Ylfing Lore

Although the devastation of the land ceased, it would take time for it to fully heal. The earth was broken, packs damaged, prey populations devastated. Old hunting grounds were ripped apart by earthquakes or scorched by fire. Just as Ylfing had to adjust to the new landscape, so too did their prey, which meant they had to learn their new behavior. On one side, it seemed like a good thing that it was time for hunting parties to face changes when old knowledge no longer necessarily held true. But nothing could make up for experience.

Njóla's early search for new hunters proved prudent, but there was no way around the fact that shaking up their hunting parties would shake up their food supply. Many older members tried to hold off as long as they could, but hunting in winter was tiresome even for a young wolf, and if the new additions couldn't hunt then they could never gain experience. It was inevitable that they would have to struggle this year to be prepared for the next. But winter always brought unease, and Njóla could understand the particular anxiety it brought to a retired hunter who was used to that responsibility falling on them.

With Mjöll's final retirement and replacement by Glyrna, Úlfheðnar was essentially all new. Hafliði, having gained all his experience as a stalker through these unusual times, proved a great asset to them. However, despite their capability, he and Niði weren't considered reliable and level headed enough to lead the party, so Bileygr unexpectedly found himself as lead chaser and Forulfr. And though her pups had found new homes, Ash found hers with Úlfheðnar. Together they were able to hold their own and showed promise to return to their former glory.

The passing of Böðmóðr and Böðvildr was a heavy loss for Ylfing, but especially for the Einherjar. Like their rivals in Úlfheðnar, they soon faced the prospect of having all new members. Training a new stalker was always hard, and this proved true in Móheiðr's replacement of Sólbjört. Only Glórnir remained now as lead chaser and Forulfr, trying to pull the party together before he himself could retire. They struggled with just him and Skírlaug as chasers until eventually Sigrdrífa's son, Diúrgæirr, rounded them out. Esja at least was large and powerful and a suitable replacement for Þorri.

Odensjakt was entirely out of commission for some time while it healed and reconvened, further complicating their food stores. While she waited for her teammates to heal, Járnsaxa balanced her time between her litter and working with Hrímgarðr as a new chaser. At first Gæfa was entirely against the idea of new chasers, distraught over the loss of her mates. Járnsaxa remained understanding and level-headed, giving her time but knowing what needed to happen. But Gæfa only became harder, pricklier, completely closed off to her. Reykr had to become a sort of middle man between the two, wanting to support their relationships while also wanting what was best for the hunting party.

In their extended time spent in the herbalist's alcove, this meant they also shared their time with the mysterious Hjörtr. Járnsaxa's pups were immensely curious about the strange, large wolf, and it was a surprise to all when they proved unexpectedly tolerant and gentle towards them. With emotions high and a painful, boring recovery as his paws and muzzle healed, Reykr became a bit stir crazy and took to challenging the giant to tussles to get his strength back. It seemed Hjörtr felt the same way as the usually cool and quiet wolf entertained this. Reykr was extremely pleased to find he was, in fact, stronger than this massive wolf who it seemed was actually a gentle giant. They formed an unexpected brotherhood, with Hjörtr tolerating his harassment as patiently as they did Járnsaxa's pups, which gave the rest of Ylfing a glimpse into another side of this perceived monster.

Indeed, despite their size it proved to be that under all that fur was a thin and agile frame, lightweight for flight. This power without bulk meant that Hjörtr was fast, not strong. And when their wing was healed they could finally show the extent of their speed. However, the healing of their wing and the healing of the world meant Hjörtr and Ylfing had reached the end of their agreement. But the wolf with them now was not the same as the wolf that she had found, though they still made Njóla somewhat uneasy.

"Maybe it was fate. Like how the gods brought you and Ýrr together. Maybe you were meant to find them instead of Hlífþrasa," Reykr pleaded his case.

"We don't really know who they are," Njóla reminded patiently. "They still let us call them Hjörtr. We don't know anything about who they are, where they're from."

"We didn't, don't, know that about you, but you're still with us. As chieftain no less."

Though his words were casual and matter of fact, they felt like a bite to Njóla. She was embarrassed she had never thought of it that way. She knew first hand the unease she experienced as they questioned how much she was one of them. Was she doing the same thing?

"I can tell you that I think they're capable, and trustworthy, and harmless. But you don't have to just take my word for it, they've shown it in their actions. Sure, Hjörtr attacked you and didn't trust you while they were frightened and delirious, but isn't that fair? You didn't trust them either. But they've never caused any trouble. They've given honest answers, valuable information. And everyone's seen them fly now and know they would be a good asset, and Odensjakt is still down a chaser. We've been a burden on Ylfing, and we'll continue to be if we're down a member."

"Is Gæfa still your Forylgr? It may be my decision to let them stay, but it will be hers to let them join you."

"If Gæfa had her way at this point it would just be her and Reykr," Járnsaxa told her bluntly. "She'll get over it. Hrímgarðr and I are willing to work with Hjörtr."

Njóla looked at the she-wolf sympathetically. "I'm sorry for how things have gone recently. She's still healing, physically and emotionally."

"It's fine. He was always the favorite." Reykr gave her a half nudge, half nuzzle at the comment, but Járnsaxa sounded truly nonchalant. "When I joined Odensjakt I did so understanding I may never be fully welcome. I was okay with that. And while it was nice that it didn't entirely go that way, I'm still fine with it now. For her sake, for her happiness, I hope Gæfa comes around, but I don't need her to. I still have Reykr, and Hrímgarðr, and Svipul. I can take care of myself and I can defend the chasers to her."

"… Okay. Hjörtr stays," Njóla agreed. "We'll see how it goes."

To no real surprise, it went well. Despite Gæfa's partial blindness her nose was still strong and so was her will, and with Chandrakanta's approval she was eager to return to hunting. In fact, Odensjakt came back better than ever. They were streamlined and professional, even if they weren't as closely bonded as Úlfheðnar and Valkyrja. Their return was a blessing that kept Ylfing's stomachs full.

Like the Einherjar, the Valkyrja faced training a new stalker, Hlökk, Eir's daughter, and a new finisher, Reginleif. Though they maintained the core body of their chasers, the time for them to change would come soon enough. Sigrdrífa was ready to retire with Herja, but served as Forylgr in her place until that time would come.

But even with bellies kept full and Chandrakanta keeping illnesses under control, winter still brought loss. Sólver and Glœðir were first, expected but still hard. But even harder for Njóla was the loss of Eir. It felt like all she had done since becoming chieftain was say goodbye to wolves who had defined the pack, but the personal loss made it so much harder to know the right thing to say, or at least to get the words out.

"Eir was a dear friend to me. She took care of me in my times of weakness. She let me… be with total acceptance when I didn't know who I was. But this is not just my loss, it is all of Ylfing's. Eir changed the very essence of Ylfing. The skills she brought with her were of unparalleled value. You'd be hard pressed to find a wolf who did not spend time in her alcove. But she healed more than our bodies and our illnesses. She was a unifying force. She was someone you could trust and rely on. She was a level head and open heart and open ears. And her contributions to Ylfing do not leave with her. She has passed her skills to Chandrakanta to ensure Ylfing's continued health and longevity. She gave us Bileygr, a dedicated and dependable hunter and youngest Forulfr. And now little Hlökk, not quite so little, as wise as her mother and member of the honored Valkyrja. It heals my heart just a little to know that I can look at them and still see her. That long after even I am gone her legacy will remain."

For the first time in many years spring brought the pure cheer it was meant to. Mist had a litter she hoped would one day follow in her pawsteps. Glórnir was pleased to retire as a mentor to allow Böðný, Böðvildr's daughter, into her rightful place within the Einherjar. This seemed to finally leave all of Ylfing's hunting parties settled for the time being. Some retirements would need to be planned for, but nothing was pressing. Njóla would continue to keep what would be needed in mind, but she may not need to as their success continued to gain attention of other Ylfing wolves either alone or from other packs. One such wolf from the Snæviðr, Brísingr, was interested in joining them, and indeed showed himself to be an agile and adept chaser, but she could find no place for him within the newly filled hunting parties. He seemed truly good, and was quite popular among some of the she-wolves, and would have been a good asset, but the Valkyrja wanted to remain a sisterhood and so would not take him. The Einherjar were interested, but Glórnir could not in good faith choose him over Böðný.

"I suppose it's a good thing, right?" Njóla sighed. "We've been incomplete for so long, living with the stress of not having enough wolves to support ourselves. I wasn't sure the day would ever come, but it still feels bad to turn wolves away."

"It sounds like you've really turned things around quite nicely, as I knew you would," Vorias told her fondly, licking her cheek. "What about another hunting party?"

"It might be nice one day, but I don't think a single wolf makes for enough demand. Not to mention we're not the only ones getting old. The parties may be all right for now, but change is still coming. I know Gæfa is going to try her hardest, but she won't be Odensjakt's stalker forever. Svipul will replace Sigrdrífa, but Mist and Róta are looking possibly at only one more year as hunters themselves. And herbalists take time to train, Chandrakanta will need an apprentice sooner than later…"

Vorias pressed against her soothingly as the stress threatened to overtake her. "You've managed it so far. I know you'll continue to. The way you consider all these things is plenty proof to me that you're capable of doing the job. And you care. That's always important. That means something. The solutions have always come your way. I know you'll find them."

