Tevinter moved through the Witches Marsh at the directive of the mysterious figure that haunted his slumbers, his dreams of battlefields and halls. Of feasts and Valkyries...though he did not have names for these things. His knowledge of his bloodline, of the culture he'd been born into and was meant to embody was severely lacking; and even if it wouldn't have been it was strictly who he was anymore. Jorunn Eitri had died the day the bear had drove him into the ocean — an instinct much older than him that had sparked to life and forced himself to make a decision in an attempt to save his life. Self preservation. Survival. Taking the name Tevinter (though where he got it from he wasn't sure) was an act of resurrection, made possible by Scimitar and his family. Tevinter's family. To the mysterious figure that often frequented Tevinter's dreams, there was something that was decidedly familiar about him even though Tevinter had never been able to place it.

The marsh was as sticky with thick mud as Tevinter remembered it being when Pasha, Whittier and him had went in search of Bazi, Allure and Swift. Though this time, it was the bear Tevinter sought instead of his missing (now not missing) family; and he was utterly alone. Tevinter had hit his full size a month ago, large, and broad and muscled (even if he still had a little bit of filling out to do yet). His build had always promised to be quintessentially Viking and puberty hadn't been a disappointment to him. It was hard to move with swiftness in the muck of the marsh, his weight more than it'd been the last time he'd been here, sinking his paws and part of his legs into the deep mud. He had to be careful he didn't get stuck for he'd stolen into the night, inspired by the voice that had reached out to him in his dreams. Deep, guttural. Terrifying and awing at the same time. “Kjalarr, face your fear. Confront your enemy and prove yourself.”

The only enemy that Tevinter was aware he had was the bear. Of course, logic told him that his misconception before was wrong: it was not the same bear. Perhaps that bear had left, or perhaps it had died. Regardless, the bears around here had hurt Swift ...and Tevinter was tired of cowering. He was strong now, he had been training. Was he ready to take on a bear? Probably not. Would that stop him? Absolutely not. The idea of taking a bear's skull to Bazi and Scimitar was a glorious one, a daydream fueled by boyish pride. Yet, Tevinter could not shake it. Not when the phantom of his dreams had demanded it. Encouraged it.

Tevinter's steps paused and he studied the dark muck he stood up to his belly in, easier to discern in the shadows of night where colors had no power over the domain of night. He took a moment to roll in the mud, covering his fur of platinum silver, previously untarnished with the weight of the mud, though his main reason had been to mask his scent. The mud added some weight though he shook off as much of the excess as he could before he pushed forth, heart beat beginning to thrum faster in his chest with unhindered anticipation as he drew nearer, it's scent strong now. Slinking low to solid ground, belly brushing the hard earth he stalked forth, fixating on the curled shadow, it's heavy breathes indicating that it was deep in slumber. Soon, they would be hibernating, Tevinter knew and he planned to use this to his advantage.

Whatever logical part of Tevinter that existed in his brain questioned the wisdom of his decision, demanded that he turn around and go back to Jade Fern Grove before he got himself killed. Yet, escaping death as he had several times tended to give a false sense of immortality that was only strengthened by his youth. It wasn't strictly pride that pushed him forward: it was vengeance. For him. For Swift. Tevinter couldn't even bring himself to care that it wasn't the same bear (likely for either of them). Fool boy. Yet logic was caged as Tevinter threw himself into the stretch of land between him and the bear, lips curled back from his teeth, ears slicked back against his skull as he hurled himself at the slumbering form, slamming into it's spine, paws on it's back as his teeth sunk into the back of the beast's neck that came to life under him, a roar of pain piercing the previously serene night air. The bear thrashed under Tevinter, who held on tighter and pulled, aiming to tear the chunk of flesh off. Grip released as it thrashed again, throwing him off of it's back. Tevinter tumbled off of it and landed with a loud, painful thud on the earth, it's blood metallic and hot in his mouth. A snarl tore from Tevinter's lips to mimic the bear's snarl of rage as he scrambled hastily to his paws. He circled the beast, hoping to avoid it's swipes of it's massive paws. Three swipes were given before Tevinter saw the chink in the armor and surged forth aiming for it's neck but it turned, quicker than Tevinter had anticipated it would have been with it's size and swiped out again, catching him across the muzzle, leaving three slashing wounds. At first, Tevinter had not felt the draw of claws across the bridge of his muzzle, only heat and sting, the roughness of it's paw pads against him. There was a moment of shock that froze Tevinter, leaving an opening for a death kill, and yet the bear snorted and rushed him, causing Tevinter to back pedal, numb, ears pinning against his skull as he came to the crushing realization that he was not yet strong enough to take on a fully grown grizzly. Not yet. The fact that it was letting him live as it turned it's back and padded off, away from him was ...unusual. Tevinter watched it lumber off, whatever was left of his pride weakly attempting to cajole him to follow. Yet, he did not listen to pride. He was alive, which was lucky in and of itself. Lucky that it did not think him worthy enough to actually fight, because he was not skilled enough to take it on. Not by himself. 

His life was worth the sting of humiliation though the throbbing of his muzzle stung much worse, in comparison. He turned after he began to crash from the adrenaline high, though it was not the direction of Jade Fern Grove he went. Not yet. He couldn't return to them yet, not as humiliated as he was. Though he knew he would have to offer his parents some explanation as to the wounds he bore; wounds that though Tevinter did not know it bore an eerie depiction of the very scars his biological father bore on his own muzzle in life.