The bay was beautiful. As if the Gods had agreed with her decision, the sun made a rare appearance from behind the clouds, glimmering against the dark water and changing its hue to a deep, sapphire. Each stroke of the paddle soothed Flora, who grew more resolute in her decision to go out on her own. The shore she had been aiming for was much further than she thought standing on the beach. While she had amazing endurance, swimming it had been a foolish idea. She probably would have drowned.

Atop the water, gliding on the sound, she felt the first bit of peace since arriving on Terra. Even if that morning the ocean had nearly dashed her to death, she recognized that the wild was a mighty place that she also had to respect. She ran her fingers through the water as she moved across the calm, the chill water sparkling like diamonds. This feeling reminded her of why she found solace in hiking, in climbing mountains, and being out in nature. It wasn't silent, the waves lapped, the dipping of her paddle plunked, and birds squaked overhead. Despite the white noise around her, it felt soothingly still.

Flora continued for the land opposite of the Quileute territories. Her stolen kayak scraped along the shell-covered shore. Hopping out, her boots splashed in the water. She hauled the kayak onto the shore, far away from where it might be claimed by a tide and placed her hands on her hips, observing her surroundings so she might begin trekking further away from Tixwa and the possibility that she'd be tracked down and forced to go back.

No way. I won't allow it.

Four paws hit the ground and Flora streaked into the forest. Whatever place she'd landed on, she'd take account of it and then decide what was to be done next. The trees here were mostly fir, a mist clinging to the ground as she darted beneath vegetation and found that the ground was beginning to have an incline. The temperate rainforests were gone and she was in arboreal forests. This was not the landscape of Canada or Alaska. No, it reminded her of Iceland.

It truly struck a chord when the scent of sulfur assaulted her nose. Flora followed it, curious as to where it was coming from. Steam billowed up from turquoise pools; hot springs. Exploring the edges of the pools, she still kept on a move. Werewolves were fast and she needed to go down a path that would be difficult for them to track. These hot springs were the perfect place. The sulfur was so overwhelming that she couldn't smell anything else as she trotted through.

She didn't stop to consider that this land might belong to someone... or something. This was just a stepping stone to the Land of Always Winter - her people's ancestral home in Terra. Since she had never traveled outside of it, she didn't know what lived here.

The cover of the hot springs was a double edged sword.

Not expecting the werewolves to be on her trail just yet, she didn't see the blur through the mist until it was hurtling at her. Flora yelped as she was thrown into the pool, the water just on the cusp of scalding. She flailed, trying to get out, but was unable to with paws. She shifted, gripping the edge of the slippery stone, strands of hair plastered to her face as she gasped and panted. When she glanced up at the shadow falling over her, she saw the glint of steel in her face.

A longsword was pointed down at her and some sort of... viking was the one holding it.

"Speak now, knife-ear, or hold your peace. What are you doing trespassing on our lands?" the man demanded in a thick accent.

Flora was still trying to blink the hot water from her eyes. The man had blonde hair which was shaved short on the sides and long on the top, braided back and knotted in a loop. Haughty steel blue eyes glared at her with contempt and hatred, his lip curling at her from beneath his beard. He was wearing leathers and furs beneath a studded gambeson. Over his shoulders was a thick bear pelt, falling down behind in a cloak.

"I didn't know these were your lands," Flora coughed honestly.

"Blasphemy," he spat. "Where did you come from? What kind of mission are you on?"

"Beorn," a deeper voice entreated, another viking appearing from out of the fog. "This one came from Tixwa. Do you not find it strange? This elf has a dark complexion and features more akin to the lycans."

The second viking was broader, a silvery fur cloak falling over his shoulders. His hair was a wavy chestnut brown with strands of gold and silver, long, a few pieces braided underneath and studded with rune etched beads. His beard was thick and full, but kept close to his face. He also wore an outfit akin to Beorn. His eyes were a rich hazel gold-green, like a leaf caught between summer and autumn.

Beorn narrowed his eyes. "She is not as fair as the other knife-ears," he admitted, drawing his sword back slightly. "Who are you?" This question was just as sharp as the others.

"Flora..." she told him, still hanging in the hot pool. "Flora Fleetfoot."

The nameless viking bent down and gripped her bicep, hauling her out of the pool like a wet kitten. "Well, Flora Fleetfoot, could you explain to us why you've trespassed in Stadr?"

Just the thought of explaining everything made Flora want to pass out. Maybe it was from being in the pools for too long. "It is a very long and exhausting story," she told him moodily, snapping her mouth shut when she saw Beorn flash his sword in irritation. "The cliff notes? Uh... I was leaving Tixwa because the werewolves... lycans... whatever you call them - they were trying to use me to their own benefit. I'm trying to find my friend."

He rubbed his beard in contemplation. "It does sound like this is a complex story. Come, we'll have a proper chat with a tankard of mead."

