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The time of darkness still hung heavy on the land. The light of Sun long tucked away. Even goddess Moon's gentler rays could not be found and Wardruna could only ponder how many souls had lost their way without her guiding light.

Northfall held still, yet it was by the remaining presence of their prey that they survived. When scouting the Alpine, the great caribou herd had moved south. Elk and deer likely so before them. They would find luck if they were to catch the trail of ox or moose. For now, their livelihood was placed in the hearts of the mountain goat and ram which scattered across their mountain tops. Wardruna could hear them now, a crack of keratin sheaths echoing through the mountains as she walked the foothills of their northern most peaks.

Wardruna was not the best of hunters. She could be quite clumsy when in a rush and her uses were best offered on flat ground at the end of a run during the take down where brute force was put to work. The Queen questioned perhaps one day she might test her luck on the coast again but laughed at the thought of it.