Ylfing Lore

As days turned to moons after Ylfing's reclamation, wounds began to heal, both physical and otherwise. Painful flesh turned to scar—thanks in part to a new addition, Eir, a red she-wolf wise beyond her years who they could now call Ylfing's first proper herbalist—and Ýrr surprised herself to find that she adjusted to the change in her sight sooner than she thought. It began to be a symbol of what she gained rather than what she lost, much like Óðinn himself.

Alternatively, Kalda's internal battle over the part she played in her brother's death seemed to resolve much sooner than her wounds. But eventually time healed those too, and it was clear how she relished being back in her old prowling grounds. Ýrr knew Mógils shared that sentiment, to be home, even if it would always sting that Mjaðveig was not there to enjoy it with him. Grief does not change with time, but we do, and even Mógils came to grow around his grief to make room for joy again.

And there was joy in these walls, maybe for the first time. Ýrr was beginning to believe that one day she could wander these caves and see no glimpses of the blood and death they had held. And she was doing her part to impart new love and new memories both in their home and in her heart by taking in puppies to raise as her own. Even if they did not all stay, it was cathartic to give them a chance they would not otherwise have had, enjoying a warmth of hearts and bodies as dens and bellies were full.

And they were. The bounty of summer provided, and with it they were able to support a new litter from Lofnheiðr, while Ýrr had taken to a strong little girl pup with fur like snow whom she came to call Herja, a few months older than Lofnheiðr's pups and their half-sister.

When the land began to take back its offerings in fall, a decision was made to extend the hunting parties beyond the tree line. While journeys could be rough and long, the prey was more plentiful, and the teams had grown accustomed to the hunt there. It would take time for the young ones to adjust and learn the ways of their new home to properly hunt in it.

Ilmer's pups came of age shortly before the winter equinox, as they faced the greatest battle of their environment. While they could not all remain within the pack, one unlikely little one did: the runt, named Hoárr for his lucky eyes. Now an adult, he came to work alongside his mother, filling the gap Mjaðveig left behind. As much as this secretly pleased her, Ýrr knew it pleased Mógils more to see a runt he had kept safe become a proficient chaser in his pair's stead. And come mid-winter Glœðir welcomed a new litter for him to look over and to fill the pack with joy and hope, while Ýrr took in a young adolescent, hardly no longer a pup, Gæfa, whose sharpness and wit already rivaled Melusine and Eir.

As spring came again, the events of Ylfing's first year were beginning to feel long forgotten. They did not need to travel home to celebrate because they were home. And they continued to extend that home to more wolves: another ruddy adolescent named Eldfríðr whose lightening quick paws matched Gæfa's quick wit, the two often getting into trouble together; and a pale little she-pup, Þögn, quiet as a mouse and sweet as could be.

Everything they had fought for, had built, was in their reach, was here. The days of agonizing over options, or lack thereof, desperate for guidance, were over.

Ýrr settled down with these thoughts as a comfort in her mind against the prickling anxiety brought on by the blood red moon—a bad omen, but how could it possibly be the end of the world when their lives were only just beginning in full? The moon was already showing signs of being freed from the eclipse when she fell asleep, and so it surprised her when she woke with a jolt. Nightmares were, gradually, becoming less frequent for her, and she certainly had not expected one tonight. But what had frightened her? Hazy and confused, she blinked her eye. She could not recall anything frightening, or even falling asleep, only… falling. Jumping to her feet, she looked around at a contrasting world of darkness and light, both familiar and unfamiliar. She recognized it right away, despite the eerie red moon this time.

I'm here again, she thought, though it took a moment for what that meant to catch up to her.

She had long accepted this Lunar world for what it was, but being away from home had made it seem of little consequence to her. It was another alien world just as the forests and mountains were alien to her. She had no home here, just as she had no home there, so what was the point in learning about it beyond the acceptance of its existence?

But she was home now. And while this perhaps was not the home she knew, it was the second time she had witnessed her home through this bioluminescent lens, and she had to believe it would not be the last. She told herself that it would be useful for that reason to become accustomed to this world, but in remembering her first experience she couldn't help but be reminded of her Fylja.

The Pherris wolf, she knew now, but it was still hard to marry the two in her mind—or separate them. While he may not have been a guide, he had guided her unintentionally. She didn't know what would come of telling him this, if she ever could tell him, but she held a secret hope that one day she would.

But that night he was not who she found. Of course, she did not truly expect to find him in this vast, unfamiliar world, but with everything being new to her it all stood out as unusual. She was hesitant to interact with its inhabitants, falling into old habits as the observer, trying to match what she saw to what Melusine had told her. And so, like everything in this world, it stood out to Ýrr when she spotted a lone wolf resting under a tree.

Braver than I, she though offhandedly at first. In truth, this world seemed no more dangerous than hers, and she knew her caution was only heightened because she did not yet understand it. If anything, the main Cnitharian inhabitants seemed quite friendly. Granted, she was no more likely to be caught napping in the barren Frostmýrr of her waking world than she was here, friendly inhabitants or familiarity be dammed.

A sense of unease prickled at the back of her mind as she continued to think of the wolf. A Cnitharian wolf may know its way, know where was safe, but this was no Cnitharian wolf. It lacked the tendrils and frills that defined the strange species. In fact, the glimpses of white fur reminded her more of the Arctic wolves of her world. Looking closer now, Ýrr could see their coat was covered in a fine layer of lunar dust, like they had been there for some time. It almost seemed to be… reacting with it. A light steam raised off them in the chilly air, but they trembled ever so slightly.

Ýrr approached slowly, sniffing carefully. She leaped back, hackles raised, when the strange wolf lifted its head for a moment to try to focus on her with bleary, runny eyes, before laying it back down heavily. But it was all Ýrr needed to confirm the two thoughts pressing at her mind: this wolf too was a visitor, and something was wrong.

