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Tonarth soaks in the warm water of the natural hot springs they use as bathing areas in the village. Despite the cold not bothering his hardy northern fortitude, the warmth soaking into sore muscles and old injuries does have it's own advantages to admire too. With a sigh he thinks back on the last few days, 'A raid, taking an Unna and her grandmother into my clan and home, engaging in a honor duel to the death, my little pet being used by her Goddess far too much to be healthy, a challenge from out of the wild lands, and now Vale hunting after me again.' He sighs as he leans his head back against the smooth stones that line the bathing pool and closes his eyes to calm his mind, "I can't say my life is boring."

A voice from the darkness makes his eyes snap open and he turns at the words that reach his ears. "No, you can't," comes the older doe's voice from the entrance of the bathing chamber from his longhouse. She steps fully into the oil lamp lit room and shakes her head as only an old mother can, "I can tell you have much on your mind young Tonarth. This challenger who walks in from the wild lands possibly? Have there been others? Other's who weren't as prepared, but seem to be getting stronger?"

He nods while he closes his eyes and rests his had against the smooth stones again before speaking, "Yes, you are perceptive, but it's why I brought you with your granddaughter into my clan and home." He sighs and settles himself a little deeper in the water, "There have been three challenges in the last year, the first two died before they could challenge me. Young hot blooded warriors wanting to prove themselves took on the challengers while I was gone or before they could get far enough in to reach me and issue the challenge, but this last one was different. He came prepared and seemed to cast some power over the young hot headed members of the pack, strong enough to make them believe such a wild story of being a mortal child of two gods. His armor was enchanted, though not sufficiently to protect him from the Goddess' powers obviously as he angered her." He pauses for a moment as he draws a conclusion, "There must be someone behind it all, pulling the strings from the shadows, and for the sake of my people, I must find out who. Yuli mentioned a witch, I should start hunting for her. Though i doubt she'll prove to be the root cause, through her I may be able to find another link to the truth behind the mysteries."

The older doe nods her head, "I understand, young warrior." She holds up her hand to stop any response from him, "You may be a War Leader, but to my aged eyes, you are still young. I do not mean it as an insult, I mean it as a compliment for one so young to hold so high a position."

He nods in understanding, "Fear not Wise Mother, unless my blood is high from battle I am slow to take any offense. I recognize the meaning behind your words."

A purr comes from the stairway into the longhouse, "You know I've been looking into this War Leader." The nude form of the female lynx warrior steps into the light, her four breasts bouncing with each step she takes towards the bathing pool. The wolf lifts a hand to invite her into the water which she enters with the grace that all felines are known for causing hardly a ripple in the warm waters. She smiles up at the elder doe, "Why wait Wise Mother, I know that robe is only held on by your hand holding it closed." Her hand pats the water's surface, "Join us, you've nothing to fear here."

The doe shrugs and the fur lined robe she had held closed with her grip dropped to the floor where it pools at her feet to expose her lithe form with petite breasts and a short furred pelt that still shined with health despite her age to the two predators. With careful steps she eases her old bones into the warm water with a long sigh, "Ooooooh... I had heard of the hot springs that scatter this land and their healing virtues for old bones and joints. I am pleased to find those rumors may be understated."

Vale gives a short guffaw of laughter, "Not as good as this." She holds up a familiar bladder and pulls the stopper free with her teeth before taking a long drink of the lynx mead before offering it to the elder doe. "Have a mouthful of this and the hot springs work twice as well."

Tonarth snorts as the elderly doe takes a small drink before giving the bladder back to the female warrior with a nod of thanks. "Vale, with how much of that you drink I don't know how you can stand half the time, let alone fight as well as you do."

She scoffs, "That's because your people don't start drinking until you're off your momma's tit. Our tribes take their first drink of mead within minutes of birth and sometimes drink more mead than milk while we still nurse from our mothers."

The doe looks at her in shock but the wolf snorts, "Don't confuse the Wise Mother with your tall tales."

Vale looks at the bladder and shakes it, listening to the swish to see how much is left, "I was wondering, what is your name, wee can't always be calling you Wise Mother. It's too formal for casual talk," she raises the bladder with a smile, "Like when drinking."

The doe gives a soft smile, "I guess I never did full introduce myself. You can call me Lein, and as you know I am Kier's grandmother. Her parents died a few seasons back from a sickness that swept out small community. Not even our best healers could do anything to treat the ill, catching the fever was a death sentence. Their fevers were so high it nearly cooked them to death."

Vale nods with a frown, "I've heard of such things, though they aren't as common in these colder lands. Maybe the cold keeps the fevers away."

Tonarth smirks, "More likely you drink so much it kills anything that tries to infect you."

The lynx shrugs, her breasts bobbing in the water with the motion, "Maybe, I won't complain about it if that's so." With a grin she takes another drink.

Tonarth glances toward the dark passage, "Where's your granddaughter? Seems like damn near everyone wants to join me in bathing today."

Lein smirks, her eyes giving the black furred warrior an appreciative gaze, "That girl needs time before she's ready look upon you bathing I think. She's still quite the innocent lass and seeing you sleeping with your pet in the nude was quite the eye opener for her. I think your sister was teaching her some of the origin myths from your clans when I came down here."

The black furred wolf raises his head to lock eyes with Lein, "I hope she's not going into detail... Those tales are..." he seeks for the proper word and Vale responds with a cackle.

"What big, dark, and sexy there is trying not to say is she won't be so innocent after learning the origin of the eight pack of the lupine clans." She pauses to take another gulp from the bladder and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, "Old Thoarn was a bit of a randy bastard in the olden days and he liked his wolfesses very much."

Lein looks between the two predators before she mutters and settles to her chin in the warm waters, "Damn."

***

Luunea sits in one of the well padded chairs before the fireplace with its radiating warmth wearing only her loincloth, leaving her silver furred breasts and belly to reflect the reds and yellows of the fire. Her hand rests with a feathery touch on the head of Lamuri where she strokes the sleeping vixen's hair. "You're sure you want to hear this young Kier? The origin of the eight packs? It is a long story..."

The young doe has shed the fur lined cloak within the warmth of the long house and wears only the silken fabric garments the vixen had given her on the boat, enough to give her modesty but leave little of her athletic body to the imagination. Her hands are wrapped around a cup of a warm tea the wolfess had given her as she sips on the restorative beverage, "I am." She returns her gaze to the fireplace with its flickering light to avoid seeming to be staring at the wolfess's bare chest. "If I am to live among you, I should learn your origin tales I think. I've heard some tales and rumors, but nothing direct from a member of the northern clans."

The wolfess nods in understanding. "While I do not have the Goddess's powers like Lamuri here, I have some small skill that I think will aid in illustrating this tale." She waves her free hand at the fireplace and a snow swept landscape seems to materialize in front of the flames and a small but varied party of eight female wolves trekking through the cold wilderness, obviously on the hunt for prey. The canine's soft voice seems to come from further away as the young doe feels herself being drawn into the image. "In ages past, the gods walked the mortal planes and sought their people, to guide them..."

