What was lost

He missed the cold comfort of his knife. His mother had gifted it to him on the day he brought down his first predator. She had given mead as well, and it was one of the happier memories of his childhood. He had felt his mothers approval, her merriment. He had gotten utterly drunk, and been miserably sick but that hadn’t taken away from his achievement. Not that knife was in the paws of the Nidhogg. But Strai was very good at two things. Breaking the rules, and stealth.

It was late at night when he crept towards Vidarr’s den. But he had seen the Nidhogg leave, and he had looked very busy doing it. Strai reckoned he had at least some time before he and his partner came back. He had rubbed himself all over with mud, obscuring his scent and dampening the bright glare of his coat.

He made it inside, he found the storage shelves, and there among Vidarr’s things, was his blade. Still in its sheath. He eyed it hungrily, before grabbing it with a paw and bringing it to his mouth. He had done it, now he just needed to make his exit. Turning, he started to slink out of the den.

"Speech"