She was not alone. Dawnbreak wolves were here. None she knew personally, however. There was a little woman. Painted softly like a doe and smelling sweetly. More fluttered in - a rangy greyscale man, a pie piebald coated child, the vibrant red wolf who had won the tournament, more and more drawn by this unrelenting pull and - her nephew!

Vitus! She calls out to the silver and golden man through the whipping winds. drífa sig! (Hurry!) She urges, only to be overwhelmed with another wave of coughs. She waits for him as long as she could, watching as others pile into the opening along the rock faced. Eventually Wardruna too pushes her way within.

Yet there is no time for respite here. No time to catch her breath. She couldn't stop, couldn't. The voice compells her forward. She goes bravely deeper into the darkness further within until she comes to a fork: ice and rock one in one room, a darkness so deep she could see nothing within in the other. Endless, soundless, sweet darkness... she means to go within, to curl up and sleep. So worn from her travel here, so worn from the lack of oxygen. She just wanted to...

But no! The voice urged, pushing and pulling at her mind and finally brain waves moved to paw muscles and she is moving into the ice and rock room. A large crevice, the winds from it, the symbols, the glow... She can hardly keep up with what had happened and just as quickly as she was compelled to come here was she driven to flee. Flee while she still could! But what? But why?? What were they even doing here to begin with!?

(We leave while we still can.)Við förum á meðan við getum enn. She speaks allowed, turning and olive eyes seeking for Vitus through the crowd.