The day had only just begun when his journey was continued, the yearling having turned from a mound in the snow to a burly wolf. He’d lost track of the time passed since his departure from the summit, knowing only that he’d yet to find any traces of his sister. Even after returning to the last place he’d seen her, too much time had gone by, her scent barely there; it had cut in and out, leaving him unable to pinpoint an exact location of departure. He’d decided that he was only wasting time by remaining there, possibly allowing for an even greater amount of space to grow between his wayward sibling and himself, and so the area was abandoned. Continuing through the snow, determination fueled his weary limbs and eventually carried him right back into the same lands he’d left so many months ago.

Guided by nothing but a gut feeling, the boy’s ascent of the mountain began just as the world began to enter darkness. Oftentimes he stopped, sniffing the air and earth—anything, really—in search of something that resembled his sister, only to come up empty every time. Unfazed by the lack of findings, he trudged through the snow without any further halts. When he stopped again, it was due to the presence of a coyote, its scent having been growing stronger with each step he took. Huffing, he silently prepared himself for the encounter, hoping that they’d do nothing more than pass one another by; he did not fear the lesser canines, viewing them as more of a nuisance than a threat. Yet, as he continued, something else stood out: a wolf. The scent, previously masked by the coyote’s odour, was vaguely familiar, but not enough for him to get excited or really even acknowledge the familiarity. With newly cautious steps, Hvitserk crept closer, rounding a disturbance in the path and seeing at last what he’d been smelling.

Against the blanket of snow stood a darkened mass, the way it interrupted the white noticeable even under the gloom of the night. From afar, he couldn’t recognise the other, nor did he make any attempt at getting a closer look, instead scanning the area for a smaller creature. Pointing his nose up into the oncoming breeze, he found the odour to be waning. Deciding that the presence of two wolves must have frightened the creature, he lowered his muzzle back to its original place and began moving again, letting out a low wuff as he ventured nearer to the dark mass. Lacking the intention of going around the other, he figured he would at least let his presence be known, giving her the option to do what he would not.

In spite of his silent offer, the wolf stayed where she was, moving neither forward nor away. He half expected her to say something—most did when approached—but was greeted by silence. Inwardly shrugging it off, he continued towards her, intending to glide right on by without interruption. Except, as he got nearer, he was overcome by a sense of déjà vu. Confused, he tried to push the feeling away, only for it to intensify instead and essentially take over. Slowing to a stop, his brows scrunched up whilst he looked over the wolf, not finding anything that really stood out to him. Taking several more steps forward, his eyes trained on the woman, he found himself once again stopping as something did stand out: a mask.

“Heda?” he croaked out, voice hoarse from months of scarce usage. Had he found his way back to them somehow? It seemed unlikely, but the similarities between the woman and his past leader made him consider the possibility. He had been traveling for a long time now, so it wasn’t totally unbelievable that he’d ended up back in the Wilds but… if he was there, then that meant that he must have been searching in the wrong direction all along.

What to expect, he wasn’t sure, whether it be anger or joy. When he’d left, he hadn’t shared any goodbyes, he’d simply disappeared after Freyja; out of them all, she had been the one to always be there for him. He’d grown so attached, so dependent, back then that the option of not following her had never crossed his mind. Controlled by impulse, he’d abandoned the only home that he had ever known—he began to expect anger. Yet, there seemed to be an unforeseeable third option: being unrecognised. At least, he assumed that to be the case when all that came out of her mouth was a single-worded response.

“I—” his voice died with a sharp crack, unaccustomed to being used. Closing his mouth, he cleared his throat, trying to get his vocal cords working again. “Ai moba,” was the first thing to leave his mouth thereafter, quiet but audible. Both for leaving and returning, though he made no verbal clarification that those were his reasons. It was all he could think to say, fully unprepared for the encounter and, deep down, fearing the outcome.

Shifting his weight, he peered down towards the earth underfoot, waiting for something. He didn’t have the energy to fight in any sense of the word, travel-worn and exhausted by the reminder of the past. He didn’t want to look at her anymore, scared of what he might see—or wouldn’t see, actually. Yet, when she spoke, he couldn’t help but drag his gaze back up towards her own. For a brief second, he even looked into her eyes, before casting his stare down to her muzzle. “Gon ste bants op…” he answered, trailing off at the end. “Gon ste kom daun op…” For choosing one wolf over the pack, really, though he couldn’t find it within his heart to regret wanting to be with his sister.

Again, he stole a glance at her eyes, only this time his eyes returned to the ground immediately after, rather than staying on her. The bird that circled overhead went by not unnoticed—the sound of its wings forbid that—but unacknowledged.

Faintly, his shoulders rose and then dipped back down. Used to following the cues of others—until recently, he’d always had some sort of leading figure in his life—he couldn’t provide an answer to her question. In part, it was also due to his uncertainty of the entire encounter. Should he ask about going with her, or continue his search for Freyja? His immediate answer was to search for his sister, so used to being with her and not knowing what exactly to do without her. Yet, when he took the time to actually think about it, wouldn’t it be better to stay? Freyja has Seff now, she doesn't need her brother hanging around constantly. So, despite how desperately he wanted to, he soon realised that he couldn’t continue his search for her. He couldn't keep following her around like a lost puppy; it wouldn’t be good for either of them.

As she took a step, Hvitserk looked back up, surprised by her suggestion. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Closing it, he settled for giving a slow nod.

The sudden strike pulls a sharp yelp of surprise from his throat. He pulled his ears back, laying them flat against his head, but made no move to resist her. Even after being released, he kept his head down, tail slack between his thighs. Resisting the urge to look back up, he waited, silent and still, until she made a sound. Whilst his head stayed low, his eyes turned upwards just in time to catch her invitation. For the first few steps taken, he made no move to follow, hesitating. Eventually pushing through it, he started trailing after her just the same as when he was younger, albeit with a noticeable amount of distance between them this time.