Her heart pounded as adrenaline raised her into wakefulness, wasting no time to wake Kalda despite the scout's dismay at the early hour. It took longer than she thought to retrace her steps and Ýrr was beginning to worry this was a fool's errand—Kalda, unable to access the Dreamlands, certainly quipped as much—when she caught a familiar, sickly scent. Together they brought the blue and white wolf back to the den—it was small and thin, making an easy task for the two burly she-wolves.

Eir roused reluctantly at first, but was quickly alert as she recognized the hushed urgency in her chieftain's voice. She took her time, evaluating the wolf carefully as Ýrr sat rigid, watching, Kalda drowsy by her side.

"Influenza," the herbalist announced. "Her body is doing what it needs to heal. I will watch her fever, give her medicine, but she needs to rest. She will live. I am more concerned about it spreading. All of us who have had contact will need to isolate, and I will need more herbs to be safe, but they only grow far to the south."

"I'll leave for them in the morning," Kalda announced in a sleepy murmur. "Can't infect anyone if I'm not here."

"That may not be best if you fall ill. You'll end up like her, exposed, waiting for your fever to break."

"Then we'll both go," Ýrr announced, and though it was clear the herbalist still disagreed, she simply shook her head without further comment.

It was only a few hours to dawn, but it would take much longer to complete their journey to the strange wet and humid lands. Usually they could trade with closer packs rather than make the journey to harvest themselves, but the land had not yet fully recovered from winter, so their supplies were low. Most of their interactions only extended as far as the forest, and so those packs too often struggled to have enough of these herbs for themselves. The trees acted as a marker for Ylfing between known and unknown. The tree line served as a border between their home and the Snæviðr, the snow forest, though it was still a familiar place to them. And the Fýri, the fir forest, once their temporary home, was now well explored, and they had little reason to go beyond it. Where the trees fade again into the Sléttr—the flat, exposed graslönd, not quite the same as the hilly fields, the Hóllvangr, below the Upplönd—the world becomes almost entirely foreign.

Ýrr had almost never gone so far herself. While the Upplönd were once as close as she could get to experiencing home, now that they were back she had little reason to return—they had their own mountains in the Frostmýrr. Nor did she have much cause to visit or explore the Eikviðr, the oak forest, or the Fenviðr, the fen forest. To her, a forest was a forest, and if she wanted to see trees she needn't travel so far. She didn't particularly like the exposed feeling of the graslönd, rugged or flat, and had never gone beyond it. While the  Frostmýrr may be barren, at least she knew how and where to hide and what to expect.

Now they would be going even farther. Kalda was the only one to have some familiarity with what was below. The scout had spun what sounded like tall tales of a place they could only begin to wrap their minds around as similar and yet opposite to the Ísbreiðr to the north, but instead of a field of spreading ice it was a sea of sand, the sandhaf, where Bǫðmóðr and Böðvildr had originally come from; and the place where land and water were one, where Glœðir was born, like their Frostmýrr home and yet never frozen, just… Mýrr. But their destination laid beyond any concept they could grasp or compare or put words to, and so they had to borrow them: Regnviðr, the rain forest. A place so wet and warm that everything could grow there year round, full of creatures they couldn't begin to imagine.

In the end, Ýrr decided she did not like these places very much. They felt more foreign to her than the Dreamlands. She was eager to leave them, but in truth, she was more eager to return home. She and Kalda had been lucky to stay in good health and she hoped the same was true for her people.

The two returned to a healthy pack and warm greetings, the pups eager to hear all about the foreign lands. Ýrr left an uncertain Kalda to their bombardment of questions, bringing the herbs straight to the herbalist's alcove. Eir was toiling away, a blue and white she-wolf working by her side.

"I see she's made a full recovery," Ýrr said as way of announcing herself. Eir came to take the herbs she offered, but a strange expression flitted across the strange she-wolf's face. Ýrr found herself bashful at this reaction, turning her head rather than looking at her straight on in order to hide her scarring. Her people had adjusted to her new face, but she knew it was shocking to see.

"Njóla, this is Ýrr, our chieftain. She's the one who found you."

"Njóla? So that is your name?"

The strange expression lingered this time as the she-wolf hesitated before answering, "I don't know."

Ýrr was puzzled by the response, looking to Eir as she spoke up to explain, "We needed to call her something, and 'that wolf you found that night' was cumbersome, so eventually it just became 'Njóla.' While she's made a quick recovery from her illness, she hasn't been able to recover any memories of who she was, where she's from—even her name."

Njóla lowered her head, still with a deep sadness, but spoke softly and earnestly, "Thank you for rescuing me and for everything your pack has given me. I wanted to await your return to say it in person."

"She's been assisting me, and she's been quite helpful. Perhaps she was an herbalist before, or maybe she's just a natural," Eir mused.

"Where will you go, if you do not know where to return to?"

"Eir has said that perhaps in time my memories will return, that they could be… sparked by something familiar. I may not know what I'm looking for… but I have to try."

Ýrr was quiet for a long moment. "Tell me what you find."

Njóla looked at her quizzically and she continued, "I'm learning that… I don't like to leave things unfinished. And while some may consider me old fashioned, that I look for meaning in things that have a more straightforward explanation, I believe that even if the answer is more mundane than divine intervention, that doesn't mean it can't be important. I believe finding you was important, so I would like to know how that story ends."

The she-wolf blinked in surprise, absorbing her words in silence before lowering her head again. "Then… I will tell you when I know who I am," she raised her head, looking the chieftain in the face, "who you saved."

"I look forward to it."

Summer brought many changes to Ylfing, one in particular a heavy stone on its heart. A newcomer joined the clan, Sigrdrífa, a charming she-wolf with fur a mix of soft and warm. Lofnheiðr's pups would soon be coming of age, as would Gæfa and Eldfríðr. With Sigrdrífa and Herja to join them, Ylfing would nearly have a third complete hunting party—it seemed not so long ago that they didn't even have one. With Mjöll taking on the role of Úlfheðnar's finisher, much more dedicated to the job and easier to get along with, Tulipa could finally return to scouting. Þorri's ascension as finisher for the Einherjar, with Sólver taking an early retirement to pupsitter, was bittersweet. All rejoiced to see pups bred into the pack grow up and come to serve it, but the opening of the role came at a cost.

