Hushed Willows álfardómstólinn

He would have been a fool to ignore the presence of a pack that lingered next door; since their arrival to the Watch, he did not ignore them, though he had kept an eye out without directly approaching them. Many evenings had found him scaling the Watch's peaks to see if he could spy any activity from his position, though nothing important had been gleaned from such actions. Their numbers were stronger now, however, and after talking with his siblings, it was determined that it was finally time for their distance to change.

Alongside Valmua he strode, cataloguing information as they went: herbs, wildlife, scent markers. Anything that could possibly be important, now or in the future. The scent of others kept him on edge, watchful of their surroundings to ensure that the pair was not ambushed while moving along the borders. An ear twisted in his sister's direction, his answer a low and guttural whisper to match her own. Ekki margir. Handfylli í besta falli. Vaguely, he remembered this scent from somewhere too, and lapsed into silence as he attempted to locate the memory of the wolf that had been laced of it.