Of course Sheauga was a strong swimmer. She would not have expected anything less from the coastal wolf. Still, as the other woman thought too, the idea of going out into icy waters like this surely did not appeal to the wolf. Wardruna's own capabilities equaled strong legs for swimming but quite slow. It was thankful enough, especially for the pack's sake, that a channel extended out to take the majority of that pressure off the table.

Tyr, Skǫrungr of Skjoldrheim. The name was short and yet everything else flowed beautifully and with a sense of power. Tyr, among her people, was the very essence of such power. He was a war god which passed law and justice. An old god. Wardruna wouldn't have dreamed to think that he was the god in fleshy make. After all, many of her pack already believed her likely insane by believing in Freya's divinity.

We meet properly, then. Her tail sways at her hackles. It was twice which their paths had crossed. Wardruna remembered neither. You would think she would remember a face as his. Yet the first she had been hunting down one of their pack's spies while Fiadh greeted him at the border and then second was the happening with the gods much more recently. Wardruna's memories of this were such a confusing haze, as much as dream visitors and purple snow.

Sindri. The name stabbed Wardruna in the rib like a case of bad trapped gas. She looked to the girl in the distance, who looked nothing like the aunt she remembered so fondly in her youth. Then her olive gaze cast between both Tyr and Maja. Thank you both for hosting us in your home. Wardruna had been raised well, to be respectable to those who were respectable to you. Still, a part of her was surprised she was met with such openness. She had thought that perhaps those of this island thought and spoke very ill of Ragnar in turn of where Northfall spoke so ill of Freya. Even so much so to have the new boy-king denounce the gods all together. Wardruna had not.