Once the pack had settled onto the island, once they had gotten accustomed to their new home, Gudbrandr had found themself a den and set to work on making it cozy. Branches had been placed along the entrance to keep out a draft, and then she had settled himself down inside and went to sleep.

That was a year ago.

The sun kissed king had disappeared without a trace, no pawprints or scents leaving the den after he had claimed it, pulled from thin air by beings unknown.

Dreams of Freyr, of Gudbrandr's very first life, played in his brain as he slumbered in the unknown.

He is the sword, but the sword was no longer needed....

Until now.

Gudbrandr woke at dawn, stretching out his limbs and yawning, before crawling his way out of the den he had made. To him, it had been last night, but to the world of Mythris?

A year.

He has been gone, a year.

Yawning once more, the orange wolf made his way towards a puddle, bending down to take a nice cool drink.

She had found herself dropped in the home of the gods. How fitting. Týr once he realized she was not some mindless, stupid beast had accepted her without hesitation into the ranks and now she was on the mend. Still the caribou limped, badly, her leg swollen she was doing what she could, grazing regularly on herbs that would help her body fend off the infection now that the splinters and dirt were cleaned from the puncture.

That had been a hellish and long procedure.

But she was free and able to roam Storm reach now and even though every step hurt she knew she had to prevent the muscles from becoming wasting away or falling stiff and unwilling to move. Being new herself, she knew not who had come and went from Skjǫldrheim, even when his scent was not so fresh as other residence. But Freydís approached the golden wolf like any other; and without hesitation she came on his right ❝ Svo mörg ný andlit (So many new faces,) ❞ she commented with a flick of her ear.

─
❝ speech ❞