Silver Moraine v manik

Valmúa had never understood her brother's obsession with herbs. However, it was a useful interest of his, and so as she had done many times, she left with him to help gather the leaves and flowers that brought him joy. Perhaps joy wasn't the right word for it. He wasn't exactly much of a smiler.
For the moment, she was quiet. She watched her pallid brother pull the weed from its root, scouting the nearby trees for signs of movement. She was often on high alert on trips like this, watching for prey or predator to take advantage of whatever thing they might find unexpectedly.
When she heard footsteps, she let loose a short, purposeful growl. Val watched for the animal; she would have nothing sneak up on her brother. He put himself in front of her, and she pushed him sideways to stand at his side. She was no princess.
The wolf was white, like Stjor, only filthy. She raised a lip. Hver ert þú? she asked, testing intentionally for their native Icelandic tongue.