Permafrost Hollows half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers

the vartija || border marking

there is palpable relief when wintersbane reaches the borders of the permafrost hollow, taking in the scents of the recruits that have thus far made their way here and begin to get to work. recruitment was such a bitch — a lesson he'd learned while trying and otherwise failing to recruit for blackfeather woods. the one distinct advantage he had this time was he decided what was transparent information and what was not ...and as the vartija was not going to be ran on a keen veil of secrecy all information was readily transparent to the loners that wintersbane came across.

the recruitment drive is far from done, he knows. he will have to once more venture beyond the land they've begun to lay claim to, to recruit; but not right now. right now, he wanted to take a break from what feels like aimless wandering and focus on strengthening the border foundations already lain and helping the recruits that stay to hold down the fort in building food caches and basic medical caches — though it occurs to him with a curl of his lip that there wouldn't be much medicinal herbs or plants to be found in the fucking dead of winter.

for now, the tundrian is glad to be in the welcoming embrace of the place he'd subconsciously begun to think of as home. he lifts his leg and urinates upon the border marking and begins to follow the scent path, urinating, rubbing his scent upon nearby trees and kicking up clumps of frozen earth to utilize the scent glands in his pawpads.