Stone Circle your crown is burning gold and blood

tagging @Valette but essentially all welcome! :-)

Wardruna has moved on from Duskfire Glacier, albeit with some internal reluctance. He has grown rather attached to the territory in the very short time he was there but being a lone wolf fills him with the insatiable urge to keep going, to never linger in one place for too long. This sense of urgency, to move from neutral territory to neutral territory is no doubt also heightened due to the oncoming winter. It breathes it’s promise of death of all things already: the temperatures are already cold and a snow shower had started early in the morning as the world was upon it’s cusp of yesterday and today. Wardruna’s winter coat is thick and heavy, the arctic percentage of his mixed heritage playing it’s part well: the cold does not bother him. Not truly. What bothers him is the achingly slowness in which he has had to re-teach himself how to hunt with the gradual loss of eyesight in his left eye. The wound over the eye has long since healed: the flesh around it scarred to act as a permeant reminder as is the hyphema that has caused blood to pool at the bottom of his left iris. It no longer causes him pain: the nerves of the eye damaged in what had been meant to be a spar to the death have long since died from the damage they’d received ( which is good because hel has read that hyphema can be extremely painful ). His injury was …is devastating in it’s own way: re-learning how to hunt ( and even now he struggles like a young pup at times ) and having to re-teach himself how to fight to make up for the loss of sight in his eye is a struggle. He defied the valkyries that had came for him. He fought and lived. Every day.

Wardruna knows true hunger, now. There are some days he catches only one rabbit and must ration it to last him the whole day. The pressure to find a pack to settle with even if just to ride out the winter is a heavy weight. He is acutely aware of his statistics for survival if he does not and they are not good. There is nothing that Wardruna would not do to ensure his own survival: this he has proven to himself time and time again. His steps slow as he comes upon the heavy scent of pack borders: a scent that has gradually been building with nearly every step he’d taken and he halts. He leaves what he hopes is a more-than respectful distance between their borders and himself judging by scent, relieved that his sight would not have made much of a difference in judging that sort of distance even if he’d still had twenty/twenty. Wardruna’s ears perk atop his skull and his tail hangs low lingering upon the line of neutral and mildly submissive as he tips his head back and lets out a low call for the pack’s leaders.