Deep golden eyes squinted against the darkness of night. Hilde continued to hobble up the ridge, her mouth thinned into a determined frown, ears pinned sharply to her head.

The wind buffeted against her body incessantly. She could feel her fur swaying against its harsh path slicing through the frigid air, sending the cold seeping through her dense ivory coat and grasping the tender skin beneath. She hissed out softly. Yet she did not relent.

A few steps higher, she halted. There was a quiet woof that penetrated the wind-swept air. Against the darkening horizon, she could see the silhouette of a broad-framed sire, just on the other end of the clearing. Meticulously stepping over the snow, lest he fall over the slope and injure himself—as she had done.

The woman felt her muscles tighten. Her gaze narrowed, she gingerly continued to step forward. On edge, concerned, apprehensive of this tall stranger.

Hilde's tail was stiff. Hej, she softly barked back, who are you? As much as she desired to inspect the man further, she would not risk escalating a situation. If this is your land, I will leave. She dipped her head. The gesture was respectful—yet the posture of her tail and the tense manner of her muscles were not subtle. She was ready for whatever this man's presence could entail.

Perhaps it was silence, or perhaps she couldn't hear over the gusts of wind. Hilde softly hummed, and in a rather brash decision, stepped a few paces closer.

Her nostrils burned as they flared against the frigid air—yet, she took deep whiffs regardless. The surrounding area did not smell like a pack. All she could smell was the empty musk of snowfall and...

...Vidarr...? No. Was she dreaming? Was it a coincidence?

The contours of this body were eerily similar in build—enormously tall, broad, strewn with pure brawn.

The borderline hostility that was contorting her face was gone, almost instantly. ...is that you? Another few steps closer. Tentative, almost afraid.