Thorvald had the dreams, they all had the dreams, only these dreams had become reality and he watched moving pictures before his eyes like a vision. Blinking the man considered if he'd consumed any fermented berries before his sleep before coming to the realization that no, he hadn't, he simply was part of this. They all were.

He thought of his children, Inka, Flóki, and Veðrfölnir, he thought of Lilja, he thought about how he wasn't there with them. He was here. He had to make a choice and fast, he had to make a choice for them. Stepping through the second door the man took careful strides as he observed the battle before him.

There were warriors everywhere of all shapes and sizes, all fighting the wraiths that attacked the tree. Compromised the bones and the flower. He had to stop them.

Charging forward he leapt into battle with his jaws splayed and clacking around cold wraithy body pieces. Shouting expletives and obscenities in Finnish, battle cries to his fellow warriors, he would beat them with boxing paws and kick at them with hind legs. He would fight with everything he had in him to protect the tree, the bones, the flower, his family, Mythris.