðrfell would be established on the land where she had found Asvoria. Already, special landmarks had begun to be discovered, purpose given to each for their use and meaning. She pined for the trees that had grown as she had grown, and the wolves who had run with her through her childhood- but here, at least, she could grow with faith. 

Until her mother arrived, she would have to fulfill the role of a sentry, though the title fell heavily upon her narrow shoulders. For a few days, she had little to worry about, other than cutting her way through the woodlands and up into the mountain range where their borders were to be established. 

When she caught the scent of other wolves on the crisp mountain air, she sent up a call for Asvoria. She made her way up the slope, catching sight of a pair of wolves with praise in their eyes as they scanned the Keep. The birds had not seen fit to hassle them- which Thyra saw as a good omen. 

"Hael og sæl!" She greeted them. She finessed her posture so that her muscles were loose, though her balance was squared; she allowed her shoulders to be drawn back, pushing forward her chest a bit, and pressed her ears forward in curiosity, but let her tail wave gently as well. Like night and day they were- the mammoth man with sable fur crossed with scars and the woman petite and pale. As varied as their features were, Thyra saw two wolves in the same light, equally deserving of hospitality. She paused, to assess their greeting- a means of deciding which language to use, and how they should be addressed. 

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"Heil og sæl" - "healthy and happy," a common greeting in this culture.