Fairspell Meadow November skies

The swarms had come all at once and without any perceived warning that Kjalarr could recall. He simply remembered casting a glance at the greyscale sunset and entering The Grotto to his corner of the communal den and waking up to the thrum of their wings “humming” consistent and never ending in the drums of his ears. It was only after he watched, albeit dumbfounded, them consume an entire tree of the leaves did something horrible settle in his chest and dread pool like ice in his stomach. Food was already scarce for Saltwinter and with the locusts consuming everything in their path the threat of their survival had kicked into red alert within Kjalarr's mind.The viking allowed himself to be swallowed by the writhing mass of insects as he headed into the free territories, hoping to come across a territory left untouched by their destruction.

He did not encounter much luck, and the bare scrape of his large paws against land that few patches of grasses remained was taken as an ill omen to the Loðbrók. The sagas always claimed that it would be the great winter that heralded the twilight of the Gods ...but this had all the makes of Ragnarök to the young viking. Still, he kept pressing forward, stopping every so often to bite at them as they landed on him and hopped off his body as if he were a spring board and into flight. He could barely see …but it wasn't as if this realm of poor eyesight was exactly unknown to him. If anything, it was more or less a similar effect of direct sunlight: it hindered him but he did not stop. There had to be territories that were faring better ...there had to be something left. 

A sound caused his ears to stand alert atop his skull, for a short second before he flicked his left ear annoyed to dispel a stubborn bug as it landed upon it. He recognized a scent, and for a split second picked up his pace to close the distance between him and her, before he visibly hesitated, remembering what Floki had told him: that they'd broken up; but that was between the ex-lovers and it was not Kjalarr's grudge to hold. “Wifi!” He called out to her, raising his voice in the hopes it might carry to her. In the mass of insects he didn't even bother trying to truly rely on his sight. “Wildfire, is that you?”  There was chaos within the swarm and there wasn't much Kjalarr was sure of; still the viking held onto the slim hope.