After a final grand day celebrating the summer equinox, Ylfing had awoken to find Mógils had passed. The former day's cheer was sucked from the clan like a gasping breath, and it was a silent journey to the coast to bid him a final farewell. They had all come from water, from ice, and so to water they shall return.

Ýrr tempered her emotions as she looked over her somber people. The words came easily to her mind, but getting them out was another matter.

"When I look at you all, I do not see a single wolf whom Mógils's life did not touch. Whether he was a leader, a teammate, a father;" she looked in particular to the wolves of Úlfheðnar, "or a mentor, a guide, a protector; or even just a kind friend. I know that he was all of these things to me, and more. There are no words to define his importance. Ylfing would not be where it is today, what it is, without him. It will be strange to be in a world without him, but what he built, his legacy, will live on. Ylfing has been forever molded by him, and we will always be better for it."

A chorus of mournful howls responded to their chieftain's words before a silence once again descended as the wolves made their return. Ýrr walked in stride with Kalda, deep in her own memories, and was surprised when the scout spoke.

"I'll be next."

Ýrr blinked as her mind was drawn out of its reverie and tried to process what she said, but could not make sense of it. Kalda did not look at her, so she could not be sure if the she-wolf picked up on her confusion or simply continued speaking.

"Everyone's gone. Mjaðveig. Mógils." Her blue eyes flicked to Ýrr. "I was born in the summer. This is my seventh summer."

Ýrr held her gaze in silence for a long moment. She did not know what to say, what Kalda wanted her to say. She told herself she believed the scout was only pausing again, not yet done speaking, but perhaps she just did not want to respond, to acknowledge the weight behind her words. Picking up on this, a sly expression crossed the she-wolf's face as she attempted to provide levity with her morbid sense of humor, "Maybe if I'm lucky I won't have to suffer through another winter."

Ýrr finally broke her silence in a flustered panic. "Are you feeling poorly? Eir can—"

"I don't need Eir. I feel fine, just old." Kalda looked away, focusing ahead on their journey. Another silence lapsed before she repeated, "I'll be next, and then you will be all that remains of Ylfing's past."

Perhaps it was just that emotions were already running high that day, but Ýrr was shocked by the sudden and extreme sorrow those words brought her. A feeling of unparalleled loneliness that threatened to overtake her.

"How did it come to this?" Once again the scout's words snapped her back into focus, but once again she was lost for their meaning. But now she was keenly aware of the emotional edge to Kalda's usually stoic voice. "To survive the winter, but not survive each other…"

Ýrr swallowed hard, both in response to her own emotion as well as those warring on Kalda's face. The she-wolf shook her large head, then met her chieftain's eye once more, searching. "Is this all Jökull's fault?"

Or ours?

They had never spoken about how events had transpired, the decisions they made, the actions they took that day. Once they had said their goodbyes to Mjaðveig, they locked it away, moving forward toward Ylfing's future.

"I don't… blame him," Ýrr spoke carefully once she thought she could trust her voice. "I believe he had Ylfing's best interest at heart. He brought us through that winter. I… understand more now that I am chieftain the impossible decisions he had to make. I may have disagreed with them, but I don't think there was malintent behind them. The reality was that we could not all survive, and to have to decide who does… I do not envy him. I hope it is a situation I never find myself in."

It was Ýrr's turn to look away this time. "But he had his faults. He was prideful. Righteous. Perhaps I can understand that now too. Those of us who survived did so in part because of the choices he made, and we were not yet in the clear, he was not yet out of that mode of our survival being on his shoulders. Everything he had done, misguided or not, was for our survival, and we threw it back in his face. I threw it back in his face."

"You gave him a chance. You let him live."

"I did. Perhaps if I hadn't the others would still be with us. Or perhaps they would choose not to follow me as Halldís did. It's impossible to know. But was anyone wrong? I don't know. I don't think so. For all his personal failings, as much as he let his pride get in his way, I think he was just trying to defend the clan and the home that he loved. We all were. If a mother bear will not let you escape because she believes she must defend her cubs, is she wrong? When you must slay her, lest you be slain, are you wrong? A mutual understanding may be ideal, but it's not always possible. Sometimes we are blinded."

Kalda seemed to accept her words, and her response was unexpected.

"Kaldi always wanted pups to defend and raise. By this time in our lives he thought he'd be raising up the next scout, to have a son to replace him. I never gave much thought to the idea myself. He used to say that maybe he would have a little girl pup too, and they could be scouts together like us." Her voice broke and Ýrr felt her pain, as well as her own guilt for ever believing Kalda could so easily move past what she had done. "I think he would have made a better father than I a mother. He was softer than I am. He was more than just the stone-faced, iron-willed scout. He could be a real goofball when he…"

She never finished, her body racked with silent sobs. Ýrr carefully pressed against her side in a gesture of comfort as they walked, understanding fully how it felt to lose herself to what was and what could have been, all those who should still be with them: Mjaðveig, Kaldi, Jökull, their pups. They had been so focused on moving forward, on surviving, that they had never truly mourned. A day would come when these would just be names, with no one left to remember the wolves, but to those who did, that pain would touch their lives forever.

Kalda left on an expedition a few days later and did not return for over a full moon's cycle. Ýrr tried her best to shake her worst fears, that something happened to the aging scout. Her return brought relief, and a surprise: she was pregnant. Just before the fall equinox she welcomed her own summer litter.

Ýrr spent a lot of time with them and it warmed her heart to see Kalda be the mother she did not expect herself to be. It was at one such time that the scout stated, "I will not get to see them grow up."

"You don't know that. You don't know how much time you have," Ýrr protested quickly, but there was no emotion behind Kalda's voice, like she had simply stated a fact.

