Stone Circle Once there was a way to get back home

“Kvarsheim’s home,” she whispers aloud with an emerging realization. He mumbles the names of their two leaders, there is Bjarna’s accent upon his quivering tongue. She can see a pulse beating in his throat, and his limbs are so thin a breeze threatens to blow him over.

Carefully she shifts a little closer, as if one movement too rash might frighten the colt off. In a gingerly lift she places one dark paw upon her chest- the very way in which Bjarna had introduced herself.

“Systir. Tauris.”

She holds the paw there, searching his hollowed face for a flicker of understanding.

The veld rustles behind her and she steps back for Gunnar to pass. Into his arms he pulls the spindly little boy. A son? A nephew? She wonders if there is any familial blood that marries all of these misfits to one another, or if they were joined only by heart and pack.

She nods at Gunnar's words, grateful for the translation. “I will hunt, for the boy,” she offers.