The Wolf Stirs

Last night, I was called to while I dreamt. The one night I chose to sleep.
 
I was standing on a sea cliff, the waves crashing against it and spraying me with their frigid waters. Next to me, a white cat nuzzled my leg, and I knew; the cat is the totem of Frigga, mother of Baldur, the original witch, and a goddess of fertility, life, and the sky. Storm clouds rumbled in the distance, the faintness of Fenrir's growl echoing over the monolithic mountains behind me. And beneath my feat were wilted crops, with goats scattering the land with throats slit. I was wearing my Volva Veteran garb, again, my claws long and my hands bloody. The cold winds kissed my back, thighs, and face, my tattoos shifting on my skin. And across from me was the Archseeress of the coven, a falcon on her shoulder... sitting down at a table on this wilted field, pouring a cup of tea.
 
"An interesting day to join an old woman for tea, isn't it?"

I remember being taken aback. It's been years since she reached out to me. My antlers branched from my head and I felt the blood of our sacrifices painting my face. I replied saying that it was an interesting day to invite me to tea. She replied by saying, "Best feed your blood not poison but life when the wolf stirs. And he is stirring. Quite restlessly I might add."
 
She spoke to me of how the chaos entities of the world were mobilizing for a great time of renewal, how the days of Ragnarok were nigh, and the ancient evils once buried would rise up within the new, corrupting what was good. She reminded me of my oath, and that I should make peace with those in my life. But not because they would be taken. She said must face the fire with the heart of winter, and the golden sky will pierce the ash. Always as cryptic as ever. I must commune with the Gods again, I must touch down to the old ways. Perhaps my shop is ready to retire. Perhaps it is time I visit home once more. Asmund would be happy with that.
 
"All will hear your Valkyrie Cry," she said.
 
It is time for the Old Ways to return to Runfel. Frigga herself charges me with it. But for now, Founder's Day awaits, and my son will become a man. And I will taste the blood of a Druid at last. After seeing what he and his companions did, I will not underestimate him. I will observe what he does, but I will not allow him room to get the jump on me. I saw what that fucking deer looked like, a bloody Seer Elk. This boy is not like any other Druid that I've encountered, and last time I checked, Shifter's didn't hold their punches. My question is why the Gods brought them to me. What purpose do I serve in these omens of his? I fear the pursuit of answers regarding this, but I don't find myself having much of a choice.