Ravensblood Forest from silence rose a symphony

He could hear his brother, of course, and yet at the same time, the tongue of his homeland slipped around him, buffeting against the shores of a reverie that held the man in its grasp. Standing still, a stone in the shade of the canopy, the eyes of his mother closed to shut away the world constrained by sight. 

A song thrummed deep in his heart, in his soul, and like a bird spreading its wings, Stjornuati could hear the song expand and swell as though a pair of lungs. The chants of a seer, the prideful songs of his kinsmen, the deep throated howls that had warned the northern wilds of their coming. Even the song of his brother's words added to the magic he felt here, the spark of something beneath his paws, in the air that he breathed, in the din of what life made this forest home. 

He could not restrain himself, lifting his head and allowing his own voice to join the unheard song of his fellows, notes twining and dancing with whatever spirits moved beyond the veil. It was a song of loss and heartbreak, but the song of a new beginning, as well. Stjornuati, in his enchantment, found a connection here that he had not felt since leaving their homelands.