Barrow Fields blood and wine

Floki assured him that the only thing that was hurt was his pride and Kjalarr offered him a reassuring smile. Kjalarr knew how hard of a blow one's pride could take and understood that it was a bitter pill to swallow. The trick, Kjalarr had learned, was not to let it seethe beneath the skin, to accept it and push to do better the next time. “I might eat until my stomach explodes when it does end,” Because since the famine started all he wanted to do was gorge himself. The little bits of food he'd been able to hunt for himself hadn't been enough to truly sate his hunger, just enough to keep his stomach from digesting itself; and the time when he had feasted it had been upon the flesh of another wolf, though for reason he emitted his from Floki for the fear that his twin would find it unworthy, that he would cease to talk to him again and losing Floki again wasn't something Kjalarr thought he could deal with. Some things were better left unsaid.

“Yes, it's close by,” Kjalarr responded and gestured towards it with his muzzle. “I can show it to you, if you'd like?” At the very least he could show Floki where it's borders were so that his twin could come visit him, if he wished. Kjalarr doubted he was welcome to visit Floki else he would do so more frequently. The grudge against Charon might have been a dissolving thing — though his dislike still lingered from their past transgressions with one another — but Kjalarr doubted Charon would be eager to forgive and forget.