Stone Circle stand next to the spire of my crumbling

Noma does not stir when Wardruna leaves the den, deep asleep as she often is. If she isn’t being forced to follow him around in the cold, she stays in the den curled up and asleep. She wakes when he makes her, forcing her to eat something, and it has put a little meat on her bones but she is still grossly thin and it has become difficult to care as much as he does. She’d have long since passed away if it hadn’t been for his intervention of her travels and she thinks about it often, wishing he’d left her alone that day. This is no way to live, either, as she takes what little pleasure she can in dreams. In an alternate reality, perhaps she is happy. Perhaps she has all the things she needs and she doesn’t feel pain. Every so often it is interrupted by the occasional nightmare but she takes relief where she can.

When Wardruna returns, calling out to her, Noma still does not move. Her ears are relaxed against her head, legs curled into her form, and the rest of her is lax while she stays in a sleep deep enough not to hear him. Even the scent of blood and fresh meat doesn’t draw her out and despite the new chill in the den without the absence of his thick fur, she remains unfazed.

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