Bitterroot Valley on this earth not alone we stand

the ankyrian male was morosely silent as wardruna pulled up alongside him and inspected the desolate sweep of hinterland with one unclouded eye. when the thick-furred guardian fixed his gaze upon ingram, ingram offered a quailing hint of a smile. even then, his discouragement could not be hidden -- and wardruna had spent enough time with the male to be intimately familiar with imrathil's inward demeanor.

he was disappointed, and nodded in defeated agreement to the viking's assessment. the slouching hills and fen-studded dales brought no living memory to the broken male; only a clouded, overwhelming sense of futility.

"it doesn't mean anything." he murmured bitterly, nosing the air with a sharply outlined muzzle. "where do we go?" ingram deferred to wardruna in every retrospect; the male had been his guardian, his savior, his captain -- and he placed his full trust in whatever path the man chose.