Life was good.

It felt secure. Safe. It hadn't felt that way in how long? A year, more? From the coming of the first mass dream up until the last stand, each day was a wonder if it would be her last - all of their last. Despite being a woman who wouldn't allow herself to fear death and felt a sureness of just where she will end up when she died, it felt so good to be alive. All of them were. The little family she had created with Sreda. Her packmates. Even their one loss of life with Vitus had been a swift reunion, whether her nephew was happy to be back in the land of mortals or not.

The northern queen had no worries, no fears. At least nothing like she had before with the thought of the whole world's collapse. She had only her people to think of, her growing pups, her…lover? Well certainly Wardruna thought of Sreda more than just a lover. She was her dearest friend. The door-opener to the woman's long awaited desires.

Wardruna rolled around the lupine flowers most ungracefully (she was not a particularly graceful woman). Their were fucking tons of them on this hill since Sun's return! A sun which warmed her coat now even as wind whipped through the hillside. Nothing would steal her from her serenity this day.

Wardruna 

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Sreda did not enjoy the daylight or the sun. She did not praise the open fields or the flowers. Why? Well ... sunlight faded. And the flowers would wilt. Some things would melt and disappear, and yet there were things ... there were beings ... that remained. Some relationships lasted a season. But some lasted a lifetime.

And as Sreda crested the den into the light of day, facing an element she so previously despised ... she knew. She knew that she would chase this 'being'. The being that remained: Her warrior. Her Queen.

Her Wardruna.

Despite what anyone would surmise, it felt ... normal. The two had grown up together. They had shared cultures. Shared dreams. Shared lives from across the universe. There was nothing in their childhood but distance that kept them apart (that and their intermittent infatuation with men, of course). Eventually, they succumbed to one another.

And that was why Sreda neared the flower fields.

Purple. Their favorite color.

And there, in proximity, was Wardruna — The Queen Viking, enjoying the fruits of the sun's labors. Wardruna was grace ... she was beauty ... she was ... absolutely demolishing those flowers with her broad shoulders.

Sreda's brow would twist upward, her frame moving forward with stalwart grace.

And for once ... for the first time ... Sreda said ...

Nothing.

The witch would near her counterpart, silence as her vessel as she pressed her own narrow shoulders into the blossoming fields. Sreda would roll upward, onto her back, twisting herself with an experted angle toward Wardruna in hopes of 'accidentally' touching skin.

But nothing Sreda did was accidental.

Her gaze would twist, upside-down and full of intent, locking onto Wardruna's own. Is this another ritual I was unaware of?" Their eyes met as Sreda pretended not to be as playful as she was.

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