SKILL : - - - ( 1 / 5 )

She had been finding herself drawn away from Northfall's confines more and more after the celebration held in her grandfather's honor. It felt ill-suited in the wake of the "new king's" decision to turn their backs on the gods. They were not the ones who had paraded around among mortals and claimed false divinity - it was the previous queen who had done so, and even as all-consuming as Elli's rage was for her grandfather's murder was, it still remained squarely planted upon the one responsible for dumping Ragnar into the summit's maw.

Northfall felt less like a home with each passing day. Her brothers were there and it was all that kept her bound to it, but the temptation to leave grew even faster - so she pressed further and further away from the mountain's hold to be left alone with her thoughts.

There was nowhere more solitary than the ridge where Ragnar's own paws had last stood before he was cast into the frozen ravine.

Her mismatched paws came to a pause as she settled at the ledge, peering down into the chasm that served as his tomb. There had been enough snowfall over the course of the winter that she could no longer see his blonde fur. Like the sands of time, he was swallowed up by the world.

A numb sort of stoicism worked its way into her veins as she settled back onto her haunches, her muzzle tipped downward as she stared into the snowy abyss. As if only just remembering she had brought it with her, she dropped the deer antler she had extricated from a recent kill. The off-white horn fell far below unceremoniously, but she hoped the fight that led to bringing down her quarry would somehow please her grandfather, wherever he was within Valhalla.

She wondered if her father and grandmother were with him, too; Jasmine had not shared their northern heritage, but perhaps Valhalla would have permitted her entry all the same.

" Over the white snow; a terrible, gleaming loneliness. "

Kenai has been wandering the tundra for some time, with no memory of how exactly he arrived here.

The fresh winter snow, which I am no stranger to, is unforgiving despite the thick fur that had always adorned me. But lineage does nothing to cure the stinging that had recently settled in the nerves of my nose. I can only remember the week previous, the week I'd so far endured in this polar hell. There'd been nothing but snow-covered pines for miles . . . and miles . . . and endless, arduous miles. I'm sure my paw pads had hardened into rock or softened into sensitive mush. I've been trying my best not to be vain, cracked paw pads hindered my perseverance, but they were never the end of the world, lest they begin to bleed; in which case, I would be more concerned by a larger carnivore retracing my steps through the snow, and not the pain. But this snowscape? I'm still yearning to see life that isn't a hare frozen stiff in the snow, someone that isn't hostile.

I begin to wonder how long I'd been walking, the haze of the previous weeks lazily etched into the back of my cranium as I continue in spite of the ache. I stopped in my paws, lowered my head, and turned to look at the pawprints I'd left behind. I've begun to miss the tightness of the harness that would hug my chest and ribs as I would pull something along. Resilience. But that won't be nearly enough, will it? Just ahead is the start of a steep, snowy mountain where I do not doubt that larger, ravenous lone wolves are lurking. I haven't ever had to fight a fully-grown, fully-scarred wolf with no higher morals—no more than the idea in their head that they'll get a nice fresh meal out of a traumatized husky half their size. It's an upward incline, a few points where I can scale it until . . . in the distance, difficult to spot, behind collections of trees, there's a rocky dip.

Curiosity takes a sharp hold on me. What are the chances that I find a friend instead? Blue eyes flicker from here to there, and how long it might take to get up. 'I've scaled worse... right?' I tell my head before I breathe in a sharp, almost frightened breath. Horrified, maybe, of what I might see. 'I've been through worse, I've been through much... much worse!' My conscious brain chants, relentlessly trying to tell me that this is worthwhile. It wouldn't.

With one last deep breath in—and my throat stinging from the cold that hits it—I move ahead, quietly as I can, inching up the slope like I'm pulling several tons of luggage behind me with no help in sight. My bones have been weak for a while now, and they're weak-er as I make my way up. This view had better be worth it. Eventually, I reach a part of the cliff where it evens out, so I don't have to pull myself all the way. I stabilize myself. But then I'm saddened to note that I am not alone. My worst fear... but? Is that a wolf? Is that snow? No. Maybe it's the miniature snowflakes covering my lashes, assaulting me every time I blink. It doesn't help. I have to double-take, frozen in my tracks. Man. I'm not sure what to do, if I should move or if I should say something. Usually, I remember I always have something to say. Is this fear? Fear. My tail's swaying as I overthink any and every possible outcome. None of which end up with me surviving any fight. A nervous groan escapes my throat just as I consider backing away slowly. Breathe again, and again. It's all I'm doing. Wheezing.

I end up forcing a toothy grin. They seem to be in their own world. Why would I ruin that? Seen any wolves 'round here? I chuckle, slowly easing into myself and taking a step or two forward. Hey. If I died here and now? I'd go out saying something stupid.