Blackfeather Woods don't ask the gods to help

i was hoping you'd join! ♥

it doesn't take wintersbane long to figure out that he's being followed. her footfalls are quiet, near silent, but he senses her presence with a quiver down his spine and turns his head to look over his shoulder. of course it is his varjostin — his shadowstalker. the tundrian's steps have slowed to a stop and he turns to face her, relieved and happy to see her. it shows in the softening of his eyes, in the tremor of his ears as they flutter back to rest at half mast atop his skull as he regards her. varjostin, he croons his greeting to her.

but there is a chill to this reunion that is inevitable, unavoidable and his joy at seeing astara is sucked from him as quickly as it came. he does not scent relmyna upon her pelage and the fist around his heart tightens. an uneven breath is taken, but it is a struggle. there is a slump to his shoulders and a deep bow of his head of remorse, of sorrow. the lack of her mother's scent upon her pelage is all the confirmation he needs. i'm sorry. he offers the shadowstalker though he doubts his grief is of any consolation to her. averna and astara are orphans of both relmyna and blackfeather woods and he can only imagine how that must settle and weigh.

will you take me to her? he asks in hushed tone, needing to see his once lover's grave. to make peace with her passing, as he'd done with his mother.