Ouroboros Spine esto perpetua

It was a whirlwind. Valiant was exhausted, but too full of thoughts to sleep. At the same time, those thoughts did not want to come together in any semblance of order. Many of them were to the tune of, Vairë, Vairë, Vairë, which was as unhelpful as it was pleasant. Others were more of the wordless terror variety.

There was one terror, however, that did have a name. @Aiolos.

The isbjørn slipped away in the morning, half-formed plans joining the other thoughts clamoring in his mind. He washed himself in the freezing river, claws scrabbling across the ice to find a place where he could actually touch the water. Then, to warm up and dry off, he threw himself into a perilous hunt. There was a family of beavers living far across the lake that Valiant would've left well enough alone, had he known they would be so quick to defend a family member.

But he had his prize, now. Heavy and limp and still sopping wet. He paused, panting, to reorient himself on sun man's trail before picking up his burden once more. He slowed only when the scent of Aiolos was strong, red-eyed but wired, and finally considered that he should have consulted Vairë before seeking out her father. Perhaps she would have preferred to be here beside him — but there were some things that a man needed to do on his own.