***

"Did you hear that?" The smallest of the eight female wolf warriors, Eira, whispers, her tan furred ears twitching against the bite of the cold wind. The sisters stand in a circle, pulling their fur-lined cloaks close against the biting chill of the mountain pass. The air is filled with the scent of pine and snow, but something else exists beneath these natural scents, something bestial on the wind that grows stronger by the moment.

The eldest of the sisters, Helga, tilts her black furred head as she flares her nostrils. "A storm's coming," she murmurs, though her eyes dart to the shadows among the trees that surround the party, her ears flicking out of her black tresses as they seek further clues. "And something else..." The others shift, paws crunching lightly in the frost that dusts the ground and crusts the drifts of snow. They have been tracking game since dawn, but in the last hour the forest has gone quiet around them, too quiet.

The sharps crack of a branch snapping breaks the unnatural silence, the noise too sharp and deliberate to be accidental or natural. As one, the sisters move, shields rising instinctively as spears are raised to be thrust into a threat, forming a bristling circle of cold iron, hot muscle, and thick fur. Their tails brush against each other in silent reassurance, letting each sister know they stand together.

From between the trees a figure of darkness comes into view that makes Helga's breath catch in surprise and until she saw him, she didn't smell another wolf. The male wolf stands half again as tall as the tallest of the females, his thick pelt a storm gray marred by battle scars from hundreds of fights and his white hair short and spiked with a thin warrior's braid. His eyes, even in the darkness of the forest seem to glow with the amber light of banked coals within a forge. The very air around him seems to ripple with an energy older and more primal than the wind itself that causes the skin to tingle and the fur to rise. the only thing hiding any part of his form is a thick, heavy furred loincloth and a great fur lined hunter's cloak that billows with the power surrounding him despite the stillness of the wind. "

Well met, daughters of the north," his voice rumbles, as if a landslide was given voice to speak and seems to roll and echo in the quiet around them.

Astrid, the boldest of the eight sisters, bares her ivory fangs and her snow white fur rises as she feels a threat from this unnamed male, but she holds her ground. "You stalk like a thief in the night, warrior. We don't know you in our tribal lands." Her voice doesn't show the nervousness that her tight grip on her shield and spear hints at.

He laughs, deep and rolling, the sound pooling in their guts. "Thieves take. Hunters pursue," he says as he steps closer and the sisters feel the weight of his presence like a hand pressing down between their shoulders to pin them against the earth. "I however, have come to give." His gaze sweeps their fine untouched pelts and unmarked necks. "The fates whisper and send me to you, your bloodlines must not end with you."

As the warrior's scent starts to roll over them, Helga identifies the smells, pine resin, iron, wood smoke, and a musk thick with intent. The eight tighten their circle instinctively, shields interlocking edge to edge but their tails betray their true feelings, flicking in an uneven rhythm.

Astrid snaps, "Our bloodline is strong, stranger."

Her snapping causes the warrior to smile, slow as a glacier's advance. Then he moves, not with the expected speed of a wolf, but the inevitability of a raging river flooded with snow melt. One massive hand closes around Helga's shield rim and wrenches it aside, causing the destruction of it like it was a piece of parchment, not solid wood, iron and tanned hide. The sisters gasp in unison as their formation is shattered with such ease, their training undone by sheer brute force. "Strength?" the wolf chuckles, his free hand sliding down Helga's flank, blunt claws catching on her tunic's stitching. "You whelps don't know the meaning of the word. Not yet anyway." His palm settles heavily on the curve of her hip, possessive as a brand burned into her fur.

Eira whimpers, her ears flattening against her head and hiding under her long blond hair, the unexpected scent of her unexpected arousal building on the crisp air, unmistakable to not only the large stranger, but her fellow hunters too. The warrior's nostrils flare and his gaze snaps to the smaller female. "Ah," he murmurs, causing the word to vibrate through their bones, not just the air. "The little one understands." He releases Helga to turn and loom over the diminutive Eira, his shadow swallowing her whole. She trembles, but doesn't retreat, her eyes wide as she takes in his full size so close to him. "Goddess's blessing..." she stammers, invoking Yuni for protection, but the warrior's laugh cuts her off.

"Blessing? How do you know Yuli didn't send me?" he catches her chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up. "This won't be gentle, but it will be enjoyable," he promises. His other hand hooks in the leather thong holding up her loincloth and parts the thin leather with a single jerk. Eira cries out as the cold air kisses her exposed sex, her soft white fur fluffing in panic and embarrassment, but she finds her thighs opening anyway, her body answering a call deeper than fear, an instinct that she can't control.

The warrior's claws trace a searing path down Eira's thigh, drawing a shuddering gasp from her lips. Leaning in her buries his nose in her mane of white hair and inhales. "You smell like readiness," he growls, his breath hot against her sensitive ear.

Behind them, the rest of the sisters stand frozen, not in protest, but something far more primal prevents them from interfering. Helga's chest rises and falls rapidly making her tunic pull tight across and the rough fabric rub her nipples, her own scent thickening in the air. Astrid's grip on her shield goes slack as her knuckles pale with the effort of restraint as she tries to hold herself back.

Again the warrior moves, his bulk pressing Eira backwards until her spine meets the rough bark of a pine with a collision that shakes snow from the branches. She yelps as his teeth graze her throat, the sharp points dimpling her skin without breaking it, a warning and a promise combined as he feels her pulse race faster. His hips pin her in place, the heat of his own arousal having slipped from his loincloth to press against her bare stomach, almost settling between her tits with the difference in their sizes. "First lesson," he rumbles, one hand splaying across her lower belly. "Submission isn't given, it's accepted." With a single brutal thrust he lifts her and slides inside, tearing a ragged scream from Eira's throat as her maidenhood is sacrificed to his mighty spear of flesh.

The sisters watch, transfixed on the scene, as Eira's claws score deep grooves into the smokey fur that covers the warrior's shoulders, her legs lock around his waist to pull him deeper, not fighting to push him away. Her cries shift pitch, the pain of her first mating melting into something else entirely, something far more enjoyable.

The warrior's snarl vibrates against her collarbone, his pace relentless as the waves crashing on a beach. "You feel that?" he growls, hips pistoning. "That's your bloodline waking up." Eira can only whimper her response, her head thrown back and tongue lolling as her body focuses on the novel sensations coursing through her very soul.

Helga is the next of the sisters to move from their shared trance. Her heavy spear hitting the frosted snow with a heavy thud where it joins the fragments of her shield, her fingers already working at the ties of her own loincloth to free her from the burning heat building in her loins. The warrior's gaze flicks to her, his amber eyes gleaming with approval. "Good," he mutters, withdrawing his girth from Eira with a sloppy wet sound that makes Astrid's tail puff as a wave of his fresh scent surges over the sisters and stokes the building fires within them.

Eira slumps against the tree she is propped against, her thighs trembling and her tan fur matted with sweat while her pale furred inner thighs are matted with other fluids that seep from her no longer virginal entrance. The warrior turns from the smallest sister and catches Helga by the scruff of her neck to drag her forward and down until her sensitive nose brushes Eira's spent sex. "Taste," he commands. "Know what awaits you."

