Stone Circle that's a feeling you'll get over overnight

No place really felt like home anymore. Kincaid had been on the move for too long, and hadn't given himself much time to set down roots before trotting off into the storm to chase after the supposed portent — and probable huckster. If he were any kind of man, he thought, he would have gone to find Eleuthera before anything else, but even if he hadn't been able to find the mysterious prophet from before, he felt he had to heed her warnings. 

Was relieved, almost, to heed them. After all, what had he been thinking? A guy like him, and a girl like Eleuthera? It didn't make any kind of sense, and she deserved better than to waste her time on a dusty old dog like him.

So he came to the borders of Easthollow, a little thinner and a little more ragged than he'd been when he left. Again, he carried a gift in his mouth — a beaver, this time, its open stomach cavity half-filled with trinkets from the beach. Useless things like seashells and smooth rocks, but things he was almost sorry to give up all the same. He hoped that this would mean something to the leader, even if some small part of him was ashamed at this attempt to buy favor and forgiveness. Valette, he thought, deserved far better from him.

The beaver was set down at his paws, and he stepped back from it to relinquish ownership before howling for @Valette. Then, he waited, tail and ears drooping in weariness and deference both.