The silver-haired ylgr joins her pack as the wolves emerge from the tree line and gather at the rock outcropping. Their heads hang low in despair. Úlfhéðnarhad has fallen. They stand guard as the grey fur deflates with the last breath leaving his body. His blue eyes reflect the sky, bright with dreams a moment more before they close, and twilight overtakes the day.

The ylgr brushes against her fellow wolves, seeking a warmth and solace that cannot be found alone. Tears of starlight streak the evening sky as heavenly orbs fall from their perch, and the night grieves with them.

A lone cry breaks against the silence of the forest. Another follows. The ylgr joins her mournful cry to the song. Muzzles raised skyward, their lamentation fills the space beneath the tree canopy. The great úlfr blessed each pup with his far sight, yet that night even the imaginative ones do not see the way forward with their mentor lost.

The pack huddles together, offering one another what warmth they have, yet the ylgr remains cold and hollow. A shroud of tattered clouds hides the rising moon. It breaks free to gaze upon the gathering before retreating. In that instant, the ylgr sees a path among the oaks moon shadows. She feels the pull to follow.

The Úlfhéðnarhad instructed her that a weighted heart cannot be left behind, but it can be carried on light feet. She rises and delves into the dark woods to finish the journey alone.