It had been far too long since Ragnar's celebration. Far too long since cheer and snarls of battle had filled the lands of Northfall. In so many ways, it seemed after Ragnar's death many things had died with it, including the bond which Northfall held with Elysium. Wardruna hoped this not to be so, yet also feared what could have been separating them. Her head lifts, smelling the air, eye turning northward. Even here, the purple haze of the cursed plague could be seen lingering in the skies in the vast distance.

Soon, her vision was of the open skies was hindered with the cover of forestry. A river stemmed from the mountains of Northfall and outward. An equal river stemmed from Fate's Respite and outward. The blushed meadows inbetween (and with glacial mountains in the north, Wardruna wondered how bad flooding would be in Avon), this is the place which Wardruna came from.

At the outskirts of the forest which thickened as it neared the mountains, Wardruna followed the familiar sound of rushing waters. A river known for being fast and incredibly dangerous. It's howling roars echoed through the green. And then she stopped when she reached the riverbed, completely astonished. It had become greyed. Smelling of something completely unrecognizable and as with the purple snow, she felt herself compelled to draw nearer, to try it, to taste it.

The behemoth woman shakes her head violently, as though trying to snap herself out of the mind spell. Her movements far more swift, as she takes to a gallop in following the river north. A howl out in call as she runs, Elysium! Sreda, Harper, Valeska, Amaranth! Were they still here? Had they succumb?

Wardruna had never feared for her own life. Had never thought to run away from whatever danger might become of her, yet instead ran towards the danger. For whatever fear she felt was a fear at the loss of other's lives than her own. Those she loved, those which had yet to be taken from her out of the vast many which had. There was little left of the great family of Stormborn and wished not the same fate on any other, specifically a family close to her all the same - the Callosum.

Fuck, there you are! The sharp bark had the large wolf reeling around quick and trotting swift into the direction of Sreda as she saw her now in the distance, ears perked to her words.

The stability of Northfall is poor at best, but with this plague - I just had to come. I had to make sure you all were okay. Sreda, of course, but the rest of the family which, had multiple marital attempts not failed, would have been Wardruna's family as well.

Sreda sat, awaiting with a patience for the sentry to come to her. Sitting tightly and fixed upright and ears to attention, poised with perfection. Her gaze - sharp, striking. The vibrancy of her purple eyes... It also made her think of Harper, of Sheauga... But everything else of Sreda was one hundred percent her own. She - she was stunning. Maybe Wardruna was just feeling emotional after having lost so much and now having so little to hold close to.

Thank you, Sreda. It was a brilliant celebration. Wardruna's chin dips before the woman, the same curt nod given to her. Tough knowlegement. A hardened air of seriousness. Northfall had not been so vibrant since.

Disbursed? A softness shown there in her, to which Wardruna returned with her own softened gaze. Wardruna would like to think of it that Elysium wasn't any longer. They weren't gone. Not like Northfall's possibility. As Sreda said, they had been forced out by nature (well, magic). Wardruna liked to think of it more as 'visiting allies until the coast is clear'. Yet still, hearing they had losses recently too caused Wardruna's ears to sweep back.

She didn't ask for the details. Sreda wasn't a woman who liked lingering on the sad and depressing stuff. Death was death. New life was given elsewhere. Simple as that. Wardruna kept having to remind herself that these were the mindsets of her very own people, too.

In Avon, yes? She knew the answer, having went to the festival they had held plus having ran into Fiadh on the way here.

Internal, yes. Our lands have not been touched by the plague. Not yet, anyway. But there was still miles between them and the gloom which lingered further north. After King Ragnar, our most prominent sentry died. Then the Queen who had left us. Right after the death of the King, she should have remained to support her son and pack, yet she did not. Wardruna was still bitter with this (but R.I.P.) because it only proved that Jasmine was never really ever going to be one of their own.

During our mourning many others left our ranks. To leave the place which reminded them so much of those lost, or because they didn't feel welcomed while the Stormborns shut themselves off or whether it was unaccepting of Arvid's new rule. Either way, the pack needed them and they had left. Its just five of us now.