Finally, someone who speaks my language, Flora thought.

"My name is Knut Ragnarssen," he introduced. "With me is Beorn Sigurdssen. Forgive me if it's rude to ask, I know elves are easily offended, but I have never seen an elf quite like you. Where are you from?"

"The Land of Always Winter," she told him. "Well, sort of."

"There are elves up there?" Beorn inquired in disbelief.

"That cannot be," Knut said lightly in disagreement. "There are no elves north of here. They all live across the ocean."

"There aren't anymore," Flora agreed. "But that's part of the story I have to explain to you."

The two glanced at each other. Flora wondered why two... men were here. Hakan had told her that humans were not a thing aside from in the Dominium as slaves. Yet, here these vikings stood. Had he lied to her yet again?

"Excuse me for being ignorant, but you two look like humans," Flora remarked, trying to start a conversation with the two burly men.

Beorn barked a laugh so viciously that she thought he was a chuffing bear.

Light danced in Knut's eyes, but he didn't openly mock her like Beorn did. "There are no humans in Terra except those in Tenebris. We are vargr."

"What?"

"Vargr," he repeated, rolling it off his tongue as if it were the easiest thing to say. "Wargs, if that is easier to pronounce. Similar to the lycans, but different as well. Our kingdom of Stadr is not just made up of one race. There are valkyries, giants, and trolls amongst other beings, however we wargs are the majority."

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

"Do you not get along with the lycans?" she asked curiously.

"Do you know nothing?" Beorn said sharply.

"No, not really," Flora shrugged shamelessly.

"We do not," Knut informed her. "There has been a lot of tension between our people. Tixwans resist change with all their might. It is reminiscent of their issues stemming from when white men colonized their lands on Earth and forced them out. We extended an alliance with them, but it never panned out. There were attempts to marry some important lycans to wargs, but there's always been a great deal of tension and pushback on the idea. We are similar in layman's terms, but not culturally. This lack of compatibility has resulted in closed borders. We've had too many skirmishes and arguments over which side of the bay belongs to who. Trespassing results in the death of the invader."

"You don’t seem very fond of elves in general, so I'm guessing there are a few other kingdoms you don't get along with too," she shot a narrow glare at Beorn.

This time it was Knut's turn to laugh. "Yes, we are a stubborn people and there are few we get along with. Stadr and Tixwa are remote compared to the rest of the world. We prefer our solitude."

She could understand that, as she took comfort in being alone at times. If Stadr was a Scandinavian-like kingdom, she wondered what the more 'populated' part of the world was like. Her original thought that Terra was similar geographically to Earth was blown out of the water.

"Now, our journey is going quite a few miles away. Beorn and I will flank you. It will be quicker if we travel on paws," Knut told her.

She nodded in agreement, shifting back into a fox and shaking the water from her fur. Beorn fell down to the ground, turning into a massive brown bear, the creature that had knocked her into the hot spring. To her right, Knut fell down, a silvery coat rippling as he towered over her. He was a wolf, but unlike the lycans in Tixwa. His shoulders were broader, snout shorter, head wider and more menacing; his coat was shaggy around his throat and shoulders almost like a lion's mane. Hakan was an oversized wolf, but Knut was a different kind of wolf entirely and Flora had never seen one in living existence that looked like him.

Wargs didn't seem limited to just being wolves, as Beorn was a kodiak bear. The both of them made her feel like a mouse despite the fact that she was the size of a normal gray wolf.

They kept her boxed in, leading a path out of the hot springs and back into the evergreen forest. Olympic National Park was beautiful, but the cooler arboreal forest was just as breathtaking. Honestly, she loved the uneven ground and bounded freely beside her escorts enjoying the journey. Bouncing over roots and stones, Flora lifted her nose and tasted the air.

The forest broke and the ground leveled for a wide plane. A throng of reindeer dispersed at the sight of the three predators, beelining toward the forest. Flora nearly stopped to drink in the view, ogling the crisp outline of white capped mountains in the distance. The adventurer in her began to scream, desiring nothing more than to summit them. Trundling through thatches of berries, they carved their way to a game trail and slowed down as they were forced to move in a line along the path, winding up the meadow hills and in the direction of the mountains.

Stadr was just as remote as Tixwa. However, as they crested the second hill, she realized that the village on the coast had been puny. A town sprawled beneath them, nestled in the valley alongside a roaring white river that was winding down like a serpent from the mountains. The grass was long and brilliantly verdant, swaying in the wind like graceful dancers bowing.

It's beautiful, she thought.

Thank you. Elska is one of our gems, Knut responded, taking her aback.

How did he hear her? She supposed that shapeshifters had some form or mode of communication that was universal. Beorn brimmed with pride, lifting his head and roaring proudly. She couldn't help but give a sly smile, wind running its fingers through her speckled gray fur. With the wind in her face and the sulfur no longer clogging her nose, she could smell both of her new companions.