"Mom!" Niði barked, paws drumming on the ground of the cave as he ran inside.

"Only mom? What about dad?" Vorias pouted and Niði clumsily nuzzled him as he skidded to a stop.

"Sorry, I've just been wanting to talk to her about something important."

"And what is that?" Njóla asked curiously. She was almost amused as she watched her son give his most serious expression possible.

"I want to be a scout."

"I thought you had changed your mind about scouting and leading. I thought you liked the Úlfheðnar. Is this about not being chosen as Forulfr or lead chaser?"

After his failed attempt to prove his worth to be chieftain, Njóla had been surprised by the maturity he showed in accepting it would not be part of his future. She had been worried about bitterness or disappointment, but instead he grew from the experience and had dedicated himself to hunting and supporting Ylfing.

"I don't want to lead anymore, but I still don't want to be a hunter. I mean, sure, Úlfheðnar is fine. Obviously I like that I get to work with Bileygr, and Hafliði is fun even if he annoys me sometimes. And Bileygr is the fastest and most reasonable so I understand him being picked. I would pick him too. And I understand feeding Ylfing and keeping the hunting parties up and running has been your priority, but we're still down a scout. And things are different now. If Brísingr wants to hunt, let him have my place. I'm the best choice, the only choice for a second scout. After all, you taught me yourself, so I've learned from the best."

"I think you'd make a great scout," Vorias agreed cheerfully. "Wouldn't that be so sweet, him taking after both of us? I know you call him my twin, that he looks like me, and acts like me, is fast like me. But if he followed in your paws! Oh, I just think that sounds perfect."

Niði wagged his tail at his father's support, but tried to keep his serious expression. Njóla was a bit more uncertain. "I do think it's a lovely idea, but it's not that simple—"

"What's not simple? He becomes a chaser and I become a scout. It's what we both want, simple!" Niði interrupted in protest.

"As your mother, I would love to see you be a scout. And as chieftain, sure, you have the best foundation to become one. But I cannot just make you one because I happen to be both your mother and chieftain."

"But of course you can," Vorias insisted. "Why can't you?"

"Yeah, you literally can! Scouts report straight to you, it's your decision."

"Yes, scouts do, but you're not a scout. As a member of Úlfheðnar, the decisions for that party are Bileygr's," Njóla explained patiently.

"He'll let me do it," Niði answered quickly, beginning to buzz with excitement.

"Have you spoken to him about this?"

"No, but we're friends, he'll let me do it."

Njóla sighed softly. "That might be true. But would he make that decision against the best interest of Úlfheðnar because he's soft on you? Because as Chieftain I need him as Forulfr to act in his party's best interest, because if he doesn't, all of Ylfing will suffer. And are you sure you're not pursuing this because you're soft on Eygló?"

Niði fidgeted uncomfortably at this. "They'd be getting a good chaser, so I don't think it would be bad. And it would mean we're finally complete with two scouts. I always wanted to be one. It's not about her. It's not like we'd actually really work together."

Njóla still was not convinced, but Vorias gave her puppy eyes. "Look at him, he really wants this. Our boy a scout, it just feels right. He's been talking about it since he could talk."

She shook her head but smiled. "In the morning we can talk to Bileygr. That's as much as I can give right now."

Niði wiggled excitedly, all seriousness abandoned. "It'll be enough, I promise!"

As they had agreed, Njóla gathered Niði, Bileygr, Brísingr, and Eygló to discuss the proposed swap. "For this to happen, all parties have to agree," the chieftain said firmly, eyeing Niði to temper his excitement. "Bileygr, you will have to approve both sides of the change. Not just Niði leaving the party, but Brísingr taking his place. Equally so, Brísingr, you have a say in whether you want to join Úlfheðnar. And Eygló, as our current scout, I'm giving you a say because I will need you to train him."

"Whoever you wish to bring on as a scout I'll be happy to train," Eygló agreed easily.

"If I'm entirely honest? I kind of liked the idea of working with the Einherjar. Or at least Skírlaug. Doesn't she just have the prettiest eyes you've ever seen?" Brísingr mused. "But sure, I'd be honored if you'll have me."

All eyes went to Bileygr, who hesitated, his emotions playing out plainly on his face. "Okay," he finally said quietly. "Who am I to hold you back from your dream?"

"His Forulfr," Njóla answered before Niði could celebrate.

"As Forulfr, Brísingr is a good chaser. I can't complain. He'll be a good fit, I'm sure. I think he and Hafliði will certainly get along just fine. Not that we won't, just…" Bileygr looked at Niði sadly. "We were a duo, but I guess not anymore."

"We're still a duo. We'll always be friends," Niði insisted earnestly, but it seemed to only make Bileygr sadder.

"Yeah… And as your friend, I can't keep you from your dream either."

Scouting brought a change to Niði that no one expected, not even his mother. He took it much more seriously than he ever did hunting, perhaps not able to rely on the same natural affinity he had for chasing, or perhaps wanting to prove the right decision had been made. He was still very much the Niði she knew and loved, but Njóla could see the wolves of Ylfing, even Eygló, beginning to see him differently.

Before the year was over two new additions, Göndul from the Snæviðr and Sanngriðr from the Frostmýrr, would complete the new Valkyrja. From deeper into the forest in the Eikviðr they also brought in a pup they named Jörð, who happened to be Hlökk's half-sister, to be raised up as a stalker for Odensjakt. Solutions were found, as Vorias had assured, and for the first time in a long time Ylfing felt complete.

The stress around their hunting parties proved worth it when they had the easiest winter in years, and they only had one trip to the coast for Sigrdrífa's passing. Though successful, Ylfing's hunting parties were reporting strange prey, and Njóla feared the worst, that the land would tear itself apart again, but Hjörtr insisted this was as mysterious to them as it was the rest of Ylfing. Still, Njóla spent enough time worrying about it that Vorias insisted she had made herself sick. Spending a few days with Chandrakanta really made her feel her age, and she found it especially hard on her leg to return to patrolling in the cold after being warm and cozy. It didn't help that to make up for lost time she pushed herself farther, covering more ground to make sure she knew what was going on after her absence. Nearing the tree line with mountains in sight, Njóla was ready to head back to the dens when she heard a low, mournful howl that made her hesitate.

As she looked around she saw the shape of a wolf forming within the sparse trees, coming closer. Slow at first, then faster. Njóla did not recognize her, nor did she look like she belonged in these lands. Some wolves traveled in and out of the trees, but she seemed like she belonged deeper within the forest. It was not a good sign when wolves unaccustomed to it traveled this far north, and the haunting howl only made her more uneasy.

"Who goes there?" Njóla barked as the wolf stopped in surprise, like she only noticed the chieftain for the first time. Suddenly, the brown she-wolf was bounding forward, tail wagging and purple eyes alight.

"Oh! You! Have you seen my mate? He's quite thickset, blue eyes and a black coat. You'd recognize him by the gray mask. Goes by the name of Lowen. We're not from around here, see, but he's gone missing and I just know—"

She stopped abruptly like she had run out of breath, shaking herself, and giving Njóla a chance to try to process the flurry of words.

"Right then. Sorry, sometimes I get ahead of myself. My name is Maeve. It's nice to meet you."

"I'm Njóla," she offered in return, before adding gently, confused, "Who is Lowen? Your mate? He's missing?"

Maeve looked sad and sat down heavily.

"Lowen is a member of my pack, and my mate. He went missing several days ago without a trace, and we've been looking for him ever since. We live up in the northern foothills. We call ourselves the Chaorainn Pack. Perhaps you've heard of us?"

"I can't say I have," Njóla told her honestly. Though she did travel to the mountains at times her experience in the lands were limited. There were many packs there and she did not know any of them well.

"I feel like I've been over every inch of this land," Maeve continued almost to herself as she looked off wistfully. "I haven't been able to find any sign, not even a faint scent. In all of my years as a scout I've never had this happen. Wolves don't just disappear..."

She was clearly deeply troubled, and while Njóla did not know the pain of losing a mate, she could understand. She would be distraught if Vorias disappeared without a trace.

"Is there any way I can help?"

Her eyes lit up and she sprung to her feet. "You'd be willing to help me, truly? I know you have no duty to do so, but if you are willing I won't say no."

"Of course," Njóla nodded, and she could see the hope it brought to Maeve.

"I'm sure we can find some way to repay you. Conall is a wise and kind leader, and always does his best to be fair. I know he would be in your debt. We all would."

Her voice faltered and Njóla assured her quickly, "Don't worry about debts or payments. If there's something within my power I can do to help, I'm happy to do it."

"You know this area well, do you not? Perhaps other wolves and their packs have seen or heard something of him. Any information, however small, would help. Someone is bound to know something."

Maeve seemed to be willing it to be true, desperation in her eyes. Njóla couldn't help but wonder if there was more she was not saying.

