The council fire crackled and spat, sending coils of smoke twisting into the dusk.
Around it sat the elders of the valley tribes, hunters, mothers, chiefs, and lore keepers. Their faces were drawn tight with anger and fear.
Behind them, younger warriors stood in restless silence, arms crossed, weapons within reach.
Nokomis stood alone, her shadow cast long by the flame, the wolf-tooth necklace at her collarbone gleaming faintly.
"He must be stopped," a grizzled elder growled. "This White Wolf; he burns the earth, tears up the trees, enslaves our sons to raise his stone walls like tombs."
"He poisons the rivers with ash!" cried a young huntress. "He drives away the caribou, frightens the birds. Even the spirits are leaving!"
"Then let us make him leave," spat another. "This is our land. Our home. We are not his slaves, not his beasts to plow fields for a foreign king."
A murmur of assent rippled through the crowd.
Nokomis let it rise. Then, calmly, she raised her hand.
"I have walked beside him," she said. "And I will not lie to you. Vetrúlfr is no friend of our ways. His men are iron-hearted. His speech, commands. His hunger is vast and cold."
She turned slowly, letting her gaze settle on each face.
"But he is not our enemy. Not truly. Not yet."
"Do you think he is the first?" she continued. "The only one? That when the great ships came from the east, they brought only him?"
She looked to the horizon, past the trees, past the mountains, as if she could see across the sea.
"I have seen what lies beyond the ocean. Vast kingdoms of fire and chain. Cities of stone and steel. Crowns of gold that sit atop skulls. Empires so wide their kings forget the names of their dead. Or perhaps had never even learned them to begin with."
A chill passed through the gathering.
"When they come, and they will come, they will not ask for your obedience. They will not give you a shovel and say, ’Dig with me.’ They will give you a collar. And a cross. And say, ’Kneel.’"
The council was silent now.
"Vetrúlfr," she said, voice steady, "is a storm. Yes. But he is a storm that builds. Not one that devours. If we must choose between the claw and the collar..." Her eyes narrowed. "Then I choose the wolf’s shadow over the priest’s leash."
One of the elders scowled. "You would have us bow to him?"
"I would have us survive," Nokomis said, fierce now. "So that when the true darkness arrives, we are not already broken. We stand behind walls of our own making. With blades forged by our own hands. With warriors trained in blood and frost."
She let the silence hold.
Then quietly, she added:
"If you must call him a tyrant, then do so. But understand; he may be the last tyrant who speaks to us before the world forgets our names entirely."
And no one spoke again for a long time.
The mist curled low across the camp, wrapping the longhouses and watchtowers in ghostly shrouds.
A fire crackled in the center of the circle, casting flickers of gold against the timber walls.
Nokomis sat cross-legged beside it, her hands still stained with ash and cedar, the scent of her rites clinging to her clothes.
She heard the footsteps long before they came close. Light, cautious, but not fearful. She didn’t look up.
The girl knelt beside her, legs folded under the elk-hide wrap she wore. Her breath misted in the air.
"You always know it’s me."
Nokomis chuckled and dragged the young woman in close. A hug between sisters, one long overdue.
"You walk like the wind that carries spring," Nokomis replied. "And I was you once."
Nimkii hesitated. "He... the White Wolf. Is he married?"
"I mean," Nimkii continued, her cheeks warming, "do you know if he has... a wife? Or a woman?"
Nokomis turned to her at last. Her eyes were tired, not unkind; but old in a way Nimkii could not yet understand.
"You’ve barely heard his tongue."
"But I’ve seen him," Nimkii whispered. "The way the men follow him. The way he fights. He carries himself like... like no man I’ve ever seen."
Nokomis’s mouth tightened. "That’s because he’s not like any man you’ve ever known."
"He seems lonely," Nimkii said softly.
Nokomis gave a humorless laugh.
"No, he is most certainly not lonely. He has a wife. One he stole across the sea—"
Nokomis nearly lost her voice as she tried her best to explain the situation as best she could. To a girl who had no knowledge of the world outside their village.
"—and who stayed by choice. A priestess. Royal blood. Fierce spirit. She would burn this land to ash if he asked it."
Nimkii’s expression fell. "So... he loves her."
"Utterly," Nokomis said. "And he would see every other woman in the world as an insult to her. He is strange that way. Cold to warmth that is not hers."
The young woman looked into the flames. "But... if he ever lost her—"
Nokomis cut off the thought before it could manifest into an ill omen.
"Then gods help us all."
That silenced Nimkii. Her breath caught in her throat.
Nokomis reached out and gently touched the girl’s shoulder.
"Listen to me, little bird. Admire his strength if you must. But do not chase it. Not his. Not in this world."
The girl looked up at her older sister, lost, confused, and perhaps a bit sullen.
Yet Nokomis did not flinch. Despite the perceived cruelty of her tone. Instead, it became graver with every word uttered in warning.
"Because you will not win his heart. Only his silence. And if you tried to take what is hers..." She paused. "Then all the gods in the world could not save you... Not from him... But from her.... She is beautiful, fair, and kind above any I have ever met. But also fiercer than a wildfire when provoked."
Nimkii swallowed. "She sounds terrifying."
"She is," Nokomis said. "And that is why even Vetrúlfr fears nothing but her loss."