you're gonna face the world one day

The pups had arrived, two healthy litters. Viðarr had stood constant watch, making sure no harm would come. Day in, day out-- no harm. There was no harm, no trouble to befall them. Soon, they'd be big enough to venture out into the world, too. The shadow couldn't help but be proud of Celeste, of what she'd built here. The little band that wasn't so little anymore.

That's how he knew. He knew it was time for him to go. They were safe. They were able to provide for themselves. Competent, strong, and flourishing. It was all the man could ever want for the yearling that he had adopted in his own way-- that yearling, all grown up. Viðarr knew it was time for him to continue on his own quest, sent by the gods. That, and they should probably get going before Rota started teaching the pups how to say rude words in three languages.

"Celeste, do you feel up to talk?" The words were still not quite what he wanted them to be. Still, they get the job done. Fitting together nearly, but not quite right. Viðarr waits at the mouth of the den for an answer, not wanting to intrude.

"Viðarr"