"I'll meet you back here. Good luck, Njóla, and thank you."

Njóla relayed the strange tale to Niði and Eygló and asked them to be on the lookout, but the results of their search only brought more questions than answers. Throughout the forests and mountains other packs were reporting missing wolves, trinkets that cause visions, unanswered howls, and the cries of puppies that, try as they might, they can't seem to find. Even Chandrakanta returned from foraging, concerned, with a similar experience as well as plants she had never seen before. Probably the strangest of tales was the wolf babbling about a pocket of mist that appeared one night and disrupted their hunt. Njóla was certain Niði had to have heard them wrong until a wolf told her about strange lights at dusk that disappeared when they tried to follow them. But the most worrisome was the tales of certain locations leaving wolves paralyzed by fear, as if by some unknown force. Njóla hoped Lowen had not encountered one alone. Everything they had learned was buzzing in her mind as she returned to where they had met.

"Njóla! You came back!"

Once again, she heard Maeve before she saw her. This time she was flanked by two wolves. One was a large gray male with a red mask and commanding presence. The gray female was smaller even than Maeve and carried the scent of herbs.

"I'd like to introduce you to Conall and Sirona. Conall is our leader, and Sirona is our herbalist. I asked them to join us. They've been helping search for Lowen and are just as worried as I am."

"It's good to put a face to the wolf that Maeve has told us about. We appreciate your help." Conall had a deep, but soft, voice. Up close Njóla could see his muzzle was scarred and whitened with age, but his eyes were sharp. Her memories flashed to Ýrr and she understood why his pack respected him, and thought Ylfing would as well.

"I fear Lowen is not the only problem we have to deal with, either. I have heard strange things of late, even before he went missing. I swear there are herbs and plants that I've come across that I don't recognize. At first I thought I was just crazy, but now..." Sirona chimed in looking troubled, unconsciously pawing at the dirt.

"You're not crazy, Sirona," Maeve said gently, licking the herbalist's ear comfortingly.

"My herbalist made a similar report, even out here," Njóla agreed. "My hunters as well have found strange animals. All through the forests my scouts and I have been told tales of a mist that mutes sound, and strange visions—howling wolves, crying puppies, a feeling of terror and sadness. They spoke of lights that disappeared when they looked at them, and caves in the distance they could not reach, no matter how far they walked. And… you were not the only pack to report missing members…"

The three wolves did not speak for a long moment. Njóla understood and mirrored Conall's troubled expression as he must have considered what this meant for his pack. She had worried Maeve would be upset, but she seemed confused, and Sirona was oddly thoughtful.

"Thank you for telling us this and helping our search." It was Conall who broke the silence. "Lowen's disappearance seems like it's just a small part of a bigger puzzle that this land is facing. I was hoping it would be something simple, but I should have known better. Life is never simple."

He shook out his fur and gently nudged Maeve's shoulder, pulling her out of her head. "Come, Maeve. We have done enough for today. You need to rest, and the pack is waiting on us."

"Conall, don't you think we should—" Maeve began to protest, but Sirona interjected firmly with a pointed look.

"He's right, Maeve. You need rest. Even if you think you don't, I'm starving and I have some pups to check in on. Eidheann will have my hide if I don't make sure her pups are exactly where they need to be in their development." Sirona snorted in amusement, and Maeve brightened.

"Oh yes! We mustn't keep them waiting, you're right."

Maeve turned to look at Njóla, tail wagging. "We'll see you soon, I hope?"

"Of course, this is bigger than one pack. I'm sorry I could not find Lowen, but we will keep looking."

"Give us some time to digest this, and speak with our pack. I believe Sirona will also want to consult our elders and see what they have to say," Conall said, looking at Njóla kindly. "Make sure you get some rest as well, Njóla. Farewell, friend." With that, Conall turned and trotted off back into the woods, the two she-wolves following in his wake. The chieftain couldn't shake the feeling that she would see these wolves again, and that something terrible was going to happen.

Ylfing lost two wolves before spring finally arrived, though to natural causes and not to the mysterious disappearances: Herja and Vorias. Njóla was right to believe something terrible was going to happen, but not in a way she expected and was prepared for. She was well aware she likely would not see the end of the year, and Vorias had been older than her, but losing him was earth shattering. There was something healing in Ylfing going to the coast and saying goodbye together, but this loss belonged only to her and Niði. But it brought Maeve's plight to mind as she now could truly understand it. At least she had answers. At least she got to say goodbye. The strangeness of the world was enough to make Njóla feel lost without feeling alone in it, and it felt like a good purpose, a good channeling of her grief to try to right it for someone else. She had been spending a lot more time below the tree line and had learned more about the packs and territories there. It wasn't long before she found a familiar herbal scent.

"Ah, you did remember us, Njóla. Things have only gotten worse." Sirona looked tired, her eyes drained and baggy.

The chieftain figured she probably didn't look much better, but she offered her sympathy still. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you on the way. Right now let's go back to my pack—there's someone who wants to speak with you."

She hurried off quickly without another word, with Njóla doing her best to follow. Her leg was getting worse in her age, and between the cold winter and extended travels it had been especially bad lately. The uneven terrain only made the journey harder. Rolling hills stretched in all directions as Sirona led her to an unfamiliar mountain range. Njóla faltered as the hills gave way to dense forest and began to slope steeply. On her best of days this would have been hard on her, and she never seemed to have good days anymore.

Sirona noticed her hesitation and slowed to match her place, aiding the limping chieftain. "We're not far now. We travel all around this area but we make our home at the top of this foothill. It gives us protection and we can see trouble coming before it ever sees us."

"Is trouble… common?" Njóla panted as she struggled to push on. "What's been happening?"

Sirona sighed and fell silent, like she was gathering her thoughts. Njóla didn't mind the lack of answer as she focused on the difficult climb.

"A few days ago Maeve left without a word to anyone. She's been searching for Lowen nonstop, but she always told someone where she was going. This time she slipped away unnoticed. I was able to track her as far as the edge of our territory, but then the trail became stale and I was forced to turn back."

Njóla didn't respond, taking a moment of relief as the slope leveled out, the scent of many wolves up ahead. Sirona stopped with the chieftain as she continued her story, her voice grave.

"When she didn't return, Conall decided to take a few wolves and go and find her. Neither Conall nor the other wolves have been seen since. Like Lowen, I think something must have happened. This time I think I have an idea of what it could be, though. Come—the wolf you're going to meet is one of our elders. He goes by the name of Quany."

As Sirona led Njóla into the den site old trees stretched high into the sky, giving good shelter but blocking much of the sun, making everything around dark and quiet. Dense brush covered the outside of the clearing and compounded with the trees to provide protection from the elements. Caves were dug out between the roots of the trees and heads popped out from them curiously. Njóla couldn't help but feel uneasy all alone with these strangers in a foreign land, but tried not to let it show.

Sirona brought her to the far end of the clearing to one of the largest trees, at the roots of which was a well made cave with heavy brush. Inside a pale, grizzled wolf appeared to be sleeping, but one gray eye opened as they approached to stare them down.

"Quany, I'm sorry to disturb you," Sirona greeted him, bowing her head respectfully. "This is Njóla, the one we spoke of at length before."

Njóla's pelt prickled uncertainly, unsure what to do. Did she follow these strange wolves, or did she uphold and represent Ylfing? This wolf clearly commanded respect from his pack, but he was not their lead, so he was not her equal. He certainly was not her elder. Njóla suspected he may not be older than her at all. She settled on a curt nod, which seemed to displease him.

"Well now. I suppose you're not a half bad looking wolf. Bit scrawny, maybe. Arrogant as well, looks like." Quany yawned and stood to stretch, repositioning himself outside the cave with a small grunt. "My bones hurt so I'm not moving. If that suits you, you may sit and hear what I have to say."

Njóla could certainly appreciate that sentiment, and while still on edge she gratefully took the chance to rest her injured leg. Quany looked at her intently.

"Sirona has explained to me what's been going on. You've had these strange encounters and seen these visions yourself, yes? You're not just believing what other wolves have told you?"

"Yes, myself and my trusted pack members. Strange lights, unusual sounds…"

"Good. All too often the young like to exaggerate things for attention. But I believe you, and I trust Sirona. She may have told you that I may know what's going on, but I cannot guarantee that I'm right. I can only tell you what I know from my own experience."

"I think you're right, Quany," Sirona replied and he barked out a laugh.

"Your belief in me is kind. But we won't know for certain until our friend here goes out and confirms it."

His eyes combed the clearing, making sure no one was eavesdropping.

"This story is no longer told to pups, but my grandfather told it to me. Too scary for pups these days, apparently," he sniffed indignantly, then continued on: "He spoke of a wolf from our pack long ago that fell into the trap of desperation which led her to do an awful thing. I will try and tell it objectively, but just know that this was a story that was told with disdain.

A young mother had two pups with a beloved mate. They were happy and healthy, and all seemed well. As time went on, something happened to them—just what I don't know, but they grew weak. The mother tried her best to care for them and give them all that she could, but they did not get better and she felt hopeless. Someone started to tell stories about the Faelcu…"

"Pardon?" Njóla blinked at the foreign word.

