Freya could feel herself pressing her smaller body into the security of his sturdy build, melting into the comfort of his dense coat as the winter gusts ripped past them. She’d listened to his voice carefully, fearful she might forget something vital should her mind wander if even for a moment. Her ear that pressed to his chest could hear the steady beating of his heart and the calm breaths he naturally took, the other caught that information of where he lived. Not this mountain, but another, with a group called Dawnbreak. A place she could be safe—a place her children could be safe.
“You will be coming home.”.
Home. She… would be coming home? How could Nóttin make such a statement without any signs of uncertainty? His heart remained beating steadily, yet her own was hammering nearly out of her chest at the declaration. He seemed so calm compared to the tempest that was Freya’s soul, her pulse sounding like drums in her ears as she considered the true possibility of escaping the Saints and coming home.
He’d mentioned his sister, Sol, was there with him. Freya’s ears shot up and her muzzle pointed upward in an attempt to meet his gaze. Sólúlfur, the black sun of the Jawbone, was with Nóttin in this new world. Then…? What of Nico? Or Mirra? Or Tullio? Could they really be out there, somewhere?
Freya’s head dropped back down, nuzzled back into the depths of his fur as he asked if he could share the details of their encounter. Silently, the woman nodded her head, rubbing it against him as she did so. It would be difficult to leave the new found comfort of her friend’s embrace, but she knew it would be unavoidable in the long run.