Helga hesitates only a heartbeat before her tongue flicks out, lapping at Eira's slick fur with a low, shuddering groan. The taste is salty, bitter, and rich, flooding her mouth with a heat that coils tight into her own belly. The warrior's claws tighten in her scruff, forcing her deeper, until Eira's musk leaves a glistening coating on her muzzle. "Again," he growls with a fierce tone. Helga obeys without thought, her own thighs pressing together as arousal slicks her dark crotch fur. Behind her, the other sisters shift restlessly, their breaths coming faster with puffs of white in the cold air as they stand uncertain what to do.

Astrid is the next to break ranks from those watching. With a snarl that lacks all conviction, she flings her shield and spear aside as she lunges, not at the warrior, but at Helga. Knocking her sister aside she claims Eira's dripping sex for herself. Her tongue rougher and teeth nipping ar Eira's tender inner thighs in a way that makes the smallest of the sisters keen and arch as if she was once more impaled by the strange male. The warrior watches, his massive chest rising and falling as he drawing in deep breaths of the building scents pours off the sisters, his cock glistening in the dim winter light in these northern lands. "Better," he rumbles as Astrid's tail whips side to side like a happy pup with a bone, her shapely rump swinging with the motion.

The remaining sisters require no further invitation as shields and spears are discarded in a rush. Freydis and Sirgrid drop to their knees beside Helga, their tongues joining hers in lapping over Eira's sweat matted furred flesh causing their tiny sister's body to tremble like an earthquake. Brynja and Inngrid crowd Astrid, their noses burying in the scent of their sister's arousal as they fight for a taste of the male's seed.

Only Gudrun holds back, her fists clenching at her sides until the warrior's gaze pins her in place. "You resist," he observes, stepping over the tangled heap of wolf sisters to loom over the rare green furred wolfess where she stands apart from the orgy of flesh. Tilting his head with question he studies her with his otherworldly gaze "Why?"

The largest of the sisters, still far smaller than the male before her, peels her lips back from her fangs in a show of defiance, but her voice wavers with uncertainty. "I... I won't be broken. I am a daughter of the north and call upon Yuli for her guidance and protection." The smoky furred warrior's chuckle is a dark rumble as he closes the distance between them, his claws reaching out to trace the line of her jaw and the soft fur there.

Gudrun's breath hitches as the warrior's claws trail lower, gentle scratches scoring faint red lines down the column of her throat. "Broken?" His voice is a growl of question, low and yet amused at her brave words. "Little wolf, you mistake the nature of this joining and no one can truly understand Yuli's desires in these northern lands." His hand on her jaw grips her chin, forcing her emerald green eyes to meet his smoldering amber gaze. "A blade tempered in fire doesn't shatter... It sharpens when brushed against the hardest stone." With that, he crushes his mouth to hers, his tongue claiming hers with a dominance that makes her knees buckle. Gudrun's brief snarl melts into a moan as his other hand rips her loincloth away, the shreds of leather and fabric fluttering to the snow like fallen leaves as he exposes her to the cold air that steams from the heat coming off their bodies.

Behind them, the other sisters have become a writhing knot of fur and fevered touches. Helga's teeth were buried in Astrid's shoulder a Sigrid rides her fingers between Freydis' thighs, their mingled panting creating small clouds of white in the frigid air. Eira, still trembling against the tree where she had been forcefully taken, watches with half lidded eyes as Brynja laps at the warrior's seed dripping down her inner thighs. The scent of them... musk and salt and something electric... hangs thick enough to taste in the still air.

The warrior breaks the kiss, leaving Gudrun gasping, her hot breath warming the air between them. "Watch," he commands, turning her to face the tangled pile of her sisters. Astrid has pinned Helga, her teeth at the oldest sister's throat while fingers work ruthlessly be between her black furred legs to pound her pink petals. Freydis is arched like a bow pulled taught, her claws raking down Sigrid's back as pleasure wracks her body. "This is your pack," the warrior murmurs against Gudrun's ear, his hands roaming her body with a deliberate slowness as she turns within the cage of his arms. "Not weakened, not broken, but awakened and being tempered by the fires. Being prepared for the stone."

His touch grows bolder, one massive palm engulfing her sex while he kneads her full breast through her thin tunic. Gudrun's hips jerk forward of their own accord, a whine escaping her throat despite her attempts to resist this male, no... this force of nature. The warrior chuckles darkly, "Your body knows its purpose, even if your pride resists." With a sudden jerk, he tears her tunic from her frame, exposing her white furred chest to the biting air, and his hungry gaze. Her nipples pebble instantly at the peaks of her large mountains of flesh, and his mouth descends on one with a heat that sears through her fur and flesh to sear into her very soul.

His teeth graze her nipple, sending a jolt of electricity down her spine that she has never experienced with any male, a feeling of primal energy coursing through every nerve. She arches against him with a strangled cry, her claws digging into his chest as if she means to push him away, but her hips roll forward instead to grind her slick heat against his thigh. "Liar," he growls against her skin, his breath hot. "Your body begs for what your tongue denies."

Behind her, the pile of excited females dissolves into something even wilder, more primal, more feral. Astrid has Helga pinned face first into the snow, her teeth locked on Helga's neck as her hand ruts against her sister from behind. Sigrid and Freydis are a tangle of limbs and desperate bites, their tails lashing the air as they scissor together on the frost crusted ground. Eira, still slumped against her tree, whimpers as Brynja's tongue laps up the very last of the warrior's leaking seed from her thighs, her own fingers working between her own legs with frantic urgency.

The warrior releases Gudrun's breast with a wet pop, his tongue dragging along the sensitive peak, his amber eyes burning into her soul, building the fire there. "You see?" his hand slides between her thighs, two fingers plunging into her without preamble or resistance as her sopping folds welcome the intrusion. Gudrun's back bows, a ragged scream of unbridled pleasure tearing from her throat as her walls clench around his digits. "Your sisters don't fight the inevitable. Why do you?"

Gudrun's answer is lost in a guttural moan as his fingers crook inside her, stroking a hidden spot that makes her vision whiten and she feels as if she might leave her mortal body. Her legs shake, her knees threatening to buckle, but the warrior holds her upright with effortless and unnatural strength, his other hand fists in her scruff. "You will take my seed," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, the heat of his words brushing the soft fur there. "Just as they all will. Just as the fates have will it."

Gudrun's resistance shatters like ice under a great warhammer. Her hips jerk forward, impaling herself deeper on the warrior's fingers as her claws scrape down his chest in a parody of defiance, her blunt claws leaving pink trails over his hard muscles. The warrior laughs, a dark and rumbling sound that vibrates through her very bones, and withdraws his fingers with a slick pop only to lick them clean with deliberate and teasing slowness. "Taste yourself, little wolf," he growls, pressing his wet fingers against her tongue. "That's the truth your body speaks."

She opens her mouth and lets the wet digits intrude. The flavor of her juices bursts across her tongue... musky, salt bitter, undeniable. Gudrun's eyes roll back in her head as her tongue works around his fingers, sucking instinctively.

The warrior's hands close around Gudrun's waist, lifting her as though she weighs nothing. Her legs wrap around his hips of their own accord, her wetness smearing across his abdomen as he carries her toward a fallen log crusted with frost. "Watch," he commands, turning her to face the orgy of her sisters lost in their desires. Astrid has Helga bent double, her muzzle is buried between the her dark furred thighs while Ingrid rides Helga's face with wild abandon. The warrior's teeth graze Gudrun's shoulder as he positions himself at her entrance. "With this, is your pack reborn."