"The Faelcu," he repeated. "They're like us... But they're not. They try to trick us, you see. They're changelings. They'll take our puppies and switch them with their own, forcing unknowing parents to bring up their offspring in the mortal realm, while ours get lost in theirs. They use us and our resources so their children can thrive and have a mortal experience. Supposed to be good for them. Who knows what they do with ours."

Njóla felt queasy at the story, racking her brain for any similar story but coming up blank.

"This mother... she was desperate. Her puppies were getting weak. It seemed so obvious." Quany looked away, pausing to catch his breath. His ears were back like his tale was making him equally as uncomfortable. "This happens a lot, so I'm told, with Faelcu offspring. The changelings don't always thrive, and need special care. It's one of the telltale signs that your puppies have been replaced. That and a personality change, of course, but I'm sure you know as I do that when they're that tiny most puppies don't have much of a personality."

Njóla's mind slipped to Niði for a moment, always so full of life, but pressed instead, "What happened?"

"She grew maddened and more and more certain that the stories were true, that her puppies had been switched. Her mate disagreed, but she wouldn't hear of it. Nobody could understand why the puppies had grown so weak. She was adamant this was true. So one day…" He paused, taking a low breath. "She took them out to the wilderness, far away from the pack. She left them there, with an offering to the Faelcu, begging them to take them back and return her own puppies to her."

Njóla found herself shutting her eyes tightly. She asked, but she already knew, as much as she didn't want to, "Did it work?"

"I think we both know those puppies didn't come back to her. And when she returned, the changelings were gone too. All of them were gone."

The chieftain's heart wrenched as she tried to imagine herself in the mother's place. Quany's expression fell, clearly saddened by his own story.

"Her mate found out, and he turned his back on her. He refused to believe the stories of the Faelcu. She took this to be the reason, you see, the reason that they hadn't given her the puppies back. She felt they'd angered them, and in revenge the Faelcu made sure her puppies would be lost forever."

"That's horrible," Njóla said softly.

It was his turn to close his eyes as he concluded, "She couldn't come to terms with it. She was maddened, completely lost in her grief. She searched high and low for the puppies. She stopped eating, talking... existing. Nothing was more important than finding the puppies, and she searched high and low. She never stopped."

His expression turned grave. "None of her pack saw her again. They tried to find her, and some of them said they did, but that she was different. Changed. Not the same as before. Lost to them all."

"And you believe this to be true?"

Quany sighed and looked to Sirona. "Unfortunately, I have reason to believe it is true, at least in part. My grandfather was insistent that this was something that actually happened generations ago, and that he was descended from Cian. While it's true we elders tend to make things up for our own amusement to entertain the pups, he remained steadfast in his belief that the tale was true even when I was grown. I have no reason to believe that he was lying."

"… And you believe this is somehow part of what is happening?"

"From what you've told me, these visions that wolves seem to be experiencing tie too closely to the story for it to be a coincidence. What I don't know is how they are seeing these visions, or why. The task falls to you to figure it out."

Sirona looked thoughtful and Quany poked her shoulder with his nose. "Share your thoughts, Sirona. You are wise beyond your years. What is it?"

"I was just thinking... Wolves can't just be seeing visions on their own randomly. I know there are things we can't explain in this world, but there has to be something causing them. Like how certain herbs can cause hallucinations. Maybe that's it! These strange plants I've been seeing are not native to this land. Who knows what they could do to a wolf?"

Quany tilted his head thoughtfully and nodded as she spoke. "You could be right, young herbalist. You know more than any in the pack about plant life. The natural order of this world is cause and effect; things don't just happen, there is always an explanation."

"Something is causing these visions, and we have to find out what. Perhaps it is something as simple as a bad reaction to an herb!" Sirona was on her feet now, tail wagging and eyes bright with determination. "Njóla! Can you seek out any wolf that has had visions and find out where? There has to be some sort of clue wherever they encountered them. If you find anything, bring it back here. Just... be careful, all right?"

Njóla nodded. "I'll see what I can find out."

The chieftain was successful in finding a clue, but that proved to be the easy part. Indeed, a wolf had heard about the trinket being lost in the prairie, but he intended to be the one to find it. The journey itself would likely be too much for Njóla, especially if it was a race, and so she sent Eygló in her stead. She eventually returned with a small green object that glowed softly, emanating a dark energy.

Njóla didn't like having it, let alone traveling with it. The journey to Chaorainn's territory was difficult enough without the concern of what trouble this object might bring. She was glad to be rid of it, offering it to Quany and Sirona.

"That's so beautiful... What is it?" Sirona asked, unable to take her eyes off of the trinket.

"I know what it is," Quany interjected, stepping closer and looking closely at the object.

"What is it?" Njóla asked, but Quany was completely silent as he regarded the object. She waited patiently as the moment extended, believing him to be gathering his thoughts, when he lunged at her suddenly. Grabbing her by the scruff of her neck, he forced Njóla down. She growled and tried to pull back, but her injured hind leg could not support her weight, and after the long journey it quickly buckled underneath her.

He pushed her against the object, causing it to tingle suddenly, a warm—no, hot—flood rushing through her bones. Njóla felt like she was falling. Her vision faded, growing dark. Panic rose up fiercely inside her heart and mind.

Slowly, or at least it felt that way to Njóla, her sight seemed to be returning and she blinked a few times. Sirona and Quany were gone, and so were the ancient trees and dense brush. She hadn't a clue where she was, and yet it felt… familiar. It felt like home.

Njóla blinked again as she realized she was staring into a pair of gentle, kind eyes. Vorias. He leaned in, nuzzling her, and she melted with a bittersweet joy.

"Oh, Vorias, I've missed you so much…" Emotion choked her words, but as she became more aware of her surroundings she felt something... odd. Looking down, two puppies, warm and fat, were nursing on her contentedly. But their fur was not blue, and they had no sign of any Cnitharian heritage. Her fur was not blue.

The other wolf—for she realized this was not Vorias, as much as her mind was telling her this was her mate—nosed each puppy gently. A surface feeling of content and serenity warred with a deeper confusion and foreboding in her mind. Njóla's sight blurred and twisted, and suddenly it was darker in the cave and the other wolf was gone. The puppies were wailing and refusing to nurse as they attempted to waddle around on their poorly developed legs. They were no longer round and fluffy, and their weight hung on their skinny frames. What happened to my beautiful babies? Why weren't they thriving? She curled herself around them, attempting to keep them warm as best she could and encourage them to nurse. They continued to wail through the night, and she found herself crying out with them.

Suddenly, everything faded out again. A loud sound rushed through Njóla's ears and she closed her eyes, willing it all to go away. When the sound stopped she opened them again and was surprised but relieved to see Quany and Sirona again. Both wolves looked down at her in concern.

"What did you see?" Quany asked.

"I… I was… I think I was someone else. I thought I was myself at first. I saw my mate, but he's gone… But it wasn't him, my mind just told me it was my mate. It wasn't Vorias…" Njóla spoke increasingly softly, shuddering with emotion. She took a deep breath before continuing, "And I wasn't myself. The pups weren't my pups. I was living someone else's life. Everything was perfect and then it all fell apart. The pups…"

Njóla didn't say more as she battled her own feelings of loss with the ones implanted in her. Her head and her heart and her body ached. Quany was silent for a long time and Sirona looked too worried to speak.

"What you saw was a memory, an echo of the past," he said finally. "I've heard of these before... I wonder..."

He trailed off, lost in thought, and Njóla prompted, "A memory?"

"Fascinating," the elder murmured to himself, studying the trinket piece. "Leave this with me, if you wouldn't mind, Njóla. I think there will be more pieces to find. Take some rest now. Come, Sirona. I want you to investigate this with me."

Njóla was eager to be rid of it, and eager to be on her way, but knew she was in no condition to make the journey home. Her fur prickled with anxiety at the thought of resting there, but soon the exhaustion won out and she faded into dreamless blackness.

Njóla awoke to Quany and Sirona murmuring among themselves. She blinked blearily and as they came into focus and the trinket seemed to be gone. As previous events came back to her suddenly, Njóla heaved herself to her feet. At once, both wolves snapped around to face her. Sirona's face was full of smiles, seeming genuinely pleased to see her. Quany, however, was harder to make out, and after his attack Njóla was wary.

"We've been studying the trinket," Sirona explained, her tail wagging slowly. "Quany thinks there are more of them. This can't be the only one."

The thought made Njóla feel sick. "More?"

"Yes, Njóla, more," Quany replied with a pointed look, as if reading her reaction and expecting her to protest. "As you know, there's been more than one instance of these visions occurring, and it's unlikely they were all caused by one little trinket. This land is vast and home to many wolves; they can't all have come across this trinket where you found it."

His words made sense, even if she didn't like them. This trinket had already been found farther than she expected. For these lands to be affected, it couldn't be from this trinket. Quany let her mull over these thoughts for a moment before continuing.

