Ragnar
The morning mist is beginning to thin, though the heavy clouds above remain stubborn, refusing to yield to the sun. Sometimes, I grow tired of this view—the endless gray stretching over the horizon—but at the same time, I can't imagine myself enjoying anything else.
This is my life. My duty. I am nothing but a servant to the King.
"South border is clear."
Aksel's raspy voice filters into my mind through the pack's mind link, his presence creeping up on me like a shadow.
I turn my head and spot his dark gray wolf padding toward me, his massive paws caked in mud. He hates morning patrols—despises running through the wet earth—but I've long since stopped lecturing him about it. We both know how this game goes.
He whines about the early shifts. I assign him to them every time. Even someone like me needs a little amusement.
