Freya’s splayed ears began to lift slightly, eyes sweeping over the altering expression of the man before her. It was strange, how different he looked in adulthood but also how clearly it was still Nóttin. It was comforting that even though they were seperated for all this time there was still a thread of connection she could pick up on. There was so much she wanted to know about. What happened after she and her family left the Jawbone? Were the ísblóð still thriving? How were his siblings? What was he doing here? When did he get here?

Oh… yes… right. It was her turn to answer his growing inquiries.

I— yes. Yes, I’ve had my first litter. Some of them are running around here, somewhere, she hoped they were avoiding trouble. Part of her wanted to avoid saying who with, as she didn’t know how prominently the Huntsman’s reputation spread to the north. A man from my pack. They’re around 3 months right now, How quickly they were growing now, and as adventurous as ever, especially Bella.

oh… One of the higher ranks of my group wanted to help me and his companion learn some self defense. So he encouraged us to spar some. I think we got a little carried away… There was no way she would be able to explain that she hadn’t had a choice in the matter. Neither of them had a choice.

Nóttin’s final question sent a chill down her spine as his words echoed in her mind. Something… going on…? As if on cue, Freya’s eyes began to well up with sadness. Tears spilled over, rolling down her cheeks and dripping into the snow beside her feet. Where was she even meant to start? Was it even safe to talk about? Her children were at risk, she only had two of them here. What would they do to the others if she spoke?

Freya stood there, shaking, sobbing wordlessly. Where was she meant to start? Nóttin… It was all she could say right now.