"The wolves who have reported visions have also described them differently than the one you experienced. Some talk of a windy hillside, while others insist they were frantically digging and searching. The memory must be broken up into different pieces—four, to be exact. There are four other unique visions from yours, for five total. It will be up to you to find those other four."

"Four?" Njóla echoed, dismayed. "I don't know that I have that in me, but this is bigger than one wolf. I will seek the help of my pack to continue searching."

Quany regarded her cooly. "I have every faith in you, Njóla. Sirona and I are going to study this one further. Return to us when you have found the others."

It had grown late and Njóla was ready to be home, though she did not look forward to the journey. Still, the stress on her leg felt like a lighter burden than the search for the remaining trinkets. As much as she wanted them removed where they could not harm others, the day she saw another one would be too soon.

Once again enlisting the help of her scouts to search, Eygló was the first to return with another trinket she had to fight to take. Njóla had other things to think about, with Mjöll, Þorri, and Mist all passing that spring. Sólbjört's litter was one bright spot among continued loss. But the chieftain felt a strange sensation, like the winter was whispering to her, drawing her to the taiga. She returned to the trees again and again, until one day she found what appeared to be a lost item wrapped in leaves. She did not need to unwrap it to feel the energy inside and know what it was. Eygló would return from another scouting expedition with a story of a well hidden circle of pebbles and bones, where a trinket had been buried in the center under another stone, like someone had wanted it to remain buried forever. Finally, Niði brought the fourth and final trinket that he claimed he simply persuaded a cougar to hand over.

As Njóla prepared to bring the trinkets to the Chaorainn Pack she requested Eygló to come with her. She had mentioned Quany's attack and her unease to be there by herself, defenseless, and that was reason enough. But both she-wolves knew there was a deeper layer to it: Eygló would be the next chieftain. It was expected, the obvious choice. Njóla knew she would not see the end to this story, and so Eygló would need to know these wolves and know how to find them.

When they made it to the Chaorainn Pack's territory, it did not need to be said why they were there. Quany stepped forward first, his eyes firmly on the trinkets. There was no greeting or questioning of Eygló's presence, he only took the objects and laid them gingerly on the ground. Sirona gave Njóla a grateful look, but seemed worried as she let Quany inspect them.

Up to this moment the trinkets had emanated energy, and yet with them finally all together it seemed to fade. Njóla watched as Quany leaned down and pressed his nose to one of them. The elder's body stiffened and she wondered if he was experiencing a memory as she had.

Instead, Quany growled with frustration, "Nothing is happening."

"No memory? How is that possible?" The chieftain's voice was equal parts confusion and concern.

"No memory. No vision. Nothing."

Quany touched his nose to each trinket in turn, his impatience growing as he tried to summon the memory. "Something is wrong. They don't work."

Sirona approached slowly, carefully leaning down to inspect the trinkets while being mindful not to touch them. Njóla could understand if she was frightened of them, as she herself was not eager to experience their memories again. Quany looked deeply troubled, falling silent as he studied the pieces. Njóla looked uncertainly to Eygló until she was drawn back by Sirona's sigh.

"I think it's time for you to head home and rest. We've done enough for now, and have enough to think about. Come back later and we'll start fresh."

Njóla and Eygló returned home mostly in silence. The inert trinkets brought some sense of relief, but underneath that was a deeper sense of foreboding that it would not be that simple. That energy could not have simply went away, and she feared when and what it would unleash.

Njóla was equally as distracted when returning to the Chaorrain Pack as she'd been when they left. It was quickly growing dark and the chieftain was glad to have Eygló to aid her on the journey. She had just learned the she-wolf was pregnant with her grandpups. While she held on to hope to meet them, she did not think her frail body would allow it.

Suddenly, the scout growled, and Njóla backpedaled in surprise at a flash of red, her bad leg slipping on loose rocks. Eygló got in front of her defensively as she tried to get back to her feet, but Njóla looked past the large white wolf to an unexpected familiar face.

"Maeve?" she gasped.

"Njóla! Oh it's you, truly? Just the wolf I need!"

Recognizing the name from Njóla's reports, Eygló's fur mostly settled and she aided her chieftain to her feet.

"Where have you been?" Njóla continued in shock. "Your pack has been worried sick."

"Looking for Lowen, of course," she huffed. "I'm a big girl, I can look after myself."

Her eyes narrowed and Njóla was taken aback by her standoffish attitude. She had been so friendly before. But she didn't appear injured or distressed, even seeming a bit plump.

"Anyway, I'm fine. But I found him! I found Lowen!"

"Wait, what?" she looked to Eygló incredulously. "Where?"

"Somewhere close by, I'm sure of it. I heard him calling to me. I was tracking his voice when I ran into you. Didn't you hear it? Lowen! Lowen, can you hear me? Call out again!"

Maeve turned back to the woods, walking away from them as she continued calling for her mate. There was no reply. Njóla shared another, knowing look with Eygló. They had not been speaking, nor had they heard anything beyond the normal sounds of rustling brush and wind in the trees.

"Maeve… I don't think…" Njóla started gently, sympathetically, then hesitated. The she-wolf had not seemed herself, perhaps not in her right mind, and the chieftain worried how she would take the news. "Are you sure—"

She stopped abruptly again, this time because she noticed floating lights dancing between the trees at her periphery, quickly disappearing when she looked directly at them. Njóla noticed her fur rise unconsciously as she had an unshakeable sense of danger. She hardly dared to breathe, and it seemed the world around them agreed: the birds had gone quiet and the breeze had stilled. The sun had not yet completely fallen, and yet it seemed as though the forest had grown suddenly darker. Maeve seemed oblivious, still calling for Lowen, until she finally turned back to the she-wolves.

"Well, he was here," she mumbled. "You do believe me, don't you?"

"Maeve…" Njóla began very gently, her heart breaking for the other wolf, but Maeve just narrowed her eyes again.

"Save it, Njóla. We have to stay positive right now. I know he was here. I heard him."

Suddenly, she gasped. "Maybe he's hurt! Oh no... My poor Lowen! We need to tell Sirona! She'll know what to do!"

She dashed away in the direction of the foothills and Njóla hobbled after her, gesturing for Eygló to go on ahead and tail her more closely. Something was very, very wrong, and Maeve seemed to be tied to it, or it to her. The foreboding energy, the lights, sounds only Maeve could hear, nothing of the sort had occurred on their journey up to that point. It seemed like she must be having a vision,  but she seemed lucid and Njóla knew the trinkets were safe with the Chaorrain Pack. So what in the world was happening?

Eygló stayed by her chieftain's side when it became clear that Maeve was going home. By the time they scaled the climb and made it to the clearing Sirona was inspecting the she-wolf closely.

"You're not hurt are you? Have you eaten? You know you have to keep your strength up—"

Maeve gave the herbalist a sharp look as her eyes flicked to Njóla and Eygló upon their arrival. Sirona clamped her jaws shut sheepishly as she followed her gaze to them.

"Strength up for what?" Njóla inquired with genuine concern, but Maeve turned her sharp eyes to the chieftain.

"It doesn't matter. It's not Sirona's business to share." She turned back to Sirona, clearly not willing to share anything else. She changed the subject: "I've found him, Sirona. Lowen!"

The herbalist's eyes went wide. "You've seen him? Where is he?"

Njóla bit her tongue as Maeve corrected, "I haven't seen him. I've been searching for him for a few days now, and then suddenly I heard him. He was calling to me! I tried to follow his voice but kept getting lost. That's when I bumped into Njóla. They convinced me to come back and find you after Lowen stopped calling to me. He could be hurt and need our help! You'll come, won't you Sirona?"

Maeve looked at her pleadingly and Sirona seemed troubled, but nodded.

"Of course I will. But first, I'm making you rest for a bit."

"I think that's a good idea," Njóla spoke up carefully, desperately sending Sirona a look that she did not catch, preoccupied with Maeve.

"Oh, not you as well, Njóla," Maeve grumbled, shooting her an irritated look before turning back to Sirona. "But Lowen—"

"Would understand and wouldn't want you pushing yourself." Sirona's voice left no room for negotiation.

Maeve walked away with a huff, mumbling about not needing a babysitter. Njóla felt some knots in her stomach release knowing the she-wolf was home safe, but couldn't completely shake the off feeling. Sirona watched her leave until she was out of sight, turning then to the chieftain, relieved.

"Thank you for finding her and bringing her back, Njóla. She may not want to admit it, but I know she's grateful to be home. She needs to rest—I'm sure she hasn't slept." Sirona sighs, her expression turning more questioning. "Now… what's this about hearing Lowen?"

"Eygló and I were on our way here already when we found her, but Sirona… we never heard anything. No voices, at least. Nothing out of ordinary for the forest." Njóla looked to the scout for support, who nodded.

"I heard her coming, but no one was calling to her. And then there was nothing. The forest fell completely silent."

"I saw the lights again," Njóla added. "And when they disappeared, darkness seemed to engulf everything."

"So you saw those lights again, and it seemed as though darkness threatened to swallow the land…" Sirona paused in thought a moment before nodding towards Quany's den. "He wanted to see both of us when you returned. Let's hurry, I don't like any of this."