He sheaths himself inside her in one brutal thrust of hard and rigid flesh against wet and yielding heat. Gudrun's scream rips through the forest, her back arching violently as her claws score deep furrows in the log beneath her. The stretch burns as it slips her open, her body unused to such a violent or large invasion, but beneath the pain thrums a deeper ache, a primal need that makes her hips jerk forward to meet his next thrust with equal passion. The warrior's growl vibrates against her as his pace quickens, each slam of his hips driving her higher up the log until herr shoulders leave the log and press into the soft snow, but the heat of their mating means she feels none of the cold.

Gudrun's vision blurs at the edges, the world narrowing down to the hammering rhythm of the warrior's hips and the slick, obscene sound of their joining filling her ears. Her claws splinter the frozen wood beneath her hips, her thighs trembling against him with each deep thrust that sends sparks dancing behind her eyelids. The warrior's breath scorches her neck, his teeth marking her shoulder in a claim that will last long after the snow melts as she feels the long killing fangs sink to pierce her flesh.

Around them, the sister's cries rise in a ragged chorus, Helga's throaty moans as Astrid's tongue works her to shaking completion mingle with Eira's high pitched whimpers as Brynja's fingers twist inside her. The combined scents of arousal hanging heavy enough to choke on as it mingles with the warriors sweat as the drives into Gudrun with relentless force.

"Feel it," he growls, one massive hand splaying across her lower belly as if to press his presence deep into her depths. "Your womb remembers its purpose, let us help it fulfill that purpose." Gudrun can only sob in response, her body arching again as a sudden and searing pleasure rips through her and focuses on her womb as her climax crashes over her like a wave breaking against mighty cliffs. The warrior doesn't slow, his thrusts turning shallow and rapid as her walls flutter around him. "Good girl," he rumbles, the praise sending an unexpected thrill down her spine and bringing the faintest of glimmers to her eye.

With a final hard thrust he slams into her, thier hips locking together as his essence fills her inner cavern with a burning warmth, like lava from an erupting volcano. With a jerk against her gripping legs he pulls out, the last of his seed spattering across her thighs, pelvis, and the trampled snow below with more still seeping from her overloaded sex. Gudrun slumps, her arms giving out as her chest heaves for air. Before she can recover herself, the warrior hauls her up by her scruff and flings her towards the pile of her sisters with a casual toss. She lands atop Sigrid, who rolls her with a snarl that dissolves into a hungry kiss, her tongue lapping the salty sweat from Gudrun's lips. Sigrid's teeth grazes Gudrun's lower lip and draws blood, a metallic tang mingling with the musk of the sisters' sweat soaked bodies.

The warrior looms over them, his cock still glistening with Gudrun's nectar and dribbling the last of his latest eruption, his breath steaming in the frigid air around him in great clouds. "Enough," he rumbles, though his voice holds no anger, only the certainty of a storm rolling in from the mountains. All the sisters still as one, their panting breaths creating ghostly plumes around them as they focus on the dominate figure in their midsts.

Astrid rises, her furred thighs streaked with Helga's wetness, her snow white fur matted with snow and sweat. She meets the warrior's gaze without flinching, though her tail twitches with submission. "You claim us," she says, her voice rough. "The the gods demand proof of the claim."

The warrior's lips curl, revealing fangs that glint in the weak winter light. "Proof?" He steps forward, his claws tracing the curve of Astrid's hip. "You'll have it." His grip tightens, spinning her to face the rest of her sisters. "All of you, on your knees," he orders without raising his voice.

The command crackles through the clearing like lightning. The sisters obey without hesitation, their bodies moving as if unseen strings guide them, possibly the very strings of fate the unknown warrior speaks of. Eira sways slightly, her thighs trembling where she kneels still weakened by the warrior's forceful mating, but her pale blue gaze never wavers from the warrior's face. He circles them slowly, his claws dragging lightly over fur and flesh; Helga's shoulders, Freydis' throat, Brynja's flank, marking each of them without breaking skin. "You are all of Yuli's blood," he murmurs, his voice thick with something darker than pride, heavy with ancient knowledge lost to the ages. "But blood is nothing without the fire to drive it."

The large male's claws dig into Astrid's hips as he comes back around to her and positions her at the center of her sisters, her back pressed flush to his broad chest as she becomes the center of attention. His teeth graze the nape of her neck, drawing a shudder that ripples through her body like an aftershock. "Fire," he repeats, the word a molten growl against her skin. His hand slides down her stomach, fingers splaying possessively over the soft white fur below her navel. "This is where it burns, and where it needs to be stoked into an inferno."

Astrid's breath hitches as his other hand grips her chin, forcing her to watch as Helga leans forward, her tongue flicking out to lap at the warrior's cock where it presses against Astrid's thigh. The black furred wolfess looks up with her deep blue eyes gleaming with something feral, not submission, nor fear or anger, but hunger. The warrior's chuckle vibrates through Astrid's bones as he holds her to him. "See? Even your alpha sister knows her place."

Helga's lips close around him with a hum of approval, her tail flicking lazily as she learns forward to take him into the back of her throat, her sensitive nose nestling where his flesh and Astrid's meet and the mingled scents flood her mind. Following her lead the other sisters close in, Sigrid's fingers tangling in Helga's midnight hair as she kisses along her sister's neck while Frydis and Brynja crowd close, the tongues tracing the length not buried in their black furred sister's maw. Eira, still trembling from her earlier claiming crawls forward on all fours to nuzzle her nose into Astrid's hip, her whimpers muffled against the sweat slick white fur.

The warrior's grip tightens on Astrid's hips, his claws pricking her skin. "Hold them," he orders. Astrid's hands fist in Helga's and Sigrid's hair instinctively, pulling them closer. With a slow pull he withdraws his cock from Helga's needy mouth and brings the solid spear of flesh back to prod against her sopping heat. His first thrust was brutal, a single and unrelenting push that buried him to the hilt in Astrid's depths. His heavy scrotum swinging forward to bounce off Helga's nose and surprising the older sister, making her eyes cross in surprise. Astrid is no virgin as tiny Eira was, having known many a warrior's touch in a drunken night of fun, but the way his girth pries her wider than any male before causes her to release a screaming howl that shatters the brittle cold air of the mountain pass, her back arching as her sister's mouths, hands, and tongues move in to sooth the stretch of his girth and the trembling tightness of every muscle in her body.

Her howl melts into a guttural groan as the warrior's hip roll against hers, each motion dragging the thick shaft along the hidden sensitive internal spot that so few males could truly stimulate. Her claws score into Helga's scalp, the older sister whimpering not in pain, but in shared sensation... her own thighs pressed together, her slickness dripping onto the trampled snow. The warrior's breath is fire against Astrid's neck, his teeth worrying the scruff he's already claimed as his. "Breath," he growls, and the command punches through her like a war drum's beat.