"I don't," she agreed. "But it is unlikely that I will see them reach a year. I will not see them in their roles, with their own pups. But you will."

Ýrr felt frozen as conflicting emotions raised up inside her, looking deep into Kalda's blue eyes. She expected her to ask to look after them when she was gone—which of course she would, she always would, but she wouldn't need to because Kalda would be there… but she didn't. Instead she just told her warmly, "For that, I'm glad."

Ýrr suppressed a whimper, pressing her forehead firmly to the other wolf's. A day would come to mourn, but this was not it. They had life yet still to celebrate, and new ones to continue long after they were gone.

As fall came, Ylfing was continuing to grow, with Ýrr taking in another sweet and smart girl pup, Sólbjört, but with that came some growing pains. Gæfa, Eldfríðr, and Herja had all come of age—the stalker, chaser, and finisher to form the basis of a hunting party. Split up from her half-siblings, both finishers in their own right, Herja was much more subdued than the fiery pair and struggled to fit in against their close bond. She found Sigrdrífa much easier to get along with, but the addition of Hlífþrasa, a newcomer from the Snæviðr, brought it to three against two. They had to rely on Gæfa's direction, and Hlífþrasa and Eldfríðr always blamed Sigrdrífa when the chasers struggled and quarreled.

But when the winter equinox arrived, the struggling hunting party was the least of their worries, and growing pains seemed a privilege compared to the loss it brought. In the end, Kalda got her wish, one Ýrr knew she would have done anything to take back, to have more time. She would not live through the winter, and her young pups, hardly weaned but a moon ago, would not have their mother by their side as they grew up.

Four years ago Ýrr would never have thought Kalda's passing would strike her as it did. She had always respected the scout, perhaps admired her, but she was an enigma. Or… no, perhaps that was not entirely true. Rather, Ýrr had written her off as simple, her and Kaldi both—what you saw was what you got, and Ýrr could see that they did not have much in common. And while it was true that the scout was brutally straightforward, in the end Ýrr learned that didn't mean that she had no depth.

Had they stayed pack mates, Ýrr never would have learned more about her. She would have remained in her eyes as the honorable scout, her elder—separated on many levels. Ýrr never would have expected that wolf to step up at her side that fateful day, but she was forever grateful that she did. Kalda was the symbol of strength and authority that Ýrr had lacked at the time, and she couldn't help but wonder if anyone else would have had the courage to stand up if she hadn't first.

Kalda's experience and sense of duty had proved invaluable over the early years of charting Ylfing's path, and in taking that journey together they were able to build a relationship they never would have had. They didn't always see eye to eye, and sometimes found each other difficult to get along with, but a mutual respect formed not just based on principle—from title or age—but on trust and shared values.

But it was only in these final moons that Ýrr truly began to view Kalda as a friend, and it made her loss so much stronger. They were bonded by much more than their values, their desires for Ylfing. They were bonded by sacrifice. They were bonded by pain. They shared a burden for their actions, the decisions they had to make. They were the only ones that could truly understand such an important part of who they were. And now Kalda was gone, and Ýrr carried that burden alone. No one else remained from her first or final stand for Ylfing.

It was lonely, and yet it gave her hope. She had wanted this burden to be hers so that Ylfing's future would not be weighed down by it. All of this had been so Ylfing's past did not destroy its future. The tales would be passed down of what they had been through, what they had done, but it would be a connection of duty, not a shared burden. Kalda's pups would know who she was, what she sacrificed, but they would never have to feel her pain.

As Ýrr had promised, she took Kalda's pups into her care, and by winter's end she had brought in another young girl pup, Róta. Sólver certainly had his paws full. By the time they were reaching adolescence there was a surprising standout among Kalda's pups: a girl she had named Mist in her final days. In appearance she had a strong resemblance to her mother with her  blue eyes and long silver fur, but could not have been more unlike her. She was unexpectedly charming, with the charisma to get along with just about anyone. More surprising still, despite having her mother's large, muscled frame, she was extremely light on her feet. She, Þögn, and Róta were looking to be a promising piece of the puzzle of fixing Ylfing's hunting party woes by splitting three into four, with a bright future ahead of them.

Spring brought further surprises. Just as the excitement of the equinox was settling down, a blue and white she-wolf came to their den. She was thinner than Ýrr remembered seeing her last, her fur unkempt.

"Welcome," Ýrr greeted her warmly. "What should I call you now?"

"Njóla," the she-wolf responded, somewhat sheepish.

"… You did not remember?" Ýrr said after a pause as realization dawned on her.

Njóla shook her head. "I don't know who I was, but I've decided who I am. I've found where I belong."

"Let us get out of the cold and you can tell me all about it."

And so Njóla told her tale, unraveling the mystery of the last year. At first, she had searched for her home, but no wolves remembered her, nor she them. Oftentimes she found herself in dangerous situations both trying to survive on her own and trying to get close to wary packs. As Ýrr had first noticed when she saw her, the journey was not kind. She had suffered and struggled only to end up back where she had started.

But the one time Njóla had not felt lost was at night. Many a night she found herself back in the Dreamlands, and while no memories came to her, it was the one place that felt familiar. She found herself growing more and more impatient for the moon to rise in the sky, and everything changed when she met Vorias, a Cnitharian wolf.

In the waking world every encounter ended in disappointment. She had been alone for a long time, unable to find her way home. But in the Dreamlands there was no expectation, no hope to find a fragment of her former self. For the first time she was able to simply be who she was, and to meet someone for who they were—not for who she hoped she would be to them. The relationship blossomed unexpectedly, and she truly ended her daytime quest to find her home. She had found one, not in a place, but in a person. It was a familiar sentiment to Ýrr, one that reminded her of Ylfing's early days.

"I am glad you have found yourself, and a mate. But as long as you walk between both worlds, you must take care of yourself in this one."

"Vorias tells me the same," Njóla sighed. "If I could choose to only be there, I would."

"And you can go there… always?"

