Wardruna kept to scouting the neighboring territories of her home for those in need who might be caught in this mess. Bright ginger furs shined in the white and pale gray of the taiga - or, well, more like gray and choking lavender, these days.

The wolf could be spotted at the crest of the promise, straddling the line between cliffside and a long drop and swift death.

He was not safe.

Wardruna knew that any ill thoughts this wolf might hold were not his own. At least, she could hope. The toxicity of that which was this plague could make anyone want to end their suffering, but their was a way out - Wardruna knew this, even if he did not.

So she ran, galloping into the other wolf's direction until she too was coughing and spitting, foaming as she did her best to not swallow her own saliva for fear of the purple smog to destroy her from the inside out.

THIS WAY! WE NEED TO - A hollar cut short, as a creature that looked nothing less then the smog from Ferngully, came seeping into their direction. Wardruna tasted blood as she bit her tongue while holding back a scream. The creature was no wolf, though attempted to claim the body of one. No less then disease itself posing a primal form.

af guðunum. (by the gods.) But this was not one of her gods. In fact, she could not recall a tale or diety that might even come along to this abomination. It was not of her people, nor any other she had known. It was only disease.

We - we need to leave, now. Urgent and yet whispered, as though too loud and word might draw too much attention onto herself, which was the last fucking thing she wanted.