Morganna hadn't lasted long in the towering (sweltering) bamboo before the mushrooms seemed to cover more of her skin than fur. She could barely move without knocking the growths off, the glowing fluid ooze coated all four of her legs and trickled from open wounds across her face and from the folds of skin around her neck and where her limbs joined her body. She itched, and burned, and tired of her mother's herbal remedies. Finally, the older wolf caved to her daughters requests to go somewhere colder, and she trailed somewhere behind, letting the young explorer race forward with her ravens, her owl somewhere ahead, bringing word of her coming to the mountain. Her mother's opossum clung to her back, grumbling all the while, but even he had noticed the way the growths seemed to wither with the drop in temperature, the snow effectively freezing many of them off. Maybe she would just have to keep herself to the cold places (it wasn't like it wasn't in her blood).

"speech"

When the children aren't near, Víðarr finds himself feeling rather incomplete. It wasn't like he hadn't left home as a yearling, but then, his siblings had rarely been beyond arm's reach. His relationship with Sedna was delightfully uncomplicated, something Víðarr couldn't help but appreciate, too. She's smart, he respects her, he trusts her, all things that make her a welcome presence. Catching the scent of his daughter, the silhouette of her owl against the sky, is both surprising and intriguing. The viking king's eyebrows rise, and he carefully makes his way towards the source. A lope carries him, steps eating the ground as he closed the gap between them. Taking in the girl, reaching out to embrace her. Given the presence of the mushrooms, he would let Morganna come to him. "You have grown, gumman." Víðarr offers a broad grin, happy to see her. Though he had to wonder why, it wouldn't overshadow that warmth. "Are you cold? Hungry? Come," he'd usher Morganna inwards, where they could walk and talk. "Víðarr"