Gyrfalcon's Keep and when the weeds begin to grow

Thyra's step was buoyant as she patrolled the borders, travelling along at a pace which was likely too quick for her to have properly been monitoring the scent markings. She moved with her head up, rather than low and scenting, and due to that, she was led off course and began tracking in a wider arc that took her a bit further away from where the pack's claim was meant to be established. Often, she forgot for long periods of time to even lay down markings to add to the ones that existed; but so long as she could still catch a whiff of her mother's scent from time to time, she felt relatively certain more markings weren't needed. 

She was wrong, but at least she was happy. 

Eventually, she began to realize that she'd strayed from the borders, and began making her way back toward the packlands, where she could hear the Gyrfalcons again. If her mother found her stray path...She might simply have to admit to her error. But when she caught sight of another wolf- pale, lean, with the look of someone who'd rather go unnoticed- moving in a beeline from the Keep, she perked her ears. Perhaps this could be a new recruit, if she wished for a home!

Thyra was wary of the sharpness of the woman's eyes, though she saw in that intensity the potential for a great shield maiden. All of the  Skjaldmœr had that haunted, hunting look. She uttered a soft, hopeful greeting. "Hael og sæl!"

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"Skjaldmœr" | revered female warriors, selected to protect the holy. 
"Hael og sæl" | "Healthy and happy" a common greeting.