Soul on Fire

Drífa practically pranced through the stone steppe. She'd found a wonderful treasure during her expedition to Alias Island. Across her back rested a leather knapsack that seemed to have been designed for a canine just her size. She'd been beside herself over the find. Already she'd stored a few herbs within it and now that she had a useful means to transport her herbs she was heading straight for the Redbud Nook. Winter was sweeping down upon them and she knew this would be one of her last big trips to gather herbs before the northern portion of Boreas was completely entrenched with snow and ice. She was working her way through the rocky terrain of the Singing Caverns when her companion spoke.

"Drífa, something's amiss. Was there always that much smoke coming from the volcano?"

Brynhildr flew down to hover near her head. The leuscistic raven's clear blue eyes were etched with worry. She turned to look at the top of Mount Volkan and a jolt of fear raced down her spine. A writhing mass of black smoke was belching into the air and then suddenly the ground lurched and rumbled, tremors vibrating down its side as sparks and flame began to shoot into the air. Spirits! Was it erupting!

She had no desire to stand around and find out. Time was of the essence and she needed shelter. The little woman bolted southward, scrambling over the rocky terrain in search of shelter. Rivulets of lava started to roll down the side of the mountain. Where was a cave when she bloody needed one? She skidded to a halt as she saw a dark opening in the side of a rock face. There was something at the entrance but she didn't pay it any mind, assuming it was just a dark rock. Drífa bolted into the cavern's entrance, Brynhildr right on her heels. Panting, she groaned as she sat. She'd been traveling all day and didn't need that sudden burst of activity. It was then her eyes rested on a young wolf, barely a yearling. Her brow furrowed, was he here alone? Where were his parents?