The Tangle I Am Machine

Týrr had been preparing. Not just Frostfire Ridge for the eventual residence of what would be his pack, but also for his journey South. The wounds upon his neck from the battle of the Glacier were all but healed, little more than pink, scar tissue where the Siren's teeth had raked down the side of his neck, his strength returned to full. His intentions had not been set upon fulfilling what he had sworn to whatever deity had been listening, to extract vengeance and seek justice for the loss of his memory, for his imprisonment and the lies weaved to him; this desire had been pushed back in favor of focusing his attention and time upon preparing the territory for a pack, and in recruiting. It was a dream that had came to him that lit the metaphorical fire, that filled him with nothing short of urgency. He needed to seek it soon or it would forever be lost to him; because if Ragnar did not die then Týrr himself would die in the older male's place. It had been more than strange to see his life less body, even if it was just in a dream.

He would not die for Ragnar, not as long as he still drew breath. Whatever loyalty he'd held towards the man, whatever love had burned up like fire in his veins when Manauia had told him the truth. Tezcacoatl's memories were coming back, albeit slowly and in thin wisps that left him feeling greatly unsatisfied. But Týrr would not pry for the headaches were all the warning that he needed. He'd been following the scent trail of a sickly doe, thinking that venison would be a good, hearty meal to have before he went upon his journey, unsure how long it would take him when it actually came down to the death match. He had left a vague message about heading south to recruit for a bit, though it was not fully a lie, it was not the full truth, either. He didn't want anyone to know the core reason for his venture, especially Manauia, whom he was never on the best of terms with to begin with, likely for their equal stubbornness and inability to see eye to eye on ...well anything.

Týrr drew in a deep breath, pausing in his steps to sniff at the trodden earth to make sure that his course was still true when the scent of a loner intercepted the scent of the sickly doe — which had been a few days old to begin with. For a moment, he deliberated. One on side of the coin, the doe was either very close to death or had already perished; but on the other perhaps this loner might be open to recruitment — which was not something he ever discounted. Ears slicked back to his skull before with a soft sigh the Rekkr abandoned the doe's trail in favor of the loner's, course changing as he followed it. He did not have to go far to find her though, her silhouette cast in the distance. The Rekkr offered her a soft chuff of greeting, and to alert her to his presence if she hadn't noticed it already.