Njóla could certainly agree with her there. She was glad that Maeve had returned, but that was as far as any positive feelings around the scenario could extend. Something was still clearly off with the she-wolf, and only time would tell if being back with those who love her would heal her mind and heart. But there was still the question of the land, and if what Quany had to say had anything to do with the trinkets, which it seemed unlikely that it wouldn't, then Njóla had a feeling she wasn't going to like it one bit.

The elder was sitting outside his den, pushing the trinkets around with a long claw. He didn't notice their approach, startling for a second before composing himself when Sirona cleared her throat.

"Ah Njóla, I didn't scare you off with Faelcu tales, I see." He looked amused at his own joke. "And your friend is joining us again."

"Eygló. She will lead when my time is up." It was the first time the sentiment had been spoken out loud, but the elder didn't seem to be listening. He tapped a claw by the trinkets.

"Come look at this. They each seem to have their own shape, and if I squint it looks like they could almost go together somehow. A puzzle, if you will. But I've been staring at them so long my head is all fuzzy, and I can't make sense of it anymore," he said with a sigh.

The chieftain was reluctant to touch them, but indeed no memories were triggered. She could see some symmetry to the pieces, pushing and twisting them around until they fit together with a small snick. Njóla stepped back in surprise when the finished form began to glow softly. Eygló echoed her caution while Quany and Sirona leaned in, entranced.

"I'm not sure what this is. It looks like some sort of old symbol. It's like the pieces are knotted together. Sirona?"

"I've never seen it either. What does it mean? Do you think it's dangerous?"

"It doesn't seem to be, but—"

While the two wolves spoke between themselves, Njóla shared a look of unease with Eygló and could tell they had the same thought. While not entirely similar, the symbol reminded her of the valknut, and she wondered if it too may be connected to binding and death. Given the dark energy the pieces had possessed, this was a concerning thought indeed. Before she could share it, a new voice interrupted.

"You took them."

All four heads snapped up as a ghostly, misty shape took form. Sirona's hackles raised and she snarled, while Quany grumbled low in his throat. Eygló moved slowly in front of Njóla, her eyes locked on the figure: a strange, leggy wolf with a smooth appearance, almost too perfect. Her glowing green eyes seemed to stare deep into her soul and Njóla found herself unable to look away.

"Now you will return them to me."

She began to approach, her movements like she was gliding, her body somewhat transparent. Her eyes fixed on the trinkets, which thrummed with energy.

Quany stepped forward with Eygló, as if instinctively posturing to protect the smaller she-wolves. He muttered under his breath, "Bronagh... yes... the mother from the stories.."

"Bronagh?" Njóla echoed, but he didn't respond. How could that be?

Quany locked eyes with the creature, but she did not seem the least bit fazed or intimidated. She regarded him instead as though he were simply insignificant.

"You won't stop me, Cian…"

Quany glared at her with undisguised malice.

"I'm not your mate, spirit," he growled. "Stay back. I won't warn you again."

Even if this creature, this Bronagh was not impressed, Njóla was surprised by this side of the sour old wolf. He must have been formidable in his younger years.

Bronagh tilted her head. She seemed amused by Quany's display of aggression, clearly believing he had no chance against her.

Sirona slunk slowly closer to Njóla, her voice a harsh whisper, "The trinkets... Look... They're practically glowing…"

They were glowing, reacting strongly to Bronagh's presence. To Njóla's surprise, the twisted knot was vibrating fiercely, causing a loud humming. Dark energy glowed from the piece like a billow of thin, black smoke.

She hesitated, unwilling, before resigning herself to touch it. What felt like a thunderclap cracked through her body, electricity fizzing through her muscles, veins, and fur. Everything faded to black. Everyone, everything, was gone. In its place was chaos. Voices spoke out all at once: muttering, screaming, shrill howls, faint whispers. Scenes shot past her vision, as impossible to make out as the words. Njóla thought she was screaming—for what? For who?—but could not hear herself. She felt strangled, swallowed by the overwhelming onslaught of information. Gradually, the stream began to slow and she could make things out. Still too fast, but familiar, the previous memory began to play out again. She blinked—or closed her eyes? How long had it been?—and the memory changed, slower this time. The puppies were crying at her side again, and she urged them to nurse. After only a few moments they refuse to continue, returning to their crying.

Please… nurse!

The male wolf was back now, looking tired and uncertain. Another wolf entered, offering herbs for the puppies and for her to eat to increase her milk. They were bitter, but she ate them, eager to try anything to help her precious little ones.

She closed her eyes again, and with a loud whoosh she found herself in a different setting. Heat radiated down from the sun onto her back. Gods, it felt glorious. Inside the den, faint cries interrupted her reprieve. I'm so tired, just so tired…

She awoke suddenly to the gentle nudging from another wolf's nose, the one who had brought the herbs. She was standing over her, muttering about Faelcu this, changeling that, and didn't she think this was possible? I don't know! Doesn't she see that I need some rest?

Another whoosh and her eyes opened—when had they closed? She was back in the den with the mewling puppies, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. They were weak, but it felt like more than that. They seemed… different. The words of Faelcu and changelings swirled around her mind and she closed her eyes to try to shut out the thoughts.

She lurched violently into the next vision, blinking up at the night sky, and then down at the oh so thin puppies nestled in a thicket of long grass. No, not puppies, changelings, ready to be returned to the Faelcu.

She howled to summon the Faelcu for the trade, but the scene changed as the sound echoed around her. She was filled by panic and grief at the sight of the empty thicket. She searched frantically for her puppies that should have been returned to her, howling to the Faelcu until her voice grew hoarse.

A wolf approached quickly, his scent familiar, comforting, but not enough to subdue her distress. When she looked at him his face was full of horror.

"What have you done?"

She closed her eyes and the vision ended abruptly. Njóla was jolted back to herself, recognizing Sirona watching over her closely, with Eygló's bulk blocking the sight beyond her. Her head was still swimming, disoriented, and it took a moment to rectify in her own mind just who she was and what was happening. Quany's growl at the spirit snapped her quickly back to reality and she scrambled to her paws.

"Bronagh! They aren't here. Your puppies aren't here! Leave this place in peace. You won't find them!"

Bronagh's demeanor changed almost instantly at Quany's words, and her energy became darker, almost sinister.

"Traitor!" she howled. Snarling, she leaped at Quany, aiming for his throat.

Njóla instinctively moved to help, but Eygló stopped her. "This is not our fight, and it certainly is not yours."

"But he'll—"

"It is my duty to protect you, and you are not fit to fight. Nor am I keen to risk the lives of my pups before than can begin."

In the time of their brief argument, Sirona launched herself to shove Quany out of the way, but instead the spirit made contact with them both. Sirona emits a strange sound and seemed to stop breathing. She collapsed, eyes bulging, gasping and clawing at the ground as she struggled to get air. Quany stumbled towards her, shaking his head and pawing his muzzle, looking dazed but unharmed.

"Sirona!" Njóla cried, rushing to her side. Quany put a heavy paw behind her head to keep her still as she continued to struggle.

"Her jaw! Get her jaw open!"

Njóla blinked at him in panicked confusion, and with a growl of irritation he took hold of the loose skin below her jowls and began to tug. As gently as she could, she put the top of Sirona's muzzle in her mouth and gave a firm tug. Again and again they pulled in unison until her jaw released with a pop. Sirona desperately sucked in air, trembling.

"Sirona, you're all right. Just concentrate on breathing. Take easy, slow breaths. Don't try to move just yet. There you go," Quany encouraged her, and the frightened look in her eyes slowly faded.

"Are you all right?" Njóla asked Quany. Crisis averted, she looked the elder over. Sirona may have taken the brunt of it, but Bronagh had gotten him too.

"I'll be fine. I've had worse from pups."

Njóla wasn't convinced and the joke fell flat. He refocused on Sirona, licking her ear comfortingly, before looking around the now empty area.

"Where did she go? And where's that blasted trinket?"

Not only had Bronagh disappeared, but the trinket was now missing as well. In their concern for Sirona, none of them had noticed. Did she take the trinket? The thought worried the chieftain. It was clearly powerful, and if it was in her paws…

"Where would she go?"

"No idea, but it can't be good. That trinket seems to be a part of her and any wolf with eyes can see that it's powerful." Quany looked at her in earnest. "We have to find her, Njóla. Well, you have to—I don't have the strength to go on a long trek, and Sirona can barely sit up."

Nor do I, the chieftain thought.

The herbalist had managed to get upright, but was leaning heavily on Quany. She looked exhausted.

"I'd focus on the caves," Sirona said with a rasp that made Njóla's heart ache with sympathy. "She... she's a spirit. She won't be out in plain sight. She will keep to the shadows and stay as secluded as she can. You know, like all of the stories Quany tells to scare the pups away from the dark caves."

A light smile tugged at Sirona's muzzle and Njóla looked at Quany expectantly. "Is that so?

