The form that straggled back into Ardent was a far cry from the vibrant, active alpha who had left so suddenly. Already slim to begin with, the Finnvi bordered on emaciated, all sharp edges and whipcord muscle with no fat left to shield her. Pawpads toughened from hardship had been scraped nearly bare, claws worn to the quick. A strong limp in her right foreleg was not due to the abuse her paws had taken, but from a healing dislocation in the shoulder joint and a more obvious laceration that wrapped the upper limb up to her shoulder. More fresh scars littered and roughened her usually sleek coat. The urgent message that had reached her and called her from her duties had come from her family's pack, far from Ardent. She had not wished to bring her children on such an arduous journey, particularly not without knowing the reason behind the summons, so she had left them and the pack in Kapra's hands as she slipped away with but a brief explanation for them. They were Finnvi. They would be strong while she was away, and she knew they would be strong if she failed to survive the journey and did not return to them. The "urgent" summons had turned out to be nothing more than an overbearing attempt to force her return to the family fold, an offshoot of the original raider pack that was seeking to make a name for themselves. She had declined - politely, for of course one's family was important, but she made it clear that she had no intention of returning herself or her children to the Finnvi embrace. She certainly did not intend to submit to her cousins' leadership after having brought the Finnvi name to far more prominence in Ardent than ever her family had seen elsewhere. Perhaps more tact could have been used to convey her refusal to submit, but diplomacy was difficult for the warrior and her family as volatile as ever it had been. Perhaps that had been what ultimately triggered it, or perhaps her cousins' distrust of her many years away had made it the plan all along. Both were, admittedly, equally likely. Whatever the cause, the result was the same. Exile from the family, from the pack lands, for her and her offspring to perpetuity. Katja had been grimly amused by the verdict delivered by these nervous, inexperienced youths who bore the Finnvi name here so tentatively. She was considerably less amused when they took it upon themselves to "punish" her for her supposed insolence en masse. She'd survived, and made a tactical retreat until they had chosen to break off their pursuit. She'd spent extra time carefully laying false trails and backtracking to be certain they were not immediately following her, rather than heading directly back to Yfir, and the extra time and effort took their toll on her battered form. She was not young anymore, and she did not easily bounce back from battle, so as her wounds stiffened hunting was difficult at best. She had little knowledge of healing, too, so could do nothing for the pain and little to speed healing past keeping her wounds clean and using the fork of a tree to wrench her dislocated shoulder into place. Now, with her reserves lower than they'd been in her life, Katja limped back into the familiar lands of Ardent. Already a cold, hard creature compared to many, her appearance now might startle even those who knew her. All steel edges, razor sharp and focused like clear ice sharp enough to cut. Even the smallest hint of softness had been burned from her in the needs of the moment, just surviving. She was like a feral thing, and her gods walked beside her. "" ""

Endurance was a strong point for the gray-coated man. Each stride was wrought with vigor, his tail flagged out behind him at a skyward angle. He was on a mission to scout the lands, maintaining a steady pace despite the wounds littered throughout his coat. He had come to the north to investigate the availability of territories, knowing there were other packs occupying the vast, frozen expanse of land. He'd already passed Ivalice territory, and chose not to make any trips to the lands beyond - he knew what territory was there, after all, he had lived with Sonticus in the north for some time. Yet he'd seldom traveled northwest as to the best of his knowlege, there'd lived a pack there with a strong reputation. Yfir. He'd known their scent during his time in Sonticus, and he had taken note of their existence when he'd come north for the festival with Ivalice. But now, he was sure he'd already passed the territory where that pack had been situated, and there was little hint of them left. No scent, no border patrols, no wolves in sight. Had they moved elsewhere? He hadn't noticed their scent anywhere else - could they be in the west? Xephyris hadn't been there in some time, himself, but he didn't see the likelihood of a northern-based, well-established pack suddenly packing up and moving from the harsh north, to the hottest territory in Ardent. It wouldn't be sensible, not in the least. No, they must have dissolved. The man shook his head. Even the strongest could fall, it appeared, for what seemed no reason at all. No matter - for him, it just meant fewer rivals, fewer wolves to share land and prey with. Having made his way to the northern-most territory that he would find, the land riddled with jagged glaciers and steep, icy slopes, he decided that he would he just slightly west, explore the edges of the north, and then make his way back south. Perhaps there he would find something of interest. As his silver eyes cast around one last time, ensuring that this place had nothing of interest to offer him, he did indeed spot something of interest. A small, lone and rather scraggly looking wolf roamed by itself - from as far as he was, he couldn't tell just how scraggly and disheveled she was, but he saw her presence as an opportunity to perhaps gain information. Shifting from his original course, he headed in the direction of the dark-coated creature, large paws gripping the ice carefully. As he drew nearer, it became rather apparent that the she-wolf was in a very sorry state; there was a limp to her gait, and the shape of her skeletal frame was eerily prominent. He did not know that the woman before him was the well-known viking leader, he'd never actually seen or met her before, but if he had known, he would have surely been thrown off. She looked old, and frail, like a gust of wind might blow her away. In stark contrast, Xephyris was well-built, sturdy, and filled out, his thick coat adding to his stature - he was certainly not very tall, but thick muscle rippled beneath his skin, making up for what he lacked in height. Briefly, the man wondered how she had gotten this way, but didn't linger on the thought long, knowing he may find something out in due time. Approaching the scraggly loner, he dipped his head, halting a safe, comfortable distance from her. "Greetings, stranger," he rumbled in a low, even tone, his tail swishing just a few times as he eyed the dark-gray woman, observing her ebony markings, "The glaciers here seem harsh. Do you hike these icy slopes often?" He wondered if perhaps the harsh landscape had played a part in shaping her, but he knew it could possibly be any number of things. "Talk" "You" Think