unfurl the blackened agenda

The stargazers had decided to settle among the vikings, and Cyanide found herself around the strange viking man once more. She didn't know what to think, she didn't know what to feel. Since the litters had been born, she'd been... well, she'd been feeling worse than usual. Some of the bitterness had ebbed away, but when that's what your whole personality is built around, what's left? Her sense of identity had been shaken, and she just... fuck if she knew.

Sure, the days were getting easier. Sure. It was hard to keep from being busy with the whole... pack, thing. The whole carving a pack into the mountain thing. Why had Víðarr chosen the least hospitable landscape possible? There had to be a method to his madness, but Cy didn't think about it too much. Truthfully, the wraith was still going through the motions. It's those motions that drag her out to meet his call. This time it's beyond the mountain itself, and into the Steppe. She wouldn't question it.

Wordlessly, the girl sits opposite the Konungr, offering little more than the dip of her dark muzzle. Watching. Waiting.