Restless paws had carried the viking abroad. It was not the need for companionship that drove her from her isolation, but the need for benefit, for profit, for herself and her future pack. It was a future already bought and paid for dearly and she would not deny the lure of it. Nor was the mercenary likely to pass the opportunity for personal profit, though it seemed unlikely any of this continent would wish to hire her as her skills allowed. It was an interesting conundrum in which she found herself, free to wander about at will but enslaved to the morals of an adopted people.
Katja perched on a low branch of one of the big trees, having made her way there by lieu of leaping from a nearby boulder into one tree and from there to this. Now she balanced upon the thick branch like a squirrel, watching the path below her. For what? For opportunity, of course. It was more a matter of keeping her skills fresh, keeping the vertigo and fear that had plagued her as a child at bay but she would not allow such to pass without observation.