Sigrid's tongue comes in from below the joining to swirl around the thick base of the warrior's cock where it stretches Astrid's passage wide, her earth brown gaze flicking up to meet Astrid's wild eyes, her pupils wide and only showing the thinnest sliver of their colored iris. There is no pity there, only a feral understanding that makes Astrid's stomach clench tighter as she realizes her sister is envious of the attention she is experiencing at the flesh of the strange hunter. Helga's fingers join Sigrid's mouth, stroking the slick length of him in tandem with his thrusts, her other hand gripping the gray furred Brynja's charcoal hair to guide her sister's mouth forward to bring Astrid's throbbing clitoris into velvety tongue range. The combination of stimulations rips another cry from Astrid's throat, her thighs shaking like a sapling in a gale as her voice raises a howl that could pierce the heart of the most heavily armored dragon.

The warrior's pace turns ragged and his snarls rougher against her shoulder. Astrid feels in, the twitch deep inside her, the hot pulse against her walls before the storm front of his essence spilling into her greedy and fertile womb. He wrenches her head back by her thick hair, baring her throat. "Mine," he growls as his jaws clamp on her shoulder, the long fangs marking her clearer than any brand as the sharp points pierce her skin. She doesn't resist, the pain of his fangs insignificant against the sensations coursing through her trembling body. His approving rumble vibrates through her spine as his hips stutter, his release continuing to flood her with thick, molten bursts.

Astrid's climax crests with a violence that steals her vision, white sparks arcing behind her eyelids as her cunt milks him, desperate to pull his seed from him so it can settle into her unexpectedly fertile field. The warrior holds her upright through the tremors, one massive hand splaying across her lower belly as if to ensure not a drop escapes from her cavern while his other grips her breast, his strong fingers dimpling deep into her soft and sensitive flesh. The warrior doesn't allow respite from the storm of lust and heat they find themselves in the center of. He allows Astrid to slip to the ground, Helga, Eira, and Freydis catching her to stroke her twitching muscles and lick at her wet and matted fur, keeping the pleasure spiking in her spent frame and causing weak aftershocks to continue coursing along her nerves in an overload of pleasure.

He reaches down and hauls Brynja up by her scruff. She can feel how strong his urges are strong, stronger than the raging rivers that carve the fertile valleys of their northern lands. Without removing her loosened loincloth he impales her on his still hard length with a single violent downward thrust. Her howl echoes off the pines and the peaks around them as the warrior buries himself to the hilt, her claws rake at the snow as she struggles to brace against the unstoppable force of his thrusts. Helga, Sigrid and Gudrun close in around them, their breaths ragged, their fingers and tongues tracing the sweat slick fur of Brynja's heaving flanks. Sigrid's teeth graze Brynja's shoulder, marking her even as the warrior claims her from behind... a layered claiming, pack and mate entwined in a moment that those outside the experience can never understand.

The warrior's grip on Brynja's hips is iron, his claws leaving indents in her fur as he drives into her with a rhythm that sends tremors through her body and into the ground. She whimpers, her tail lashing against his chest, but her thighs fall open wider in submission, her body aching for him to go deeper and plow her fields, eager for his seed. "Y... Yes," she gasps, the word fracturing as his thick cock drags inside her, the pressure of being filled with each thrust only to be emptied as he resets for the next stab into her folds. His growl comes from deep in his chest as his muzzle buries itself against the nape of her neck, his nostrils flaring as he inhales the scent of her submission like smoke from a sacred temple's pyre.

Freydis, Eira, Helga and Astrid close in on the rutting knot of fur. Freydis presses close, her tongue lapping at the sweat beading along Brynja's spine to roll down her sides and drip onto the thirsty earth below. She leans in, her fingers teasing the tight furl of the gray wolfess' tailhole in a silent question to the rutting male, the alpha, the god. The warrior's answering snarl was permission and Freydis's finger breaches her back passage with a slick push and a nearly audible pop. Brynja's scream is muffled by Eira's mouth crashing over hers, their fangs clashing in a kiss more bite than affection. The dual invasion wrenches Brynja's climax from her like a spear pulled from a mortal wound; hot, sudden, and leaving her shaking.

The warrior doesn't pause, he wrenches Brynja upright, her back pressing to his chest as his hand splays over her lower belly as his seed spills into her with thick jets. "Mine," he rasps against her ear, the word a brand on her soul deeper than any mark on her flesh. Then he turns her, shoving her down onto all fours before the kneeling circle of her sisters. "Clean her," he orders, his gaze locking with Helga's. The eldest sister doesn't hesitate, her tongue swipes up the mess glistening between Brynja's thighs, her eyes fluttering at the taste. The others follow, Astrid's teeth nipping at Brynja's inner thigh as Sigrid's mouth seals over her slit with a hungry moan.

The warrior's eyes watch them with their mystical inner glow. Helga's tongue lapping at Brynja's spent folds and Astrid's muzzle, Sigrid's fingers twisting inside Freydis as she drinks her sister's scent from her sweat matted fur, Eira's teeth worrying Astrid's nipples while Gudrun presses open mouth kisses down her smallest sister's spine. The air is full of the smell of salt, iron, and something that only the most primitive parts of their souls can recognize, but not name, a musk that coats their very throats and lungs. He runs a claw down Brynja's trembling flank, drawing a whimper that has less to do with pain than the way her cunt clenches around nothing. "Enough," he rumbles.

The sisters still like hounds at a huntsman's call, their tongues still glistening, their fur matted with sweat and seed. The warrior crouches before the dark form of Helga, his claws tilting her chin up. A trace of blood smears her muzzle, Brynja's or her own, it hardly matters. "You lead them," he says, not a question. Helga's throat works as she swallows. His thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip as he sits on the log he had previously taken Gudrun over, "Prove it."

Understanding flashes in Helga's eyes. She turns, pressing Brynja onto her back in the snow, spreading both her and her sister's thighs wide, giving the warrior a pleasant view of her dripping flesh. The warrior's seed glistens before Helga at Brynja's entrance, pearling in the weak sunlight. Helga's tongue darts out, lapping a stripe from Brynja's clitoris to her leaking hole, collecting it and holding it on her palate. Then she rose, her soaked thighs straddling the warrior's lap, her tongue lolling to let some of his thick seed drip between them and onto the head of his shaft. Reaching a hand down she smears the fluid over his already slick member. Her hips roll forward to add her slickness to the mingled wetness between his cock and her flesh. His growl vibrates through her ribs as she lifts herself and sinks down, taking him in one smooth and slow motion.

Helga moves like a female drowning in honey; slow, deliberate, her claws scoring the warrior's shoulders as she rides him with a rhythm that makes Brynja whimper in sympathy. Gudrun's fingers finds Astrid's, their mutual grip tight enough to bruise their hands in support. They'd shared beds before, even shared a choice male or two, stolen touches in the long winters, but this, this is different. This was teeth and purpose that only the gods had seen in the greatest of sagas.

Helga's movements grow rougher as she speeds up, her hips pistoning against the warrior with a desperation that makes her sisters' breath catch as her scent grows thicker in the chill air. His powerful hands grip her waist, guiding her deeper with each downward thrust until Helga's thighs are trembling and gripping his lap with all their strength, her claws digging crescent wounds into his shoulder. "Y... you feel it too," she gasps, her voice fracturing as his cock strokes some hidden ridge inside her. The warrior's answering snarl is affirmation enough, his teeth graze her collarbone, drawing blood that drips down her chest in twin thin rivulets.

