Stone Circle In eyes of father to son

Sounds like Astrid would like it there. The joke rattled weakly out of his mouth. He wasn't sure why he bothered with it, he couldn't laugh at it himself. Valhalla. It was someplace his father would go and he would be unable to follow.

Through bleary, turquoise eyes, Ujurak studied his father. How little he knew him beyond 'Faðir.' The Faðir of Kvarsheim. The oldest wolf he knew. Brave and strong and wise and kind. Could his father have ever been anything else? Could he, himself, be like his father?

Ujurak blinked, only to find the watery film across his vision once again. It didn't matter. He could still see his father. The metallic eyes that were shared with Sven. The earthen tones of his pelt that Astrid and Kristjan inherited. Where could he find himself? What part would be his to keep?

In his search the stone prince had fallen silent. The thump, thump, thump, within his father's chest resounded within his own. A cherished sound that almost obscured Gunnar's words.

But Ujurak listened. Receiving the instructions, he closed his eyes and hid his face within his father's fur. There was so much to do. Could he do any of it? Where would he start?

His voice was no more than a whisper, I promise.