"Mostly." The Lunar wolf nodded. "Sometimes it doesn't work, but usually if I sleep, I can go there. It's grown easier with time."

"And you know your way around it well?"

"Probably better than here," Njóla admitted. "Not as well as Vorias, but he's shown me a lot."

"Do you think you'd be able to… find something for me?" The she-wolf looked quizzically at Ýrr and she hesitated before explaining, "My connection to and knowledge of the Dreamlands is not strong, but… there is something I've been wishing to do for a long time now. I don't know if it is possible for me, but perhaps it will be possible for you. You could stay here. You would be safe and looked after. I will have to ask that you earn your keep in the daylight as well, the others would not accept a mouth to feed for a frivolous task, but what that looks like is up to you. You could assist Eir again if you'd like, there are changes to be made to hunting parties, we're down a scout..."

"What exactly would I be looking for?"

"Another unfinished story."

Somewhat unexpectedly, Njóla took up Kalda's helm. Her year of exploration had been the perfect training for a scout, and Ýrr found her claim to not know the lands well a humble one—one that secretly gave her hope for her abilities in the Dreamlands. She did not know the status of her search, and she preferred it that way. It was easier not to have her hopes climb up at every lead, every false start. It was a possible reality that it would never prove fruitful, and Ýrr was realizing that she could accept that.

She had gained more than she expected from Njóla's addition. The-wolf was clean and well-fed, no longer only living for stolen moments in the night. She had a home and purpose in the day now as well, and people to share the warmth of the sun with. Ýrr watched her blossom into a peaceful soul that brought up unexpected memories of Mógils. Always helpful, always fair, a problem-solver and supporter alike. Even though she decided not to train as an herbalist, she always gave special help to Eir when she had the time, and always made an effort to gather herbs for her on her expeditions. She found a friend in the herbalist, and it warmed her heart to watch it happen.

And the world around them warmed as moons passed and summer was fast upon them. Ýrr's mind was on the sun, on hunting, on Ylfing's future, when she blearily blinked her eye as Njóla stood before her, tail wagging so hard it whipped in a circle.

"You're here!" she cheered. "Wake up, but don't really!"

"The Dreamlands?" the chieftain had begun to wonder if she would ever see them again. She stretched and looked around hazily while Njóla put forward a concerted effort to be calm and patient—though her tail gave her away.

"Come, you must meet Vorias!" she insisted, trotting off but looking back constantly to make sure Ýrr was following. Ýrr quickly lost track of where they were, no longer certain if they were still in the Frostmýrr. It seemed like they had crossed into the ísbreiðr.

Njóla suddenly bounded ahead into an icy cavern, while Ýrr followed in more slowly. The other she-wolf was warmly greeting a darkly colored wolf whose fur shone in purples and blues like incandescence, his head and limbs sprouting blue frilly Cnitharian appendages. Ýrr was surprised to notice his odd eyes, as Njóla had never mentioned this mark of Óðinn. Ýrr waited politely to be acknowledged, with Njóla finally pressing herself to the Cnitharian wolf's side and facing the chieftain.

"Ýrr, this is my mate, Vorias. Vorias, this is Ýrr."

He went to give her a friendly greeting, but at Ýrr's caution stayed back and dipped his head more respectfully. "She's talked so much about you, it's lovely to finally meet you. You know, put a name to the face. And wow, it's exactly as she described."

"Vorias," Njóla gasped, chastising. Ýrr only quirked her head in amusement.

"What? I don't mean any offense. You look tough. It means you're tough, you survived something, you won. That'll go a long way if you're trying to befriend a Pherris wolf."

"None taken," Ýrr assured. "Although she never mentioned your eyes to me. To us, they represent our god who sacrificed his eye for wisdom. We believe wolves with eyes like yours have a stronger connection to him and to his strengths, his abilities, what he represents."

Vorias's mix-matched eyes glittered with curiosity. "Is that what happened to your eye?"

"Not exactly… but I've come to see it similarly. It was not direct or intentional, but in the end it was like a sacrifice. It was what I had to lose to gain so much more."

"You visitors always have the most interesting tales! I'd love to hear about it. Not just you! You know, if you don't like talking about it. But the god too."

"Maybe if there's time, but remember, Ýrr can't come here like I can," Njóla reminded him gently, "and that's not what she came here for."

Before Ýrr could assure her that she did not mind, Vorias jumped to his feet. "Right, the Pherris wolf! They're based out here, you know? Or you probably don't know, if you've never really been here. But yeah, the forge is here. Granted, most don't know where it is, but I do. I grew up out here, and so did my mom. I mean, my dad too, but he was a wolffish, so he didn't know the land so much as the water. I ended up with four legs instead of a fin, so not so much for me. Although I'm as fast in the water as I am on land!"

"Vorias." Njóla nudged him gently to get him back on track.

"I guess strange love runs in the family." He looked at her warmly for a moment before quirking his head. "Right, where was I? Pherris wolves. I grew up here, so I know them well, and I know a lot of wolves here. Point being I could get a lot of feelers out. A lot are wary around them, but they're not all bad. You have to be careful if you're in their territory, but they're not as aggressive if they don't have something to defend..."

Catching Njóla's look, he announced suddenly, "Aess."

"Eyes?" Ýrr questioned, looking to Njóla for help. "Are we back to that?"

"Huh? No, not eyes. Aess. I think that's your Pherris wolf. Although that is kind of funny now that you mention it. Aess and Ýrr, eyes and ear. Or I guess eye and ears…"

"Vorias," Njóla chastised again.

"A Pherris wolf being friendly to a visitor in their territory is odd, and apparently Aess has a bit of a reputation for being odd. But befriending him did prove tricky. Not quite what I expected from your story. Approaching you and helping you? Seems too aloof for that. But he's definitely curious about your kind and all that. Can't say I blame him. You really do have fantastic tales, even if your tails are a bit plain." He seemed well pleased with his joke, swishing his frilled tail.

