Þat mælti mín móðir

Úlfr donned his armor and weapons, feeling excitement starting to simmer in his stomach at the thought of the battle ahead. There were nerves as well. He would be raiding his old homeland, though it was not his old pack. Fireside had fallen, it had been left for the wind to take and scatter. He looked up to see Glámr and Galinn as the ravens flew down to rest among his shoulders for a brief moment before they took to the sky to survey the raiding party.

They left under cover of night, the moon wrapped in shadowy clouds that choked out its light. When the arrived at the border, Víðarr called Avalon to battle then charged over their borders with the rest of the vikings close behind. Úlfr kept pace toward the front, feeling the chill autumn wind in his face as adrenaline raced through his veins. He had been waiting for this day. Learning amongst his mothers kin in far off lands for the day he would raid on the lands in which he had been raised.