Once the pack had settled onto the island, once they had gotten accustomed to their new home, Gudbrandr had found themself a den and set to work on making it cozy. Branches had been placed along the entrance to keep out a draft, and then she had settled himself down inside and went to sleep.

That was a year ago.

The sun kissed king had disappeared without a trace, no pawprints or scents leaving the den after he had claimed it, pulled from thin air by beings unknown.

Dreams of Freyr, of Gudbrandr's very first life, played in his brain as he slumbered in the unknown.

He is the sword, but the sword was no longer needed....

Until now.

Gudbrandr woke at dawn, stretching out his limbs and yawning, before crawling his way out of the den he had made. To him, it had been last night, but to the world of Mythris?

A year.

He has been gone, a year.

Yawning once more, the orange wolf made his way towards a puddle, bending down to take a nice cool drink.