"Come, I'll show you." Vorias bounded forward and Ýrr found herself thinking that he was indeed fast. After that scattered conversation she wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but moved to follow him nonetheless as he led them into the world of glowing ice. She had always liked the ísbreiðr, but its beauty in the Dreamlands was unparalleled.

"Pretty magical, huh?" Vorias backtracked to appear suddenly at her side, gesturing with his head to their surroundings. "The way the essence gets trapped in the ice. It's like the ice itself is alive, or holds life…"

Ýrr nodded thoughtfully. "Like the rivers of Hvergelmir."

His ears pricked forward. "What's that?"

And so as they walked she told him the story of the Élivágar, Eitr frozen within their waters, from which the first of their gods formed. While Vorias may have been easily distracted in his speech, she found he was a rapt listener. The Cnitharian wolf slowed their approach as spikes of ice jutting into their path warned of their proximity to the forge. Ýrr could see blue fire and tunnels running into the ice that rose around them. She thought she saw pelts of some kind strung up, but she was not sure if their intent was decorative, practical, or a warning.

"Slip around the side carefully and wait for me," Vorias instructed them, slinking into the camp without another word. Njóla seemed cautiously confident in her mate, but appeared somewhat nervous as she followed his instruction. Ýrr's fur bristled uneasily. If, with her knowledge of this world, even she was unsettled by this place, then Ýrr would be ready for a fight.

The chieftain was on high alert as time seemed to pass slowly, acutely aware that even Njóla was growing uneasy. She heard the subtle crunch of snow underpaw first and whipped around defensively in front of the smaller she-wolf. Vorias trotted up to them excitedly, a Pherris wolf following him at a safe distance.

"Ýrr, this is your… Fylja." He looked at her to confirm he got the word right before looking to the Pherris wolf. "Aess, this is Ýrr." Aess regarded her cautiously for a moment, partially looking toward Vorias when he spoke to him, "I think there's been a mistake. I remember such an event, but not this wolf."

"A lot has changed over all this time," Ýrr spoke simply. There was a spark of hope in her heart, but in all honesty one Pherris wolf was the same to her as the next.

"I'm sure I'm right. It's been how many years? Just talk it through, I'm sure you'll remember," Vorias encouraged and Njóla nudged him.

"Then why don't we give them a chance to talk it over?" She took a few steps and when Vorias didn't follow she added, "Privately."

With the pair gone, the two wolves kept their distance, looking each other over. Ýrr had never had the chance to take such a long, close look at a Pherris wolf. She supposed they did remind her a bit of their waking world counterparts in the ísbreiðr, with their more medium size and narrow, somewhat fox-like face. Their unusually long tails, large pointed ears, and red fur only compounded to this fox-like appearance. Long toes and raccoon-like front paws only made them stranger.

The two truly could not have stood more opposite with her white fur and large, round head. She was larger than him—broader at least. He had long limbs, but somewhat spindly, and most of his length was tail. While his coat made him appear larger, and indeed his fur was longer than her dense coat, he was not as muscularly built.

"I remember that word," he spoke first and Ýrr blinked as she refocused on his glowing blue eyes. "Fylja. That's why I believed him. But I do not know what you want from meeting."

Ýrr found herself chuckling ruefully. "Nor do I. I've thought about it a lot, but I don't know that I actually thought it would happen. If by some miracle you were found, it seemed like it would be unremarkable to you, not worth remembering."

Aess was quiet a long moment, tilting his head. "I had never spoken to a visitor before. Never been so close to one." He paused again before explaining, "It was my first expedition."

"I didn't know what you were then. It was my first time… coming here."

The Pherris wolf nodded. "I remember."

"I thought I was just sleeping, just dreaming. Or rather, I thought it was a nightmare. I thought you were… well, a Fylja. I thought you were something sent to give me guidance."

Aess's tail twitched and he regarded her with confusion. "In the Dreamlands? I suppose I did."

"No." Ýrr shook her head. "In… in my life. I had just become chieftain… the leader of my pack."

Did Pherris wolves have packs? Ýrr wasn't sure. To her they seemed to all be connected. She searched his expression for some level of understanding, but he gave nothing away. At least he doesn't seem confused, she thought.

"We had been through a lot of hardship. Living here, I believe you would understand the weakness winter brings…?" When Aess was still unreadable she continued anyway, "It was now my responsibility, but… I didn't know what to do. I was supposed to guide, but I needed guidance. Or… I suppose I knew what needed to be done, but it was a difficult choice to make. You helped me make that decision. I realize now that we were not having the same conversation, but it gave me the push I needed to carry through. It gave my people the push we needed. If they did not believe you to be a Fylja, I don't know if they would have trusted me. Without knowing it, you've been inexplicably linked to all our lives. You've… saved them. And even if that was not your intention, I feel I owe you my thanks."

Ýrr didn't know what she was going to say before she said it, so she certainly didn't know how she expected Aess to respond. She was beginning to think he wouldn't say anything until he finally nodded as if to himself before meeting her eye. "It seems I was not wrong to say you are not the wolf I encountered that day. She was frightened, lost. A lot has changed indeed…"

His gaze was intense, and she understood the light in his eyes was from more than just their unnatural glow. They burned with a deeper intensity and intelligence and… curiosity. "I'd like to hear more about that change. About who you are now."

"I'd like that as well."

Aess had always struggled with wanderlust. Since he was a pup, it was a burden he carried to desire so strongly to do, to explore, to learn. There was no room for that in his upbringing. The view of what it meant to be a Pherris wolf was a narrow one. And yet he did not have the courage to leave it behind, to write his own definition, to wander forever as a vagabond. It was the safe choice to compromise. Rather than working in the forge itself, designing or creating, he could be a warrior and a scout—find and claim territory to mine. At least then he could leave without wholly leaving.

And he loved it, at least in part. It was refreshing and intriguing to travel lands beyond his home. To see creatures and encounters he had only heard about, or had never even imagined. But it was always just that: he saw them. He was always just an observer. He always felt on the outside looking in.