Beorn smelled of holly, wild berries, and honey - a surprisingly sweet scent for such a burly and unpleasant man. Knut smelled of freshly forged steel, soot, charred wood, whiskey, and possessed a musk similar to what she had smelled on Hakan.

Perhaps Hakan's scent was nothing special and she'd simply been driven by her instincts, succumbing to the cursed idea that 'soulmates' existed. She had clung to the first person she found in this world, there had been nothing special, she assured herself.

They descended into Elska, swapping from four paws to two legs. The temperature in Stadr wasn't as humid as Tixwa, nor as warm during the summer. Instead, the slate sky threatened to drop a light snow down on them. Houses were made of stone, roofs thatched and shingled. The smaller homes were thatched and the larger buildings made with more detail. She supposed there was influence from the other kingdoms in the architecture. Her eyes even found a few stocky men with full beards braided with gold and silver wandering the busy streets. Dwarves?

She would have continued to stare had Beorn not pushed her. He wasn't rough, but she still glared at him as she tried to drink in the scene. Now this was a fantasy scene. She did note that there were no elves, haughty looks and open glares haunted her steps. Taking point, Knut led them through the roads and toward the pinnacle where a castle was seated upon the highest point within Elska.

The castle, while made of stone, was not of gothic or medieval fashion. Rather, it was intended to be a fort then function as a dwelling for nobility. A forty foot wall of rock encircled it, a portcullis drawn up. Passing beneath the gate, she saw eyes gazing through murder holes above her head. The keep within was made up of a long hall, a couple of spires and square towers added on as if they'd been stitched on lazily.

Men... or wargs trained in the tiltyard, lowering swords to gawk at her. They too were adorned in furs, leathers, and gambeson coats studded with iron or steel. Round shields were hung on the wall, painted with various symbols and colors. She noted that one hung above the rest in a pale sky blue, a serpent coiling around the circle eating its own tail in an endless loop.

As Knut passed by, the soldiers snapped to attention, beating their fists against their hearts in respect. Just who was he?

Knut acknowledged them with a nod of his head, scaling the stairs, flinging open the doors of the long hall. Within, the ceilings extended up half a dozen floors. A fire ran down the center in a rectangular hearth, roaring along the several feet it spanned. Balconies ran along the flanks and there were quite a few people within this hall. Underneath the balconies at tables, above with tankards in hands, leaning over the railings were more vikings.

At the very back of the hall was a dias with a stone hewn throne. An older man sat there with a circlet of gold upon his brow. Knut approached, swinging his cloak back and kneeling before the important man. Despite being old, he was still muscular and intimidating. His age was only hinted at due to his silver hair and the creases in his leathery face.

"Your grace," Knut greeted cordially.

Beorn glared at her, eying the ground, as if to tell her to kneel.

Mechanically, Flora took a knee in front of the kingly man.

"Son, stop prostrating. Who is this knife-ear you have with you?" the man asked aggressively.

Knut lifted his head and Flora suddenly saw the similarities between the two of them. She couldn't help but flinch at the derogatory words, especially how the man spat them so vehemently.

"This is Flora Fleetfoot, an elf from the Land of Always Winter," Knut introduced, lifting her to her feet from where she was knelt.

The man's mustache shifted, his steely eyes widening before his lips creased in a menacing smile. "A fucking Lunar Elf," he realized, much to Flora's astonishment. "Why didn't you lead with that, Knut? Lunar Elves are the only ones worth any salt. Though... I thought you'd all died in the last Great War."

Knut looked between his father and Flora. "You know of her race?"

He stroked his beard, clearly reminiscing. "Mm, yes. My grandfather, Magni, told me stories of them as they bordered our northern lands. They weren't absolute cocksuckers like the rest of the elven population. Shame what happened to them... Which begs the question how you're here, Fleetfoot."

"She said it was a very long story," Knut warned.

"Well let's get a round of mead and have at it then!" he proclaimed, whipping his head around and finding the closest warg maid to give a shout at. "I am Jarl Ragnar, Lord of Elska and the southern reaches of Stadr. Girl! Bring food as well. You're not a plant eater like other elves are you?"

"If Lunar Elves were, I think they would have starved to death before war broke out," Flora retorted.

A table was brought before Ragnar's throne, stools for her, Knut, and Beorn placed with him. Food more akin to what she knew came out; roasted elk, venison steaks, a hearty rabbit stew with potatoes and onions, and black bread. Ale and mead was offered; Flora opted for the latter, the sweet honey wine washing down her throat, hints of lingonberries coating her tongue.

"Now, tell us your story, Fleetfoot," Ragnar invited.

Flora set her elk down, drawing in a deep breath. "Well, let me start from the beginning. I was hiking on Earth when my friend came across a portal-"