Fairspell Meadow November skies

Wildfire sounded as if she were on the verge of being hysterical Kjalarr contemplated, and he took a moment to glimpse around though the swarming mass of bodies as a writhing and living shadow did not offer him much in the form of sight. He understood her point, but it was almost so ridiculous that for a moment the Viking struggled with the idea that it wasn't even real at all and just one of his vivid dreams. Yet, surely it had to be real. He was very much awake and Wildfire appeared real enough as did her tense companion. Sometimes, the boundary of reality and fantasy blurred in the moments that followed his waking but he was confident that it didn't get more real than this. Besides, he usually dreamed of Ragnar or the Gods — never of wolves that he knew personally. “Ok,” The Viking amended, “I see your point.” He placated. “If I didn't know better I might have thought I was dreaming,” He spoke but he'd already deduced that this wasn't some nightmare of his subconscious; but rather a nightmare of reality.

The muscles in his back jumped to dispel the miniature beasts as they landed and walked around a bit before taking off into flight, buzzing past his head causing him to let out a loud huff of annoyance. “I watched them devour a whole tree, I wanted to see how far their reach extended, assess just how bad the damage is,” But so far it looked bad and Kjalarr was sure the swarm was far from done. Already, he was so far from what little to no hunting territories Saltwinter had and internally, he feared greatly for their survival, hoping only that the Sea would provide enough for them to live. He was not partial to the salty tang of most of it's creatures but he would suffer through it if it meant he would not starve to death.

“I don't know,” Kjalarr was not used to yelling but in the interest of not having his normally soft voice being swallowed by the constant hum he made do. Kjalarr wasn't sure if his suspicions would make things worse or ...better. It was hard to say: Ragnarok was survivable but many would die including the Gods and still he went back and forth upon it. He hadn't felt or seen the Wild Hunt which in the stories proceeded Ragnarok. Perhaps, he allowed, this was just a sign from the Gods; but a sign for what? That they were coming? “I fear the worst is yet to come.” Kjalarr concluded ominously, fixing Wildfire's monochrome form in his sharp gaze.