Stone Circle foxtails

it was habit to rise with the dawn and contemplate where next he would go, taking in the sounds of songbirds as they heralded a new day, but today the sounds were discordant and the color of the sky closer to slate than seawater; the trees around him were unfamiliar, and at times he thought they were more like pillars, and he could not tell the forest floor apart from their canopies.
there was a haze to everything.
a light snow dusted the forest and found its way like motes of dust between them. saturio thought, are you sure this is snow? what of the ashes of avenarius?
he departed the forest with a lethargic hang to his body, a dragging of his heels. what liminal space was this? a field bled of color. stone obelisks jutting from the horizon line like crooked teeth. he did not want to look at them. there was the scent of wolves too, and so he lingered safely back and stood there in this odd space, unsure of himself or the world.

sorry for the wait - leadership in flux! excuse me being a little vague still <3

Kristjan was not particularly fond of patrolling, but he could understand the need for it. Besides that, Kvarsheim could use a bit of the mundane, a little normalcy, to bring stillness after the tumultuous stirring of their waters. They’d lost more than one wolf in a single bound, and he was determined not to lose the rest to the shambles becoming his life…

He sighed deeply, ending in a loud, exasperated noise.

Almost in that same instance, he noticed a firelit figure on the dawning horizon. Picking up his tail, he trotted towards the outline until it became a fully detailed wolf: a dashing, if not confused-looking, redwood male. Hallo, stranger, Kristjan greeted openly. You have arrived at Kvarsheim. I am Kristjan. He looked on expectantly. Are you looking for someone?

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Whether there was any dialogue or not, the male turned to walk his own way, and Kristjan renewed the border there before resuming his patrol.