Sigrid lunges forward without prompting, her tongue lapping at the crimson trail with a hunger that borders on worship. The warrior watches through half lidded eyes as Sigrid's mouth seals over Helga's nipple, her teeth worrying the sensitive peaked flesh just shy of pain. "Claim her," he commands, his voice rough as gravel. Sigrid obeys instantly, her fangs sinking into Helga's breast with enough force to make the oldest sister cry out, her back arching violently and thrusting the offered breast further into Sigrid's face. The warrior's thrusts turn punishing, his hips slamming upwards to meet Helga's downward strokes as Sigrid's mouth works her sensitive breasts in tandem.

Freydis and Brynja move as one, their hands skating over Helga's sweat slick flanks, their tongues tracing the bite marks blooming across her skin. Eira whimpers from where she kneels beside them, her fingers working frantically between her own thighs as she watches her eldest sister, her alpha sister who had always been a solid rock they could count on, come apart at the seems from ecstasy that can only be experienced, never explained. The warrior's gaze snaps to her, his nostrils flaring at he focuses on the scent of her renewed arousal. "Come here, little one," he growls, extending a hand without breaking rhythm within Helga. Eira scrambles forward on shaking limbs, her fur matted with moisture from sweat, seed, and saliva.

His free hand grips the back of Eira's neck, dragging her close enough to lick a stripe up Helga's heaving belly, a silent command. Eira's tongue flicks out, tentatively at first but soon with growing fervor as the taste of Helga's sweat and the warrior's musk floods her senses like a tidal wave. Helga's hips stutter, her rhythm faltering as pleasure coils tight in her gut. "Close," she gasps, her claws raking down his chest in a plea for more, for the pleasure to never end. He obliges with a snarl, his fingers finding Eira's chin and forcing her mouth lower until her lips brush the swollen bud of Helga's clitoris and her velvet tongue darts out to lap at the trigger of pleasure.

Eira latches onto Helga's button with the desperation of a starving pup. The effect is instantaneous, Helga's thighs clamp around Eira's head with enough force to bruise as her hands fall to Eira's ears to pull her little sister into her scent, her cry shredding the frigid air as her climax tears through her and shakes the world. The warrior doesn't slow, his thrusts turning shallow and rapid as her walls flutter around him, her cunt milking his cock with greedy pulses.

When he spills into her, it is with a snarl that bares every tooth in his maw, his claws sinking deep into Helga's hips as if to fuse them together into one being. Helga slumps forward, her forehead resting against the warrior's chest as her breath comes in ragged gasps that fog the air between them. The warrior doesn't allow respite as he wrenches Helga upright by her scruff, his seed already dribbling down her thighs. "Share," he commands in his rough tone as he shoves her towards Sigrid.

Sigrid doesn't hesitate, her mouth sealing over Helga's slit with a hunger that rivals anything her sisters have shown, her tongue lapping up the warrior's cream as if it was the finest mead served in the feast hall of the god Thoarn. Helga's fingers reach down to tangle in Sigrid's hair, her hips jerking forward to grind against her sister's mouth with a wantonness that would have shamed her yesterday. Today though, it feels inevitable as a fate written in stone.

The warrior's gaze turns to track onto Freydis where the blue furred wolfess kneels with her thighs pressing together, her claws digging into her own flesh with impatient need. "You," he growls, beckoning her forward with a curl of his fingers. Freydis moves like a female in a trance, her pupils so wide her gray irises are mere slivers of silver. Catching her waist the warrior flips her onto her back in the snow with a thud that knocks the breath from her lungs. Without time to recover his teeth finds her throat, worrying the skin just shy of breaking the tender skin as his hips settle between her thighs. He can feel her pulse start to race with his domination of her and her breathing grows shallow at the threat of his killing fangs at her throat.

Freydis arches beneath him with a choked gasp, her claws scrabbling at his shoulders as his cock breaches her in a single fluid thrust, refusing to ease at the resistance of her passage until his loins meets hers and his balls smack into her ass with a heavy slap. The stretch of his girth burns, her body still tight as she wasn't quite ready, but the pain melts under the heat of his relentless rhythm, each snap of his hips driving her higher into a mental haze of musk and need. His teeth drag down her throat, leaving a trail of stinging marks that make her pulse leap beneath her skin. "S... Sister," she gasps, her hand flailing blindly until her fingers tangle in Gudrun's fur as the largest of the eight comes to her support.

The green wolfess lunges without hesitation, her teeth sinking into Freydis' shoulder in a mirror of the warrior's claim. The dual pain and pleasure wrenches a sob from Freydis' throat, her thighs clamping around his waist as if to lock him into her. He growls his approval as his claws rake down Freydis' sides to hitch her legs higher, changing the angle until every thrust drags against that sweet hidden spot deep inside her passage. Her vision whites out, her back bowing off the ground as her climax rips through her with the violence of a winter storm and she looses a howl to rival any of her sisters'.

The warrior doesn't rest as he rides her through the tremors and spasms, his pace turning rougher and his snarls sharper. Freydis can only writhe beneath him, her claws scoring his flanks as her body strains between oversensitivity and the insistent pull of another peak coming like an avalanche. When he releases into her it is with a roar that sends crows scattering from the pines, his seed flooding her in hot, possessive spurts that have her whimpering against Gudrun's collarbone as her sister laps at the bleeding bite marks on her shoulder.

Before Freydis can catch her breath the warrior wrenches her upright by her scruff, his cock still glistening with her slickness as he turns her towards Ingrid. "Your turn," he rasps, shoving Freydis forward until she knocks her brown furred sister backwards before she falls atop her, her knees bracketing ingrid's head and a combined wetness of male and female seeps onto her muzzle. Ingrid's pupils dilate, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as Freydis' thighs tremble above her. A powerful hand from the warrior closes on Freydis' hip to guide her down and onto Ingrid's waiting mouth with a commanding growl of dominance.

Ingrid's tongue meets Freydis' slick folds with a hunger that makes the warrior's nostrils flare as her own scent spikes the air with arousal that dances with that of the others. His grip tightens on Freydis' hips as she arches with a broken cry, her claws sinking into Ingrid's furred shoulders for balance. The warrior watches, his cock twitching against Freydis's thigh while Ingrid's mouth works with the precision of a huntress skinning prey, lathing broad strokes before zeroing in on her throbbing clit with devastating focus that could strike a target at a hundred paces.

"Look at them," the warrior growls, forcing Freydis' chin up to where Brynja and Helga are tangled in a panting knot of fur and fluids, their tongues lapping at each other's spent sex. "Your pack thrives." His thumb presses against Freydis' lower lip, smearing it with her own slickness, "Taste it."

Freydis' tongue darts out obediently, her eyes half lidded as the musky tang fills her senses. Behind her, Sigrid presses close, her teeth grazing the nape of Freydis' neck in mimicry of the warrior's earlier claim. The dual sensations of Ingrid's tongue circling her clit and Sigirid's breath scorching her spine drives her to the edge and over the precipice of another orgasm with terrifying speed. Her thighs tremble, her sex clenching around nothing as her climax builds like a storm surge racing down a valley.

