Journal Entry 12
Zaskja Stormsson
My Wolf,
Mor wants to take me away from the North, away from the pack. She wants to take me to Ljosam?r!
Can you imagine how desperate she must be feeling? She doesn’t trust your father to keep me safe, or Tyron not to try something again. Or someone else, for that matter.
You should’ve seen the looks I got after you left. The Vales despise me, Nordin.
I brought up freeing Kjell with Mor as an alternative to fleeing. I’ll let you guess her reaction.
I know you both think it’ll put me at risk, but Saga mentioned that if Ulf rescinds Kjell’s invitation to enter pack land, the wards will suck him out of the valley.
If only this needn’t have been done in person…
If only Ulf could’ve revoked the vampyr’s invitation without making eye contact.
By the way, Saga isn’t aware of my plan. She’d be fully against it.
Back to the matter of Ljosam?r. Mor’s so Hel-bent on sailing us south that I wouldn’t be surprised if she started building her very own drakkar—if the Fjords aren’t willing to trade us one, that is.
With dragons filling the northern skies, you’d think boats would’ve fallen out of favor. After all, they lead outside the safety of the wards.
What a shame Alpha urine cannot protect vessels like it protects our valleys. Not that I truly want to leave anymore. Especially not without you.
I miss you so damn much, Nordin. I hate that your father sent you away.
Mor says he did it to keep you from defying the Council’s ruling and thus jeopardizing your claim to Alpha.
Why didn’t he just use his Alpha pitch to keep you away from Tyron?
Why did he have to send you out of the valley?
I’m so furious with him.
On another note… Though I appreciate you sending Vanoo back to guard me (you’ll be glad to hear he’s taking the job mighty seriously), I wish you’d kept him at your side.
And not because his presence is making it difficult to search the valley for places you could’ve hidden Kjell, but because the thought of you and Saga out there on your own keeps me up at night and torments my days.
Never has a week felt so long.
With more love than ink and paper could ever hold,
Zas
P.S. At least, I won’t need to burn this journal entry. Writing with my left hand has not only rendered my lettering illegible, but it has also smudged the ink (more darkens my skin than the page). May the poultice Mor rubs on my broken wrist mend the bone quickly.