The most intriguing of all were the visitors. He had been taught that they were dangerous. A blight. They did not understand the rules of this world, and so they did not follow them. They were something to be guarded against, to be put in their place. But in his heart he longed to do as they did. He wanted to see their world with the same wonder that they looked at his. But he had long ago learned to suppress that desire and tried his best to be grateful for what he had. He was finally allowed to explore on his own, no longer in training under the watchful and judgmental eyes of others. He was most at peace when he was alone. No one could comment if he was lost in his own mind, or detoured to inspect a curiosity.

Except, he realized, he wasn't alone. In the distance he could see the white and blue fur of an Arctic cousin surrounded by lunar orbs. He supposed he was in no place to judge them for their distraction, but the sight still confused him. Had he wandered more than he had thought? It was his first time alone in the tundra, and he had been eager to explore on his terms, but had he crossed back into the glacier without realizing it? No, that wasn't right. But why was this Arctic Pherris wolf here? It was his duty to patrol this territory today, no others should be here.

Begrudgingly, Aess veered his path in their direction, believing there must be some mix up. He quickly realized that the wolf was not as close as he thought—it was further, but larger. Certainly the largest Pherris wolf he had ever seen. His paws slowed as his brain tried to catch up and make sense of what he was seeing. The wolf's fur was bristled, was that why it seemed so large? But no, this up close it was large. The blue of its fur shifted with the raising of its hair and he realized it was not paint, but lunar dust.

Aess watched in slow motion as the white wolf whipped around to face him, the dust completely clearing from its pelt. His own fur stood on end as his mind rushed to catch up: a visitor.

"Are you a Fylja?" The wolf asked him, and he felt the confusion show on his face despite himself. His mind and heart were at war. He had never been this close to a visitor before. Everything he had been taught told him this was an enemy, he needed to defend. But this wolf did not seem like a threat. Rather, it seemed… frightened? No, that wasn't right. She did not appear scared of him. More… pleading? He could see the defeat and desperation in her eyes that he did not understand her. And how he wished to know what this thing was that she spoke of. He wasn't sure if he dared to ask, to cross that bridge of interacting with a visitor, but she didn't give him the chance. "Please, tell me what I need to do to avoid this future. This can't be my future."

Aess swished his tail to release his nervous energy, allowing his fur to settle. No, she did not seem to be a threat. Was she lost? Did she believe she was trapped here? He was under the impression that visitors had their own understanding of the Dreamlands. It was true, though, that he had to assume if he suddenly awoke into their world it would be jarring.

I'd like to think I'd at least recognize what was happening, he thought, but what he said to her was, "This isn't your future. It's only temporary."

"Thank you. Please, tell me what I need to do. I can't let my home become this." Her visible relief was unexpectedly upsetting to Aess. How eager she was to throw away this opportunity, this gift. Whatever tales and legends they had of the Dreamlands were made manifest, and she had the chance to experience it firsthand. What he wouldn't give to trade places with her, to freely explore two worlds.

He didn't know what to tell her. His jealousy certainly wasn't the answer. But how could he explain to her something he could never experience?

"This is not your home, not like this. I… don't understand how it works, but… you'll wake up."

Aess found it hard to look at her as confusion turned to a dawning glee. He closed his eyes, trying to center himself, and when he opened them again he was alone. Only this time he actually felt alone. It did not bring him any peace. But it was more than just the flat and barren landscape making him feel small and insignificant. It was a deeper emptiness of an unfulfilled purpose, a desire buried deep now fighting to the surface to remind him of the truth he tried so hard to fight: no matter where he was, or with whom, he did not fit in, and as much as he tried to pretend it didn't bother him, it did. More than what he wanted to do, it was who he wanted to be—and to finally be accepted for just that.

Ýrr had not expected to see the Pherris wolf again after she had her chance to give her thanks. It felt as though a chapter had finally been closed, but in the days that followed she was surprised when Vorias told her he had requested to meet again.

"It felt right that I should share with you how our encounter has changed my life," Aess offered as explanation, which both confused and surprised Ýrr. He had mostly listened during their previous conversation, but did paint a picture for her of who her 'Fylja' actually was: a scout of sorts with a strong sense of duty. There seemed little room for that to change and no desire for it to, certainly nothing remarkable in meeting her.

"I've decided to leave the Forge." He did not look at her as he talked, and in all honesty she preferred it. She always felt uneasy under his intense glowing eyes. They sat side by side, Ýrr looking at him while he stared out into the teeming life of the lunar landscape.

"It's something I've always wanted to do. Or not… wanted. I never wanted to leave behind all I knew, but I wanted to know more. When we met, it was the closest I'd ever been to something I'd longed for for as long as I can remember. I had starved for so long my body had learned to ignore the signal, and then suddenly you brought it screaming to the surface. I've let so much of my life go by, convincing myself that scraps could satiate that hunger, but it never worked as well as I told myself it did. I believed I preferred loneliness, but the truth is it was the only time I could feel like and be myself, not judged by others."

He still did not face her, but his eyes flicked in her direction. "If that day was fate as you say, then I believe it was meant to be two fold. It awoke you to the dangers you faced, and afforded you an opportunity to pursue the difficult path you knew would bring you salvation. But I did not let it wake me. Or rather, I closed my eyes and pretended I was still asleep. But in meeting you again, and Vorias, and Njóla, I've once again been given a glimpse of the life I could have, the one I was too afraid to take. I'm not afraid anymore."

Aess looked at her fully now, his expression, as always, difficult for Ýrr to understand. "Perhaps that it what connected us. Fear. We were both afraid of the paths we were on, the suffering it would bring, but more afraid of the alternative, the unknown. I will not waste my time with regret, but I know now I was wrong. I was complacent in my own unhappiness. It was familiar. I did not dare to hope I could have more, for if it failed, could I resign myself to the same complacency, return to my old life, knowing what awaited me? And if it succeeded, what did that mean for the time I wasted? But I see now it does not work that way. I have learned from and enjoyed the life I've lived for what it was. It is time to do the same for my future."

