Neverwinter Forest this emptiness won't fade

Kja has come to deliver the sad news :c for @Scimitar but if anyone else would like to hop in, feel free! <3

Kjalarr grieved. Death, he found, was not an easy thing to accept. It had been easy for him to accept Ragnar's death for he'd been so young when it had happened and Ragnar believed. While it brought Kjalarr a small semblance of comfort to think that Whittier had found a place among the hall of Æsir he did not think the Nordic consolations were appropriate. Whittier was not a Viking, but Kjalarr had to believe that his soul had not entirely departed into some empty void for that was far more painful than anything else to consider and thus he did not. He had taken the long way to Neverwinter Forest, though by the time he did reach the familiar borders, the scent of young ones caused him to almost turn back. Still, days after the fact, Kjalarr struggled with it, struggled to forgive himself, to let go of what he so desperately clung to. Guilt was the easiest thing to keep him grounded. So many what if's led to a million different possibilities of how that day would have gone. If Kjalarr would have only woke Whittier up to run patrols with him then he would still be alive. Yet, out of an act that Kjalarr had mistaken to be kindness in allowing his brother to sleep and have the day to himself it had ended up with hideous consequences. Consequences that Kjalarr knew he now had to face again.

He had no idea how to say it, how to break it gently, or even if there was a gentle way to say the horrible words that he had to say. His eyes were lowered, devoid of his pride, devoid of the joy at the knowledge that his aunt Kaskara had no doubt given birth by now. He had promised to visit ...but this was not how he had ever believed he would fulfill it and he was left...scared. Unsure of how his would change things between him and his adopted family. He did not feel like the man he'd become but rather like the small child that Scimitar had taken under his wing.

Yet, this was not something he could run from, not something he could put off for a later date. Scimitar needed to know and telling Scimitar was the only hope Kjalarr had of forgiving himself for what he believed to be his failings. Left unchecked it would fester like an infection in a wound. He drew in a deep breath and howled for Scimitar.

Kjalarr mourned; and was too exhausted from the energy it took to bother to hide it. To act like Whittier's death wasn't eating him alive inside.