The warrior's snarl is her only warning before his fingers replace Ingrid's mouth and plunge into Freydis with a brutal twist that shatters her restraint. Her scream echoes off the pines as she comes, her back arching violently, her sex gushing over Ingrid's chin. The warrior doesn't let up, his fingers pistoning inside her, dragging out every last pulse until Freydis slumps forward, her forehead pressing to the cold ground as she pants for breath.

He withdraws his fingers with a wet plop, Freydis's slickness glistening in the pale light. Turning his attention to Ingrid he traces his thumb along her chin to smear with with a mixture of Freydis' fluids and his musky seed before pushing two fingers past her lips. "Swallow," he commands, his voice grinding like stone against stone. Ingrid's maw works around his digits, her tongue lapping clean every drop of the mixed essence as the warrior studies her with hooded eyes.

Snow and frost crunches beneath his knees as he crouches over Ingrid, his shadow swallowing her smaller form whole. She bares her throat instinctively to this male who has claimed so much this day and she knows she will be his next conquest, her breath fogging in the space between them. The warrior doesn't take her mouth or throat yet. Instead his claws rake down her torso to sherd her simple breast wrap with a sound like sails tearing in a gale. Ingrid's impressive chest heaves, her nipples pebbling in he sudden cold, but his mouth closes over one with a heat that makes her whimper as it sears into her soul. His teeth graze the peak just shy of pain, his tongue swirling in counterpoint to his fingers working between her thighs as he stokes her fires.

Brynja presses against Ingrid's side, her tongue tracing the cup of her sister's ear as she whispers, "Let go." An echo of the warrior's command. Ingrid's hips jerk upward, her claws scoring Brynja's flank as pleasure coils tight in her gut and a fire builds, one that needs a male to quench it, or feed it. The warrior's growl vibrates against her breast when he feels her walls begin to flutter, his fingers crooking inside her with brutal precision.

Ingrid comes, her jaws wide in a soundless scream as her back arches off the frozen ground as her release gushes over his hand. He doesn't hesitate, only shifts his grip to her hips and flips her onto her belly with a snarl. The cold snow against the overheated skin of her nipples is a shock, but his weight atop her drives the breath from her lungs. His cock pressing against her entrance, blunt and unrelenting as a battering ram at the gates of a fortress.

Ingrid's claws dig into the snow and dirt as the warrior sheaths himself inside her with no hesitation, no mercy, only a single powerful thrust. His girth stretches her, burning like a forge fire, her body still tight from Freydis' attentions. But, beneath the pain thrums a deeper ache that makes her hips jerk backwards to meet him and drive him deeper into her depths as her tail thumps against his hard belly. His answering growl vibrates through her, his teeth finding the nape of her neck in a claim that will outlast any winter. "Mine," he rasps, the word branding her deeper that his girthy rod ever can, though it is certainly trying.

The relentless pace of the warrior drives Ingrid higher up the slope of her own pleasure until her vision blurs at the edges. His hand fists into her thick hair, yanking her upward so her back presses against his chest. "Watch," he commands, forcing her gaze toward where Brynja had Freydis pinned beneath her, their hips rolling together in a slick, frantic rhythm. "This is your pack reborn." His teeth graze Ingrid's ear, "And you will bear its future."

The words send a jolt through Ingrid's core, half terror and half exhilaration, as the warrior's hand splays over her lower belly, pressing down as if to imprint himself deeper within her than. His thrusts turn shallow and rapid, the slap of furred skin on skin echoing off the pines. Ingrid's climax builds like a blizzard on the horizon, inevitable and devastating. When it breaks, it tears through her with a violence that leaves her gasping, her claws scoring the warrior's thighs as her walls contract around him and pull him inward.

His roar shakes snow from the branches over them as he empties himself into Ingrid, his virile seed flooding her in hot pulses that make her whimper against his chest. Before the last tremor passes through their joined bodies he grips her scruff to hold her up, his legs twitching, unable to support herself. Helga and Eira take their trembling sister from the massive warrior, their hands stroking her matted fur and trying to sooth her trembling.

Looking around at the eight huntresses the warrior crosses his thick arms across his broad chest. Like an archer focusing on a sparrow his eyes lock on Sigrid's and she gulps, her soul knowing what words will come from his mouth. "The best for last," he murmurs as he steps forward to brush her raven locks from the silver fur of her face. "Are you afraid?" he asks.

The silver wolfess can't break her gaze away from him as she twitches her head in a negative shake. He smiles as his damp fingers cup her cheek in a tender and caring gesture, "You are a treasure." He glances towards Gudrun and Helga before he commands them, "Prepare her."

The oldest and the largest sisters bracket the silver furred female. Their hands stroke her glittering fur, their claws catching on her clothing to pull it off until she kneels there before the male in only her fur. Helga slips behind her sister, her black fur a counterpoint to the Sigrid's glimmering silver. wrapping her arms around her to cup and knead the soft mounds of her breasts she nibbles on her sister's shoulder. Gudrun in turn licks and kisses Sigrid as one of her hands pets down her flat stomach until it reaches her dripping heat and teases her entrance, stirring her fluids to prepare her.

The other sisters watch from their heap of exhausted flesh and heaving breaths as the warriors steps close to the three before him. Taking her hand he pulls her to her feet before he leans in to claim her mouth with his own, his tongue intruding to tangle with her own. Sigrid moans into his mouth and raises her arms to wrap around his neck as she presses herself against his solid frame as she feels his firmness press against her belly and up between her breasts. He releases her mouth to take her shoulder in his fangs and gripping her ass he lifts her like a feather, his fleshy spear raking through her belly fur before the blunt head nestles against the searing heat of her entrance.

As he lets her drop, impaling herself on his flesh with her own weight, he tightens his bite on her shoulder and feels his fangs pierce her tender flesh. The pain of the bite mixes with the sensation of his rod splitting her nearly in half and she throws her head back as she pierces the very sky with her howl. Helga and Gudrun close on the rutting pair to nip at Sigrid's flanks, their bites not breaking skin but still leaving a mark of sisterhood. Lowering her head she locks the warriors eyes with hers and she pulls herself up his shaft with her arms wrapped around his thick neck. He chuffs and nips at her neck, not breaking the skin but letting her feel his fangs.

Wet squelches echo on the still air as their mating grows frantic, his upward thrusts meeting her as she drops onto his girth with a splash of her wetness. "Mine!" he roars with earth shattering force as he pulls her down, throws back his head and howls as he holds her hips with a vice grip as she feels him twitch inside, once, twice, and the flood erupts deep in her belly.

Feeling the burning flood inside her she closes her eyes as her vision blurs, her consciousness focusing inward on the sensation of the virile male mating, no... owning her womb as he has taken ownership of each and every sister in the pack of huntresses. Her arms and legs go limp as her body sags against his heavy frame, only his hands on her ass and his cock impaling her sex holding her upright. He murmurs into her twitching ear, "Good girl." He squats to pull her off him before setting her into Helga's and Gudrun's supporting hands.

