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Svajonė listened the way the old, wise women of her past used bones and marbels to predict ones future. Every word from Reid's mouth was weighed and considered as she listened to him ramble. His grin, so wide and bright against the winter hush around them drew a smile from her before she could help it; there was such naked pride in him when Vidarr’s name left her lips, such eager joy at being likened to the man he loved as a father. Ah, Doamne, (Lord) but he adored that wolf. And Svajonė, in truth, adored him for it. Her sweet, little robin was made of stories as much as he was made of blood—she could see that plainly and clear as day. Among her people, stories were never only stories. They were tinder for courage, little charms carried in the heart against dark roads, warnings fo children to heed their parents lest they be taken. So she let him keep that boyish grin on his face, let him wear it proudly, and brushed her shoulder more firmly against his as they walked together, as though to say yes, puiul mamei, you come from a love so great and from a people who would cross through forest fires and floods for one another.

But as he spoke of the dream, of the light rising from the ground like lumina lunii (moonlight) made fierce and bright, of a wolf of stone and a wolf of air, Svajonė felt the shift in him at once. The way he pressed closer did not escape her nor the heaviness tucked into that little word—amarnic. Her steps slowed and she bent her head and brushed her nose over his temple then the soft place behind his ear, as though she could smooth away the fear from him by touch alone. Ah, inimă mică, (small heart) she murmured, voice low and warm like the mother she was soothing her scared babe. So dreadful, da? Her muzzle dipped to the center of his chest in a small, tender nudge. So heavy here? Then she pulled back just enough to study his face, her dark gaze patient and inviting rather than pressing.

Some dreams come like stories to us and others come as warnings. And some—her mouth softened, sad and knowing—some come because the world is trying to tell us of an old sorrow that has not yet learned how to sleep. She did not say this to frighten him, only to honor what he had seen. To make it real without making it monstrous. Few in her line were gifted the Sight, Svajonė not being one of them herself, but perhaps her son inherited the gift. How she wished she had her Mamae to help her sort through this. A wolf of stone and a wolf of air...” she repeated softly, vaguely it rung a bell in her memory, but many times Svajonė's dreams escaped her in the waking world, but perhaps there was some truth to her sons words. Then perhaps you saw something ancient, dragul meu. Some old wound woken by the blue moonlight?

At his insistence that the elk had been frumos și deloc înfricoșător, (beautiful and not at all scary,) Svajonė’s dual toned eyes slid sideways to him and there it was again—that helpless, honey-sweet fondness she carried for her babe now threaded through with amusement. Așa? (Like this?) One brow lifted, not frightening at all? Her shoulder bumped his lightly, affectionate and teasing. Then Mama must have a very fierce boy beside her." Her mouth curved, but her gaze remained kind. Though even fierce boys may have their hearts jump in their chest like a rabbit. Only fools feel nothing., my boy. She let that settle between them before nosing gently at his cheek. It seems like you have my eye for beauty, da? And then, because the warmth of Vidarr’s name still lingered in her chest like embers, she added softly, “We shall tell your tata what you saw when we go back. He will like hearing how brave you were. Perhaps too much...” There was a smile in her voice now, small and private. It will make him unbearably proud.. He will fluff up like a crow!

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