Quany huffed and rolled his eyes. "Very funny. But she does have a point," he admitted. "Caves are a good bet. Search all of the ones you can find, no matter how big or how small. She's out there, and we're going to track her down if it's the last thing we do."

But it would not be the last thing Njóla did. As she suspected, she would not see the end of this story, nor the birth of her grandpups. She had pushed her body to the limit, beyond its limit in her attempt to solve this mystery and bring safety and peace to her people. And while there was always anxiety in the unknown, she trusted in Eygló to raise them well and to protect Ylfing at all costs. Better, Njóla believed, than she could do herself. With a strong heart and sound body, Njóla knew Eygló  could find and defeat Bronagh. She would bring peace. And so Njóla was able to find her own, eager to be reunited with Vorias and hoping the same would come true for Maeve and Lowen.

When Eygló first donned the pelt it felt natural, like she was finally able to step up in the way she was meant to. She felt ready for it in a way she had only believed she had been when she first completed the trial of the bear. She could see now what her mother saw and was grateful for her decision, to give her the chance to live a life among her people, to truly understand what they wanted, what they needed. And she was grateful too for the chance to serve Njóla. She had behaved in ways and taken actions as chieftain that Eygló could not have seen for herself, nor for Ýrr. Yet they had been good decisions. Not just soft of heart, but beneficial to the pack. And so she was honored for her first duty as chieftain to be wishing her farewell.

"Though her reign may not have been long, no one can contest how much she accomplished, all she saw us through. And indeed what it lacked in time it made up for in hardships. When nothing was certain and loss felt ever present, she banded us together to weather the storm. While we worried about the now, she was always thinking ten steps ahead, preparing for every possible future and easing that transition for us. But within all that she never lost sight of who she was and always strove to do good whenever and wherever she could. As my mother, Ýrr, had said in choosing her for our next chieftain, Njóla overcame insurmountable odds, faced every obstacle head on, and rose to the occasion. This defined her time as chieftain, and Ylfing is better for it. I will be a better leader for it."

Eygló knew how important this business with the trinkets had been to Njóla, and had promised to see it through, but it was pushed to the back of her mind as she adjusted to her new role—or roles. Gæfa passed not long after Njóla—though the previous chieftain had already prepared Ylfing for that with Jörð—followed by Þögn. But Eygló did need to welcome a newcomer, Rjúpa, to take up her previous role as a scout and aid Niði in the search for the cave, for she was much too pregnant to do it herself.

When she recovered from welcoming her three little pups she journeyed with Rjúpa to explore a cave she had found. When they entered the final chamber the energy was unmistakeable, so heavy it made her chest hurt. It held a green preternatural glow, with a circle of carved stones and a singular pillar of rocks placed right in the middle. Skulls lay atop them—a pair—and presented quite an eerie display. Without a doubt, Eygló was certain this was the right place.

After she shared the news with the Chaorrain Pack, they made plans to meet and explore the cave together. When she next returned to their territory Eygló could hear loud arguing ahead. As she broke into the clearing she could see Maeve pacing back and forth in front of Sirona, angrily snapping at her. Sirona was the picture of calm, but her eyes were drawn and her shoulders slightly hunched, exhausted.

"I must go! You aren't leaving here without me, Sirona!"

Eygló hung back, uninterested in their dispute, and intended to find Quany, but her presence was quickly noticed. Maeve whipped around to look at her, emboldened.

"Sirona told me you're going to find out what happened to Lowen. I have to go with you!"

Sirona locked eyes with the chieftain from behind Maeve, silently pleading with her to disagree. Eygló tilted her head, her expression unreadable as she thought. Trading places, she would have wanted to know, and so believed she had a right to know what happened. But that was not the same as needing to go. Gods willing, this was not a death sentence, and they could relay to her what they found. More than that, no right to know was cause enough to place someone unfit in a situation that could lead to battle. Watching Maeve continue to pace, Eygló noticed she walked heavily and unsteadily. After experiencing it so recently herself, the chieftain had an unshakable suspicion that she was pregnant.

"No," she eventually told them simply. "We can make no guarantees on what we'll find. There's no point putting yourself at risk."

"If you think I'm not going to come, Eygló, you're crazy. You can't stop me. I have to find him." Maeve turned away from her and Sirona looked at the she-wolf sadly, seeming oddly conflicted.

"Promise me, Maeve. Whatever happens out there... don't do anything reckless. I've already lost my son. I can't lose you, too," she choked out.

Eygló quirked her head again. Njóla had never told her this missing wolf was Sirona's son.

Maeve's face crumpled at the words. "Oh, Sirona... I'll be careful, I promise. I don't want to lose you, either." She nuzzled the herbalist, shooting Eygló a sharp look out of the corner of her eye, but the chieftain wasn't miffed about not being in her good graces. If anything, she returned the irritation, knowing it would fall on her to protect the she-wolf at her insistence to go.

Sirona began to speak when Quany emerged impatiently from the trees. "If you're finished arguing, we'd best get a move on."

Eygló led them to the cave, and the air once again grew still and silent, only disrupted by the soft breathes of her companions. Nothing was visible within the dark mouth of the cave, but she felt the familiar sinister presence making her pelt prickle.

"Ah, Eygló…"

She turned to look at the other wolves, expecting it to have come from one of them, but they too were looking around for the source of the voice.

"Mother is here, just a few steps my love…"

"Conall? Is that you?" Sirona called out, and Eygló looked at her in surprise. How could she think it was Conall? Eygló was not fooled. The voice was not Ýrr's, it was clearly Bronagh.

"Lowen, at last! I knew you'd come back!" Maeve moved toward the cave, but Quany blocked her.

"Don't move, Maeve," he growled, and she blinked up at him in confusion.

"Both of you, close your ears! It's not them!" Quany insists, and they flattened their ears against their skulls.

"But Quany, don't you hear him? Lowen is calling for my help!" Maeve cried out pitifully.

"Lowen? That wasn't Lowen's voice... It was Conall's..." Sirona murmured.

"It was neither!" Quany snarled. "Don't you see? She's trying to trick you!"

Eygló tried to listen to them, but the whispering continued and she flattened her own ears. Quany turned to her, his voice commanding but laced with fear.

"Who do you hear, Eygló?"

"She's claiming she's my mother, but… it's Bronagh."

Quany's eyes widened. "That's it... that's what's happening to the wolves! She's luring them in there thinking they're her pups!"

Maeve and Sirona look stunned, then Maeve's face crumpled. "Then that... that means Lowen isn't here…"

"Neither is Conall," Sirona's voice cracked, and her cool exterior faltered. "My love..."

Eygló felt pity for the she-wolves. It was bittersweet to think of Ýrr at this time in her life when she wished her mother could see where she was, who she was, meet her grandpups, but she had long ago said farewell. But she had seen firsthand the impact that the loss of her father had on her mother, or Vorias for Njóla, and Gæfa and her mates. She and Niði were only just beginning their lives together. What a devastating thought that was to have to come to terms with that loss at a moment like this.

But another thought lingered in her mind. "Do you not hear her, Quany?"

Quany gave her a sad smile and Eygló instantly understood they were in the same situation. "The voice she's trying to use on me has long since been dead. It has no hold over me anymore—"

She watched as his eyes darted to a place behind her and she whipped around to see the tail end of floating lights.

"Did you see that, Eygló? Those lights?"

Before she could respond, Sirona gasped. "Those lights! Are they the same ones as before, Eygló? With Maeve?"

"I think so."

"Maeve heard Lowen calling to her, and those lights were around then, too. Now they're here again but we're all hearing voices? That can't be a coincidence." Quany narrowed his eyes, as if searching for the lights. "Is that how she's doing this? Using the lights to lure wolves in?"

"It must be," Sirona reasoned. "A wolf wouldn't follow a spirit. But they'd certainly follow the voice of a loved one calling out to them for help."

"That doesn't answer the question of where the wolves are though!" Maeve growled and stalked up to the cave entrance.

"Wait!" Eygló snapped, trotting after her.

"Bronagh!" Maeve's challenge was full of grief for her lost mate and Eygló's irritation softened a bit. "You give Lowen back! He has nothing to give you!"

The darkness in the mouth of the cave seemed to move, and the misty form of Bronagh materialized.

"They are here... Yes, I know they are..."

"What do you mean they're here?" Maeve snarled. "Do you have Lowen locked up in there?"

"Give them back. I gave you yours."

Maeve let out a frustrated noise and began tearing at the ground. Sirona hurried to her side and coaxed her back a few feet, anxious to not let her get too close to the spirit.

"She won't stop until she has her puppies," Quany stated, shaking his head. "But we can't give them to her. We don't have them either."

Sirona opened her muzzle to speak, but then shut it again, as if hesitant to voice her thoughts.

"What is it, Sirona?" Eygló prompted.

"We don't have her puppies... but what if we can trick her into thinking others are?" Her eyes were pleading. "Maybe... we give her two other puppies. Living ones. She's desperate enough that it could work."

All the wolves were quiet for a long moment. Eygló nodded slowly, then more resolute. "We have no choice."

"It's not what I want to do.. but I don't see that we have another choice," she agreed.

