Hushed Willows panacea

Mm. Valkyrja is no name, kona. An honor, ja, but no name. There was a name that flit through his mind, then, a strike of lightning, the halastjarna that streaks across the night sky. The name stayed behind teeth shut then, instead listening to the one she christened him with, chin lifting slightly in his pride. Fascination holds him rooted to the spot as her voice breathes against the wisps of fluff at his ear, which twitched in response.

The song of another language lit a new interest within him, the fire burning brighter and brighter between the two. While he did not understand what she said, Stjornuati listened all the same, a thoughtful sound thrumming deep in his throat. This one will find you before then, He pronounced, though his argument was playful as it was serious, for the dark-moon was too far away.