The Spirits had been calling to her. Their voices getting louder with each passing day. The whispers slowly increased in volume. Increased in the number of voices she heard. From the voices of unknown children to elders. They were calling. Little did she know her time on this plane was nearing an end. The Battle hardened Priestess had been so, so tired with each passing day. All the fights she had fought. All the places she had been. The wolves she had met over the course of her life. She had no biological children of her own. But there was one she had adopted a long time ago. He had gone on his own at some point, and she hadn't seen him since. For all she knew, he could be dead...or perhaps quite the opposite, leading others into greatness. She hadn't thought about him in a long time, not until his face appeared behind closed eyes when she laid down to sleep for the final time. Everything she had seen. Everyone she had met. Past battles, the rare friendships, the things she had learned and taught. It all flashed across her mind. She thought that perhaps it was all in her dreams. Until her final thought passed, and everything just...stopped. She laid down to sleep. Ready to take on the day when she awoke. But she wouldn't. Even the trills of alarm from her dearest companion couldn't wake her. But it wasn't long before the elderly owl realized that she would never wake again. His alarm slowly ceased to soft trills as he shuffled over to her, lying against the bodice of his dearest companion. He would give her comfort and companionship during her last moments. And when she took her last breath, he too, would go quiet. The pair had been together a long, long time. He'd been holding on for her. And now, they went together in peace. The voices, too, would quickly fall silent as they welcomed their new comrades. -exit in death- "Speak"

As summer gives way to autumn, the viking king sets about his preparations. They're careful, methodical. The pups and the oldest among them would need the most help, and Pandora particularly weighs heavily on his mind. Though he'd hoped the Crypt would be ready in time, somewhere warm and comfortable, it had required more work than they anticipated to get it livable. It's alright, the plan to ask if she'd move in closer for the cold season was perhaps an even better one. Less moving, and everyone would be nearer.

It's a beautiful morning when Víðarr moves to the mouth of her den, warm and fresh. "Pandora?" Víðarr calls, knocking loudly. With no response, the viking king sticks his head inside and calls once more to the woman's sleeping form. Seeing no movement, and her companion curled to her side, he pauses. A pang in his chest, moving to her side after a moment. Recognition that she'd passed sometime in the night, her owl friend close on her heels. A deep, ragged sigh in his chest, Víðarr takes down one of Pandora's warmest furs and drapes it over the pair.

For a moment, he sits beside her. "Thank you for your council, and your friendship. Travel safely." Víðarr bids his voice not crack. Maybe he was growing soft in his old age, too. Standing and moving to the mouth of her den, the viking king gives a low, mournful call. Not alarm, just grief.

"Víðarr"