"We can't do that to a mother," Maeve said quietly, her eyes sharp. "Those puppies would be gone forever."

Sirona shook her head. "We don't know that. She wouldn't risk killing her puppies, so it doesn't make sense that she would kill the wolves she's tricked. They have to be going somewhere don't they?"

Quany looked thoughtful as he considered the proposal. "The Faelcu have their world, and we have ours... but Bronagh is not of either world. It's like she's suspended between both."

"So you think they are in the Faelcu's world?" Eygló asked, but Quany shook his head.

"Mortal wolves can't access the spiritual plane, and they also can't go to the Faelcu realm unless taken there by the Faelcu. So it stands to reason that if the wolves are just up and disappearing, they must be trapped between them somehow."

Maeve perked up at this comment. "So then they aren't dead? They can be rescued?"

He sighed deeply. "I—"

"I know you're there. Come back to me…" Bronagh's voice echoed from the cave, refocusing their attention.

"If we don't stop her, more wolves will be lost."

Quany sighed again. "Eygló is right. We can't focus on what ifs right now—we need to stop her from taking more wolves and destroying more families."

Maeve moaned softly and sunk to the ground in despair. Sirona nuzzled her gently in an attempt to comfort her.

"We'll find them, Maeve. One day we'll find them. You must trust me—I won't give up on either of them, and neither should you." Her words were more than just an empty comfort. It was clear to Eygló that she meant them, believed in them. She was not as sure, but she respected the herbalist's determination.

Quany caught the chieftain's eye. "I know this is a difficult ask, Eygló. But our pack is small, and we need to give her two puppies in order to trick her for the good of all wolves and this land. Would you be willing to give her two? They could be from your pack, or maybe you could trade for some from another pack... You'll never see them again, but I don't doubt she would care for them as her own."

"I—" Eygló's voice cracked when she tried to speak aloud the decision she had already made, but the thought of carrying it out brought up a rush of emotion. "I will give her my own."

Quany's expression softened and Maeve looked at her with equal parts horror and sympathy. The two she-wolves shared a long look before Eygló cleared her throat and nodded, willing her paws to take her home and for her heart to accept what needed to be done.

Eygló could not look Niði in the eyes as she told him what they encountered, what they planned to do. She stared unfocused just beyond him, but could still see the shock and horror play over his face.

"Don't I get a say in this? They're not just yours!"

Eygló grit her teeth and her voice was harsher than she had intended, struggling with her own emotion. "What would you have me do?"

Niði floundered for an answer. "Can't someone else…"

"Go into Húnskali then and bring me two puppies." Niði flattened his ears and shrunk back at her challenging tone. "Can you do that? Because I can't."

"I can't do this either…"

"I'm not going to decide for another mother what future her pups have or don't. This is the only way that's fair."

"How is this fair?" Niði wailed. "My mother wouldn't have done this. She would have found another way—"

"There is no other way!" Frustrated, she clawed at the ground. "Do you think this does not hurt me too? Do you think I have not thought about this? No matter what, someone gets hurt. As much as it would have pained her, your mother would have understood the need to make sacrifices. She would not have let the world descend into chaos, let so many more wolves be lost, lose their love ones, all because she could not part with two pups that for what we know will be given a good life. She'll love them." Eygló's voice broke and she shook her head before continuing, "Njóla may not have been able to sacrifice you, or her grandpups, but she would not have had to because someone would have stepped up for her. My mother would never allow such a thing. It'll always be the chieftain's duty to bear the burden. There was a time when you wanted to be chieftain. These are the kinds of choices you have to make."

"How are we supposed to choose?"

Eygló swallowed hard, nudging one pale pup aside from the other two, the only one that had Cnitharian tendrils from his father's heritage. "This has to work… this has to be worth it… I can't risk her not accepting them, and he doesn't look like he could be her puppy."

Niði pressed his muzzle into the pup, then pulled the other two to him and did the same. Eygló looked away, trying to get a handle on her emotions. "I need you with me on this, Niði," she murmured, her voice breaking.

"I want to go. To say goodbye." His voice was flat and she could feel a distance between them. She found herself wondering if it would ever close.

Each carrying a puppy, they returned to the cave in silence. Quany came with them as the drew near the mouth of the cave, setting the pups down and nudging them forward, while Sirona and Maeve remained a safe distance behind. Bronagh immediately focused on the puppies, her energy practically thrumming with happiness. Beside her paw, the trinket was shining.

"Oh, sweet ones, is that you? Come here, mother is here..."

At first, the pups were confused, looking between Eygló and the spirit as it tried to trick them. The chieftain forced herself to step back and a wisp caught the pups' attention before quickly disappearing. Suddenly, they seemed to recognize Bronagh, bounding forward, tails wagging.

"Mama? Mama!"

Eygló swallowed hard, unable to look as Bronagh nuzzled her puppies. Niði's jaw was set, his entire body rigid.

"My puppies! You have returned! Oh I knew it, I knew those Faelcu would have to give you back. Come sweetlings, let's go home."

Bronagh turned and, with the puppies following, disappeared into the dark cave. Just as suddenly the earth seemed to release its breath—the trees rustled in the wind, and bugs and small critters could be heard around them. But Eygló could not release hers. Time stretched and no one moved or spoke, but the menacing energy was gone.

Silently, Sirona walked past them into the cave, nosing something into the light. The trinket.

"Why is it still here?" Eygló's voice sounded far away to her own ears and she didn't think she spoke above a whisper.

Gently grabbing it in her teeth, Sirona brought the object to them, dropping it at her feet.

"I don't know. I would have thought she would have taken it with her…" Sirona trailed off as she inspected it. It was rather plain now, no longer glowing, no more palpable energy.

Quany regarded it thoughtfully. "The pieces of the knot were a physical manifestation of her memories... It was of this world even if she was not. It has no place except here on the mortal plane."

He turned it this way and that with a claw, as if looking for any sign that it was not just a normal trinket.

"Should we get rid of it?" Eygló was starting to pull herself out of it, needing to finish the job before she could lose herself.

"Bury it," Maeve said firmly, almost commanding, as she approached. "Bury it, so that her soul finds peace in this world and she can't hurt anyone else."

Before anyone could say anything she picked it up in her jaws and carried it a few feet into the cave, but they could still hear her.

"You took my Lowen. You took Conall. You hurt so many wolves... but it was all for your puppies. You just wanted your babies back." Her voice was near a whisper in the end, strained and full of grief.

"That doesn't excuse what you did. Take your peace, for now... I will not give up. We will find a way to get back the wolves you took. One day. And if we have to go through you to do it, so be it." The threat in her voice was undisguised, and without another word, she began to dig.

Eygló joined her, and so too did Quany and Sirona. Only Niði remained behind, the far away look in his eyes suggestion that he wasn't really with them. Soon they had made a deep hole in the ground and Maeve unceremoniously dropped the trinket in. Nodding in approval, she began kicking dirt back into the hole and the others joined her.

"Wait here, I'll be right back." Sirona loped off, returning with a cluster of yellow flowers. She gently set them on the mound of earth. "St. John's Wort. For peace and healing."

"Thoughtful," Eygló murmured as she thought, we'll all need that.

"Not so much thoughtful as a step to ensure she doesn't come back. Herbs hold great power. Whether you believe in such things or not, the gesture can't hurt."

Eygló nodded numbly as Maeve licked Sirona's ear.

"Thank you Sirona. Hopefully we never have to deal with this again. And thank you for all you've done, Eygló. Niði." Maeve looked between the two with gratitude. "At least for now, her search is over. I will not give up on Lowen. One day I'll see him again. But for now, my paws ache."

She sighed and Sirona rolled her eyes. "Gee, I wonder why. Come on Maeve, let's get you home," the herbalist said with a laugh, and the two she-wolves set off side by side.

Eygló felt a cold nose poke her shoulder and she hoped it was Niði, ready to make their own journey home, to whatever their future held, but it was Quany.

"Keep on your guard, Eygló. It may take some time for the effects of her search to wear off. Trust nothing, especially the lights." Despite his grave words, his expression brightened. "I'd best go after them or I'll be left behind. I don't move very fast anymore, you know."

He gave a husky laugh and nodded at the chieftain respectfully. "You are a good pup. You've done well to help us these past days. I've been around a while, I know a good wolf when I see it."

He stretched, as if preparing for the trek ahead. "Don't be a stranger to the Chaorainn Pack. Come visit when you can. I have a feeling there will be more than one little reason for you to seek us out again." He had a mischievous look in his eye, and Eygló thought he might be referring to Maeve's pups, but for the time being her mind was consumed with thoughts of her own.

As Quany padded off he shouted ahead, "Would you two wait? I'm pretty sure you're supposed to let the elders go first, you know."

Eygló watched them all disappear, casting her sight to the burial mound one last time before carefully brushing against Niði. He did not look at her, but he got to his feet and stumbled along to return home. Eygló wondered what this sacrifice would mean for them, when there had only so newly been a them. Could they recover alone, let alone together? She had Ylfing to be strong for, and they still had what remained of their little family. She wasn't sure that it would be enough.