"So you don't run off, either, Vali. But call in Lut and Tig, please, while I start here. Oak, stay." She rises to get some dross to reinforce the cantrips she'll be using. She softly murmurs in tones like a lullabye, "When the long winter nights come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack." She strokes the dog's paw as she recites, and glamour flows from her fingers with each stroke.