Before they left, Morganna had decided to trek to find out where her dad had gotten to. He'd been close by when they first came to the Armada, but since then, well, he'd kinda vanished. Her owl was even flying now, it had been so long, so she set out with her ravens leading the way, and a general idea on what direction to go. Towards the next nearest mountain had to be a close shot, didn't it?

But even in the short time she had been here, things seemed to be changing. She wasn't old enough to know of a time before, if this was the way things always were at this time of year, or if this was different. She could deduce from the way the adults looked at each other, like when they looked at each other when they saw her for the first time, that something wasn't quite right... Like the lights that danced at the tippy top of the Col, or further east on the big mountain there, the way the ground seemed to be up one day and down the next, or the rumble that passed beneath her paws, like someone was down in the ground, trying to break free.

The young pup took it all in her stride though, it wasn't like she had much to compare it to, but if nobody wanted to tell her what was going on, well she figured she'd just have to sort it out herself.

Slipping from the trees that made up the last of the Armada's claimed land, she headed south-east, towards the gaping hole in the ground at the bottom of the mountain. Maybe there would be a way up from this side? Or maybe she could check out what was going on under the ground, and figure out what was pounding at the earth like it was trying to break free. She didn't notice her small owl continue up the mountain, unhindered by the rolling earth beneath her master's paws.

"speech"

-340/1500-

Víðarr has been busy. Quite busy. Still, he feels rather guilty for not having spent more time with the children. For not seeking them out more. Things had been busy, high up on his mountain. Settling in, clearing the land of predators, quickly stockpiling what they could for the winter. Life at those altitudes wasn’t going to be easy, but every day he was reminded of just how worth it this was. Víðarr had put the work in, and the gods had rewarded him. Everything was coming together. Coming together, though he still had to fight to maintain control. Their first raid was only days away, Víðarr’s target selected. Things were becoming strange within the mountain, too. He could feel it shifting beneath his paws. He could feel it on the breeze, some days. It also seemed that the lights in the skies had returned, though they behaved differently than Víðarr was accustomed to. It wasn’t the proper season. It was too early. The viking king tried to push it from his mind. There was also the question of tracking down and punishing the little shit that had harmed his granddaughter. This weighed heavily on Víðarr’s mind in particular. Getting away with harming one of his own wasn’t an option. Justice would be swift and painful. The shadow was pulled from his gorier thoughts as the ground beneath his paws gave another rumble. His hackles went up, gaze flickering. A shift in the breeze brings something else, something familiar. “Gumman?” Víðarr called, looking for any slip of his daughter. He could smell Morganna, but where was she? Gaze stiff, carefully picking his way down the steeper side of the mountain. Looking. Breath held, hoping to catch sight of her. Hoping she was fine, in the fact of the shifting beneath their feet. "Speech"

642/1500

As Morganna moved closer to the gaping hole, she felt a strange mixture of excitement and trepidation. The earth beneath her paws seemed to pulse with an energy that she had never felt before, and the air itself seemed charged with an otherworldly anticipation. Her ravens circled above her, their caws echoing through the stillness as if they were urging her on, or were they warning her away? She could barely hear them anyway, seafoam eyes transfixed on the opening of the mine.

With each step, the ground grew rockier, and the landscape transformed. The mine shaft's entrance yawned before her, a dark maw that seemed to beckon her forward. She hesitated only briefly before stepping into its depths, her senses heightened by the mysterious forces that seemed to be at play. Was it something otherworldly, or simply child-like imagination at play?

The passageway stretched ahead, illuminated by the faint glow of luminescent fungi that clung to the walls, so similar to her own. Morganna's heart pounded in her chest, both from the thrill of adventure and the eerie ambiance of the underground. Her keen senses detected distant echoes – the distant rumble she had felt before, now amplified by the enclosed space.

Deeper into the mine she ventured, guided only by the fungi and the distant echoes... but were those... fireflies? What were they doing underground? The air grew colder, and the ground felt uneven under her paws. But she pressed on, driven by a pigheaded determination to uncover the truth behind the shifting earth and the strange lights, and the knocking... She could hear it now, always just around the next bend, always out of sight and reach.

"speech"

-921/1500-

There was no answer… but he could smell her. From somewhere high above, Víðarr could hear the call of ravens. A sign, not from the gods but from his daughter herself. His heart pounded in his chest. Losing his footing on the steeper side of the mountain, Víðarr leapt the remainder of the distance to the next ledge. Feeling his teeth rattle in his skull as he hopped down, a grunt escaping his chest. It was farther than he would have liked, but quicker too. Picking up speed as he half leapt, half slid down to the next. Making his way down to the ground level. Fuck, the mines. Around him, the mountain seemed to shift once more. It seemed to settle and quake beneath his feet, the shadow unsure of exactly what it all meant. The only clear thought in his mind is finding Morganna, making sure she’s safe. Making sure she’s whole. Following the line of sight down from the ravens… fuck. Víðarr wasn’t one for enclosed spaces, but that doesn’t matter. He pressed on, continued forward, and began his descent into the mines. “Morganna!” Víðarr calls, his voice filling the space. As quickly as he can manage, the viking king makes his way down into the mines. Pulse racing, blinking into the darkness as he wills his eyes to adjust. A silent prayer on his lips as he makes his way down deeper, following the scent trail as it grew stronger. It seemed she was always just around the next bend. Víðarr can hear it too, the knocking, as it echoes in his head and through the mines. Is this what it meant to be a parent? Is this what it means? To love is to worry, to worry is to love. “Allfather, grant that we may be shielded from misfortune and death,” he murmurs as he travels deeper down. The mines were lit only by the dim glow of the fungi… he thinks. Or was that his daughter’s faint mushroom-glow in the darkness. Gods, please let it be his Morganna. "Speech"

1265/1500

She finds herself at a crossroads, tunnels breaking off in all directions and she hears her name echoing down the tunnels that surround her, ahead and behind, to the left and the right. The girl turns about, head canting. One of the voices sounds familiar, the others... have a hollowness to them, almost but not quite right. As if whatever dwells in the dark now knows her name, she hears it called again, from deeper in the mine, and suddenly... her adventure loses some of it's shine.

She has turned about so many times, she can no longer easily pick the path from where she came, and the thing that is not her father calling her name has the girl on edge. The fur along her spine stands on end, more in line with her quills than her spine. She thinks to drop her nose to the ground, and now realises just how damp the earth is under her feet. With just a little more light, she might be able to make out the pawprints that led her to this point, but it is far too wet to hold a scent. The girl tries to choke down the whimper that wants to break free from her chest. She can hear the shuffling thumping sound of something coming closer quickly. Something large. Something looming. She bares her teeth, curling down on herself like an angry, defensive cat. At least she won't go down without a fight.

"speech"

-1510/1500-

Víðarr rounds the last corner, his heart pounding in his chest. With the way the mountain moved, seemingly come to life, he's unsure if it will be safe down here much longer. The ceiling was getting lower in places, too. The viking king was much too large for such cramped spaces, for such confinement. He would not leave this dank pit without his daughter. He would not leave without her. Víðarr refuses, and he refuses to fall for the tricks laid before him. With the dropping of a spider onto his shoulder from the damp wall of the mine, the shadow knows at once who's responsible. The trickster god himself was present among them. He comes quickly around the corner, seeing the child with her bared teeth, her defensive posture. "It is me, little lamb. We need to get out of here." The words are spoken gently, giving the girl her space. Knowing how frayed his own nerves were, the viking king can only imagine how overwhelming things would be for her. His gaze held steadily on Morganna, stance as reassuring as he could manage. They needed to go. "Speech"