Breaking this Hibernaculum

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“What has mood to do with it? You fight when the necessity arises—no matter the mood! Mood's a thing for cattle or making love... It's not for fighting” - Dune

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Dægmar was settling in well.  She’d picked out a den and lined it with dead grasses and pieces of animal skin.  The woman had fortified her shelter for winter and all around had done just about everything that needed to be done.  Now what.  Blazing emerald eyes peered across the snow covered land.  It was eerily quiet just as most winter’s were and Imperium rested like bears in their caves.  Far to quiet.  It simple would not do!  The mottled wraith strode out of her den to a small clearing in the valley of two large hills and howled a challenge to the sky.  It was time for the wolves of Imperium to get out of their winter slump and get a little exercise.  

Dægmar was anxious to mingle with her fellow pack mates, to test their mettle and decide which ones were worthy of her time and which were best forgotten.  This wasn’t like a formal training session, more a gathering of the battle-minded to mingle and spar though Dægmar could be persuaded to give formal instruction.  However, she didn’t know if there was already a lead warrior and she knew she was probably already stepping on someone’s toes.  Not that she cared all that much.  She wanted to do this and very little would stop her from doing what she wanted.

"Speech"