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''What is the point of this pelt, again?'' Iona asked from her father. It was odd, to hold something that used to breathe, but did no more.
Iona was feeling the soft grey fur with mixed patches of black, grabbing it and letting the fur get in between her delicate fingers. The pelt was from a real wolf, who had died long ago. The pelt was used to channel the beast when a pup first begins to form their connection. It helps to bring them closer, bind them into one.
Of course, with Iona the situation was slightly different. Pups have their beast even when inside their mothers but the connection is dormant for years. The age of when the connection takes form varies between each individual, but they all shift during their puberty years.
Each ulfhednar goes through the same lack of control after the first shift. Some even kill their friends while in the frenzy of the bloodlust, confusion and the beast relishing in its freedom. That was what worried Viggo, he did not want that to happen to his child.
They were on unknown waters with her journey. Never had they heard of an ulfhednar like her, having her beast almost nonexistent for 21 years.
''It helps you to get closer to her,'' Viggo said, frustrated with her lack of focus on the task at hand. Running his tongue over his gums, he fought the need to show off his dominance over his pup, by rolling back his lips and releasing a snarl.
Both beast and the daughter recognised him as their father, and as someone above them. Submission is a hard thing to give for a beast so wild and proud, but she gladly gave it to him. "Sorry, father."
Their training had begun early in the morning with a run. The sun of Sunna had yet to even show her face, when Viggo had rose out of his bed and pulled Iona up. They skipped breakfast, only small sips of water was allowed before he kicked her out of the comfort of a warm house, in to the brisk air of the mountains.
They and ran and ran until her feet were sore. She was sure that her feet were bleeding, but it was not blood she felt wetting her bare feet, only the soil and muddy ponds she had stepped on.
She needed to build up her endurance, for she was a human no more. She needed to accept their shared forms, and the gifts that come with it. She could try to fight her for as long as she wanted, but it would get her no where but in to a grave.
She was wearing clothes, very similar to those of a shieldmaiden. Coal colored trousers to help her move better, wool tunic with a leather belt made of bear's skin. she was bare foot, for her father had told her she would no longer find no need for such a thing. Her hair, kissed by flames, was braided and tied with a thick thread.
Viggo wore only his wool trousers, so he would be able to shift easier. Bare chest, only the tattooes covering it and hair on his upper body. His hair was long enough for few braids on top of his head, to keep them from falling on his face. Bare foot like his daughter, he too found no need for such a thing. It would only slow him down to wear them, make shifting harder.
