The Sentinels From the Abyss it calls me

Gunnar was a talker, he always had been. Born the loudest, first to speak, first to leave the pack grounds and return with stories. He was a mouthy thing, loud and lively. Though now his loudness was tempered with age. Though sometimes he longed for the recklessness and talkativeness of youth, the rash feeling you felt when embolden with a sharp tongue.

Tveir chuckled and met the youth with kind eyes. You're already doing better than me. I traveled and didn't return. Left them all. He grew quiet as he thought of his siblings, his mother, he had made it back to bid his mother adieu, but he really had no idea where his siblings were or even how many there were anymore.

Gunnar made a soft ascent deep in his throat and shook his head. Not here in the forest no, but if memory serves and rumor mind. It was a draught and a storm and fire. But I could be very wrong how it started. But a scar like this, fire.