The warmth and bounty of summer was a dressing on a wound, hiding what festered underneath. The Dreamlands remained open to Ýrr for that time, and she finally understand Njóla's longing for those stolen moments, that second life. She had a guide in Njóla now, and in Vorias… and in Aess to show her this world through the eyes of its inhabitants. She could see the change in him already in the way he spoke about his experiences, his travels. Yet he never traveled far. It was a rare day that he was not present in her dream-walking. There was an unspoken understanding that he was waiting until the day would inevitably come that she would wake without ever having set paw in the Dreamlands, not knowing when they would be open to her again, a day Ýrr found herself dreading.

It came shortly before the autumn equinox, and Ýrr was forced back to reality. It felt unexpectedly empty—a feeling she always had, yet it seemed more gnawing than ever. Without consciously realizing, she found herself once more trying to fill and distract from it with puppies they could not keep and, as it turned out, could barely care for.

  There had been many changes to Ylfing's hunting parties, the consequences of which were only relevant because of the timing. Úlfheðnar was the only one to remain unchanged, its members only growing more skilled, able to continually support the clan. Melusine retired from the Einherjar, with Sólbjört taking her place. The young stalker had a lot of potential, but she was exactly that: young. Prey became more difficult to find in fall, making it a less than ideal time to begin honing her skills. Lacking the same experience as Melusine, as well as lacking the experience working with the other wolves, they saw a sharp decline in successful hunts. To further complicate the party's dynamics, Glœðir also retired, with her son, Glórnir, taking her place. While Melusine was of a suitable age, Glœðir's retirement came early, both she-wolves joining Sólver as pupsitters in an attempt to manage the influx of puppies.

Gæfa and Herja's hunting party had been split in two, becoming Odensjakt and the Valkyrja. Gæfa, Eldfríðr, and Hlífþrasa were all that comprised Odensjakt. The three she-wolves worked beautifully together. Gæfa and Eldfríðr's friendship had blossomed to officially become mates, and while that bond made it difficult to find suitable wolves for the party, Hlífþrasa fit in perfectly. On their own they were a force to be reckoned with, but with three doing the job of five it was inevitable that they could not work at their highest capacity.

Herja had taken the helm of the Valkyrja. Another all female party, they were able to make it complete. Þögn became stalker, Mist and Róta joined Sigrdrífa as chasers, and Herja rounded them off as finisher. Their dynamics were much more suitable than before, with Herja and Sigrdrífa becoming like big sisters to the younger three, but the fact remained that most of the wolves were young, inexperienced, and new to working together. Like the Einherjar, they faced the struggle of honing these skills at a difficult time of year.

And indeed it was difficult. They had grown accustomed to Ylfing's growth and success, with Ýrr growing distracted and overconfident. Her time with Aess discussing their pasts and futures, what they wanted versus where they are, had brought up almost a resentment in knowing she had not wanted to lead. This was never the life she had imagined for herself. She wanted Ylfing to succeed, but she never wanted the complete responsibility. She felt isolated by the role, somehow outside her own clan. She had given into that feeling, turning a blind eye to what she should have seen coming but instead accepting what she wanted to accept—that Ylfing was doing well, that it did not need her.

But Ýrr realized now she was only isolating herself. In losing Mjaðveig, and Mógils, and Kalda, she had felt each loss in layers. Not only did she lose them in her life, she lost everything they brought with them and represented. She lost their skills and expertise, their support and assistance, a friend and confidant. She lost the only other people who knew what Ylfing was, and who she was when she was just Ýrr, before she was chieftain. But what Ylfing will be is just as important. A day would come when no living wolf will have known her, but Ylfing would remain. And in the work that was done by those that came before them, those Ýrr had lost, there were wolves she had watched grow up whose abilities she could now rely on—Éldi, Ilmer, Lofnheiðr, Böðmóðr, Böðvildr. And if she only allowed herself to accept it, to share her burdens, there were wolves she could trust in to know what's best for Ylfing and to do what was best—Tulipa, Eir, Njóla. And while perhaps the hardest to accept, deep down she knew too that one did not need to live her experiences to support her, as Melusine had seen her through every difficult stage of her journey and never judged her, a pillar of guidance if only Ýrr would lean on her.

They needed her as much as she needed them. They all had something to offer each other, and it was that exchange that allowed them to live on. Right now, they did not need a chieftain who longed to lead, but they needed one who knew how to. They needed her knowledge and experience in bitter winters as they faced their toughest year together.

  The might of nature was always humbling, and all suffered equally in its wake. In the difficult hunting conditions, with parties ill equipped to handle it, prey was scarce, and that meant sometimes mouths went hungry. Winter weakened prey did not provide as much sustenance as healthy specimens, but a carcass that succumbed in its fight for survival often proved easier to find than the living. Illness spread, whether more prevalent in the environment or taking advantage of the weakened ranks was unknown, but regardless, Eir was kept busy. Coughs and flu were a regular occurrence, eating into herb stores that would be difficult to replenish until the season passed. Distemper brought panic, and Eir proved invaluable. It brought no losses, and Ýrr could not help but think of what disaster it would have wrought in the days before Ylfing had an herbalist.

  The survival of the pups took priority, and Ýrr would skip many meals before winter was done to keep as much food as possible in the mouths of others. It was her decisions that brought these puppies under her care, and she would not take any more food from the mouths of her hunters or scouts than necessary. She knew it was her responsibility to heal her own behavior so the consequences were not a burden to others. Ýrr resolved herself to not take in any more lives that would not benefit the clan, but was determined to see through giving these puppies a life.

In the end, they saw only one loss, the worst off from a litter in grave condition, and it was considered a miracle. While worse for wear, Ylfing came into spring in better condition than the devastating winter all those years ago, having learned from their mistakes and relying on each other. As the landscape thawed and prey returned, Ylfing too would recover, as it always did.