Bitterroot Valley welcome home

to think the hound would be back here again — laughable it is without the silver in toe, or rather, he following him. he stands at the crest of the valley alone. the night sky an endless stretch above, and kratos a blend of autumn colors that fits well enough with the dying decay around him.
he still has a limp in his hind right leg, mangled a bit from a brutal exchange that happened outside of the wilds doors. what little knowledge he’d retained of medicine, he’d used — but it still wasn’t enough for the wound to heal. it burned, much like the rest of him, as he wandered forth.