Stone Circle When it is time to close my eyes

He sought him.
When morning came.
A passing that came unwanted, spare for guilted churn in his belly that rendered him disgusted. Low head, carried heavily and with wavering eyes, landing on none. A nose that followed the scent of Gunnar in all that he did not want it to; yet it did. Yet here he was.
He saw his body, collapsed and still. It was great caution that he approached, his limb a deathly stiffness that made the walk towards him a still one.
Even stiller was Gunnar, as he touched his nose to his neck, his hind coming to a sit. His heart, quivering and his chest a reckless waste that made his mouth dry. He stared, he stared. Stared. He couldn’t- breathe. He couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe. He felt. He. Not now. Not now. He could not move. He couldn’t. Why couldn’t he breathe? Why. He trembled, he broke by the Fadir of Kvarsheim. He broke. His entire mouth came to a drop, and his jaw stretching until he found himself in trembles as a curdling, gut wrenching scream ached from his mouth.
”HELP!”
He screamed. Until his mouth went dry and he couldn’t, his voice a crack and everything that he’d built, every wall. Every brick.
Broken.