Standing to his full height again he casts his eyes over the eight chose around him. He knows his seed has taken root in their wombs with the inevitability of a spring thaw cracking river ice. Sixteen hands caress eight lower bellies as the sisters kneel in the disturbed snow and trampled earth, their breaths steaming in the pale winter light. Circling them with slow steps, his tread silent despite his bulk beyond that of any mortal wolf he studies the females. His claws leave crimson trails where they trace fresh mating marks on each female's shoulders, not the crimson of blood, but a glowing tracery of forge fire and burning embers.

"You carry my fire now," his voice murmurs in the still air. He grips Astrid's chin with a touch more tender than anything he has shown them this day. "But fire is nothing without purpose." His hand moves to Helga's throat where he feels the rabbit paced pulse beneath his fingers quicken further at his touch. "Rise, my Valkyries."

The word, Valkyries, hangs in the air with the menace of an unsheathed blade at the throat of an opponent. Eira's head jerks up, her eyes wide as she recognizes the word that seems to vibrate the air with it's own power. The male grips her scruff and pulls her up with a quiet gasp from her throat. "You doubt?" he asks, his burning breath scorching her ear. "I have tasted your blood, little wolf. Felt your womb quicken beneath my hand." His open palm wide as he slides it down and over her toned belly with a heated touch that seems to sear through fur and flesh alike to warm her inner chamber. "Thoarn the Hunter does not make mistakes, especially when his mate calls him to take her followers."

Sigrid is the first to understand and she finds the strength to surge to her feet, her fur still streaked with the fluids of their mating, her silver furred chin lifts in silent challenge. "You are Thoarn? Yuli sent you to us?"

Thoarn's answering grin bares his fangs as he seizes her jaw and turns her gaze toward where a distant smoke plume indicates a burning village over the horizon, but not just any village, it's their village. "See your purpose," he growls, the air trembling as if it too is afraid of the male. "Your teeth were made for more than defiance," his words curl like fog around the sisters' ears. Behind her the other sisters begin to stir, Helga first as her eyes fix on the horizon over the trees with a focus that wasn't there before and an eye that can spot circling ravens despite the distance too far for any mortal to see such details. They no longer need Thoarn's words to command them as thier blood sings with his, bringing them together closer than any bloodline or pack of sisterhood could.

Astrid's fingers find Gudrun's wrist as her grip pulls the larger sister to her feet. Their nostrils flare as the scent of burning timber and the iron of blood carries to them on the wind, far stronger than the distance should allow, especially through the musk that clings to the fur of their spent bodies. The smell stirs something, something dark and ancestral in their blood as they feel the strength of battle fever grow in their limbs, the exhaustion of the recent mating fading in the fires stirred by battle.

Thoarn resumes his circling of the sisters until he leans in, a hand on Gudrun's scruff as he leans close, his voice quiet but audible to all eight sisters. "Hear it?" he asks and their ears twitch as the distant clash of steel echos impossibly from the distant battle and their heartbeats quicken. The wolfess' tails bristle in unison at the distant sounds they shouldn't be able to hear as their heads nod as one.

Brynja steps up to take a knee at Thoarn's feet with her head bowed, the scruff of her neck bared to him, not in submission, but in readiness and honor. Gripping her chin to raise her gaze to meet his he growls, "You are no longer prey. You are the hunter fems of Thoarn." Casting his amber eyes around the others who have fallen to one knee around him in readiness for orders he smiles with a gleam of fangs, "You are the storm of the north that will bury all who stand against it." Stepping back he spreads his arm wide to include them all as he shouts his proclamation to the world, "My Valkyries! Rise and grid yourselves for battle!"

At his roared command each of the huntresses find their shredded garments replaced with fine garments of artisan craftsmanship not seen since from the hand of any mortal, each in a different color with the finest of cloth, leather and furs but all trimmed in the same nordic gold that glitters despite the dim light, each bearing a unique sigil on golden torcs wrapped around their necks. In their hands shields, spears, swords, and axes of a quality not seen from any mortal forge appear with flashes of fire that burns along the blades and spearheads in an otherworldly manner. Their hands grip the hafts and handles as Thoarn holds a hand towards them in a rising gesture and commands, "Stand!" As the sisters do so he spins to point at the distant smoke plume, "That is your altar now, the field of battle. My Valkyrie shall restore the Great Northern Wolf Clans and teach the world why it should fear us!"

The sisters raise their heads as one, chests thrown forward as they give a howl that is heard for leagues in every direction. Warriors on every battlefield in the northern lands pause as the sound echoes through the crisp air, a howl that shakes the mountains. Thoarn manifests a giant axe in one massive hand, "Come ladies, we got a job to do."

***

The magical view of the winter forest fades into the flames of the fireplace as Luunea's soft voice returns to Kier's ears, "Those eight sisters became the matriarchs and founders of the eight great clans. Cementing the legend that we are the children of Thoarn and Yuli."

The young doe blinks and shakes her head as the spell frees her fully from its effects and she focuses on the silver wolfess with a deep breath as her cheeks flush red through her thin fur, "That was Thoarn? The god of the hunt and judge of souls? He seems so... brutal." She finds one of her hands splaying open across her own flat belly, "Is Tonarth going to do that to me if he's a descendant of such a being?"

The wolfess gives her a reassuring smile, "Tonarth "explained that to you, you are safe with us. No one will force anything on you. Remember, he killed another to protect your honor and your body. Killing is not something he takes lightly," she says as her visage turns serious. "To force his dominance on you would be to stain his honor with a blemish that even Yuli could not ignore, so rest assure, you are safe."

The doe thinks for a minute before she nods and shares a small smile.

The wolfess return the smile, a flash of fang peeking past her lips, "The tale is bit wild I know, and it was in a prior age when the gods walked more openly among us mortals. I can feel my own blood rise at the telling as if I can feel what Helga went through and a piece of me wishes to take her place I will admit." She shrugs her base shoulders, "As for the truth of it all, who's to tell how much is true. Though Thoarn has long been known as a randy bastard when he's on the hunt, and I think he was on the hunt for juicy wolfess cunt that day." She leans forward and taps the golden torc around the doe's throat, "But you do bear the same crest that Helga was issued in the saga, the crest of the Lunar Wolf clan."

The doe remembers the crest on the back wolf's torc she had just seen and nods, "So you and your brother are blood descendants of Helga and Thoarn?"

The silver furred wolfess shrugs, "Well, Helga at least, though I've seen enough mystical acts to believe Thoarn has involved himself in our clans, more than once." She waves a hand towards the passage to the bathing chamber, "He definitely takes after Helga in looks and I'd say temperament too. He is solid and can hold himself in check when not specifically provoked," she pets the sleeping Lamuri in the oversized chair as she chuckles, "like a certain vixen likes to do for her own reasons."

Kier looks between the wolf and the fox, "What is her tale? I understand she was given to the War Leader as tribute, but how does a high priestess of Yuli become a sex slave to be used and abused by some random male. You say Yuli has a bond to your clan, and I believe that from what I saw earlier, but how could she know he was the one to be her ultimate master?"

Luunea looks down at the arctic vixen and chuckles to herself, "I'll leave that story for another day. I think i've done enough damage to your mind for one saga." She grins and gives the doe a wink, "I would hate for your blush to set your fur alight with the heat of that story."

All characters unless otherwise stated are the property of Christopher Gilman [aka Goliath Wildcat].

Story © Copyright Christopher Gilman 2008 all rights reserved