Stone Circle on a dare,

Casually revives him

---

How long had it been since he died? There was a double entendre here; one, the obvious- how long ago now, how long had it been, since Bonario Loðbrók had died; two, he had repeated to himself every day in an endless chant, how long had it been, how long ago now, since Gunnar Loðbrók died? Maybe a third ended this off, Bonnie wondered. How long ago since his father died?

So, the days went on, and they were monotonous and despondent. No one came to look for him some days. To be fair, he didn't go to look for anyone. Didn't want no one. Didn't have no one. He didn't need nobody. They could live their lives, and he would live his. Didn't need nobody.

For once in his life, Bonario Loðbrók, son of Gunnar, father of the stones, had tamed. Not a feral beast frothing with foul words and spitting meaningless nonsense. He'd spent his days as a hunter, never leaving the food trays empty. Didn't have enough time to interact, because how could he when he hardly slept? When he was hardly around to speak? Always gone, as useless as he was useful, leaving food on the table and trying to spruce it up at the end with silly little herbs he didn't understand. The man tried to learn to be a better cook and butcher. He didn't appreciate the blood at some points, but the effort was there.

At the end of the day, he didn't belong anywhere.

Today was no different when he returned with elk thigh in his mouth, an antler at the top and touching the roof his mouth. He carried both with no pride, because he'd long let it die. What a man he was.

His return saw the backs of three wolves after a distant call.

Ujurak, Bjorn. Who were these others? "What's going on?"