Dragoncrest Cliffs prophet margin

“Ahh, I see,” Njord murmured as the teen explained her head troubles. The Sapphire was hardly a doctor. Erzulie or Grímnismál (who, he just realized, he hadn’t seen in a long time) were the expert medics in the pack – the queen, especially. Her treatment had healed his wounds inflicted by Kigipigak. Maybe Erzulie had a medicine that could help Haunt?

The youth didn’t dwell on her handicap, or explain the odd symptoms and visions that accompanied it. Instead she asked about Sapphique, which was a topic Njord was more than happy to entertain. In a short time he had come to love this pack and think of them like family, despite all the bears.

“Surely,” Njord said. “Aye, we’re called Sapphique and we have two queens at tha helm. @Rosalyn (she’s the dark brown one, scarred up) an @Erzulie. They’re wives… mates! Never heard of ‘anythang like it… but they’re perfect for one ‘nother an’ lead us well. Some of their kids live ‘ere too. ‘Bout your age… you’d get on with @Solaire an’ @Chacal, I’m sure of it. We’ve only been at Dragoncrest a short while, just before winter. I joined tha crew when they moved… Erzulie was tha first wolf I met.”

He paused, reflecting on the pack warmly. “It’s been a good life ‘ere. We love bein’ by tha sea an’ the pack is full of good wolves. I thought I’d be ‘ere just for the winter, but now I’m thinkin’ of stayin’.” An image of the fabled Duskfire Glacier ebbed into his thoughts. Would he give up this dream permanently? The one that had first prompted him to leave Meares Island?