Northstar Vale ich bin nur in einer furcht

what draws wintersbane back here, to this place where he rose and loved as melkor ...to the final resting place of the fey queen, is unknown. perhaps it is the same temptation that drew him to lotte's final resting place in the strath and relmyna's in the woods: a goodbye. still, as it ever is, it remains hard. hard to continue once he realizes where wandering paws have brought him. he should turn. he should return to the spire where he has begun life anew for the umpteenth time. he should return to his daughter.

how tired he is of losing those he adores in life; over and over like the strike of an unfortunate curse. it stirs with it a bit of unease over allowing q in his life but perhaps, borne of his own loins, she is the exception to the accursed life wintersbane's lived.

courtfall's scent is all but faded from the borders of the vale — he hates this place, the womb of the sunspire. the womb of death. as he finds himself hating the strath and the dark woods.

it is the scent of blood and sickness and the pitiful cries he hears that keeps him from actually turning around. curiosity mingled with idle concern drives him forward to find the collapsed male who has clearly, from assessment of the tundrian's sharp glacial gaze, seen better days. ❝hey,❞ wintersbane barks, slow and cautious in his approach. ❝can you hear me?❞ the tundrian asks in lieu of 'are you ok' because ...anyone looking at the man can tell he wasn't ok.