Barrow Fields god's either dead or running on double A's

Another wolf catches his attention, first by voice, then as he turns he sees the culprit. It takes him a moment to register the words in his head, repeating them once or twice to try and garner the meaning, and he shakes his head once he’s recognized the words. Ukko takes a deep breath of salty air and nods his head—he can’t imagine anything else would be the culprit of the heavy air around him, weighing down his thick fur.

“I’ve never been,” he muses, looking the way he’d been traveling. The ache in his feet is forgotten and he takes a few more steps in the snow before glancing behind him. What he can pull together through the humid air, he doesn’t notice the scent of other wolves on the stranger. “Going the same way?”