Wyrd

It wasn't uncommon for Lykos to wander this way, into the territory that used to be Yfir's. In a way, it felt odd going through that territory; just as it felt odd that Yfir was no longer. But it hadn't been around since before Avalon even gave up the pack, and well before the pack moved. He'd grown used to the absence, as he'd grown used to everything else.

What was uncommon was the fact that Lykos could smell wolves... Yfir wolves. Former Yfir wolves, to be certain, but he recognized at least one of those scents - Katja's. His ears perked, and he headed towards the group of scents. He didn't recognize the others, but he also didn't particularly care. If he had to go, he would, but he wanted to know why Katja was there.

He was surprisingly close to her, and it didn't take long to see wolves... wolves he didn't recognize, gathered around a motionless form he did recognize. Stopping in his tracks, Lykos stared with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Katja?" he muttered, eyeing the once-powerful alpha. Now she was... skin, skin and bones. It was unbelievable.

He'd arrived hearing the tailing words of one of the other women, and he glanced at them, and approached slowly, non-threateningly. "If you tell me where the kill is, I will find it and assist your companions in bringing back food," he told her quietly. He didn't want to see Katja like this - he'd grown to respect the viking alpha, and it just seemed so wrong for a wolf that strong to be so weak.

"Lykos"