Bitterroot Valley on this earth not alone we stand

@Wardruna

he had expected some great catharsis as they finally crested the last shrub-tangled slope and entered the teekon valley. as if by coming here, his faculties would be restored to crystal clarity -- and the months surrounding his departure would somehow be ambitiously erased.

around them the gnarled feet of the mountain sat indisposed by wiry tangles of mountain-brush and sedge; and in the distance the tall peaks' shoulders were sundered by misty clouds. ingram paid their frowning presence little mind, for his heart was fluttering for a reason unknown to him.

as he stared down into the valley he thought it would all come back to him - why he had been there, what he had been before, where he was supposed to go -- yet as he studied the blue ridges in the distance he felt the same; ultimately, simply out of place.

he frowned, disappointed by the feebleness of his mind. in truth, since his mauling and miraculous survival, he had struggled to recollect memories of his past life at all. bits and pieces of his life had remained like the incomplete and skewed surface of a fractured mirror; small, inconsequential memories that told him enough that he knew his name, but very little else. it was pure fortune he had survived and recovered as he had; had the bear not lost his grip as he hauled him up the mountain (and had ingram not limply fell a calamitous height in result of shardik's error), ingram would not have survived at all.

it had been wardruna who had found his broken body, and in haste had dragged him into a sliver in the mountain's face too small for the bear to pursue. and pursue the bear had -- squealing and screaming his fury to see his prey stolen from him.

yet none of this ingram remembered, for fever had ransacked his body for days, and infection toxic and bucolic had ravaged him; what had made ingram ingram had shriveled up in the raging fever, and the subsequent battery of concussions that ailed him.

imrathil, the tall man had called him -- a name that stroked the dying fires of ingram's consciousness, and had eventually stirred dim memory of his true name.

wardruna had done his part to heal ingram; it was no small fluke that ingram had survived once in his care -- if anything, it was a testament to the man's dedication in seeing his charge gradually heal, day by day. for months wardruna had shouldered the lion's share of ensuring their survival.

if ingram was lucky he had plummeted down the mountainside, he was doubly lucky to have found a ward as capable as the noble man which tended to him.

flicking a near-torn-beyond-recognition ear behind him, ingram listened for wardruna's approach. he had managed to limp ahead of the grey-furred wolf, and wanting for wardruna's encouragement, looked behind him with a face that told clearly of his bitter disappointment.