we have a hope we must defend

He swore he'd make these woods his home. Viðarr hadn't lost sight of that, not yet. Still biding his time, still looking for the moment to strike. Gaining momentum where he could, where he would. Growing by leaps and by bounds, and gathering momentum by the day. He was doing well for himself, though he ached for the company of his family. The children were with their mother, where things were safe and steady and stable. The lives that they were entitled to, the stability that young children needed. With things in flux for the viking, he couldn't be the father he longed to be.

And still, he'd take every chance he got. It was one of Morgana's ravens that had sought him out, that told him they were coming. Something about a birth in the Armada. In his mind, it was a little silly to uproot Sedna and all of their children just to tend to one wolf and her pups. Strange as it was, he would never turn down the chance to see the pups. They'd been wary of him the first time, and Viðarr didn't blame them. Still, this was different. He could show them the north. He could take them exploring, he could tell them stories, he could spend real, quality time with them. The shadowy viking is excited.

And so, on the edge of the Red Forest and the Armada's packlands, he comes looking for his children. Setting his nose on the ground for a moment, tracking, looking. Were they here yet? Viðarr hoped so.

"Viðarr"