Kintla Flatlands My undead mummy and me

The muted cries of strangers stirred Valtýr from his dreamscape. Dewy bronze eyes looks up to see two dark wolves tower over them; their pelts colored like tar and ash. One feverishly tended to the wet marks upon the fallen's limb while the other watched on with an expectant stare before its scrupulous green gaze turned to eye where Valtýr's rested. The child's jaw clenched as his wasted body curled a little tighter towards the warm one, not exactly sure what to make of the hullabaloo. His mind was absent of thoughts beyond basic survival, and so when Lasher touched his cold nose to a sunken cheek, the Sveijarn's eyes only offered a slow and heavy blink in response.

But suddenly a violent caterwaul rattled from the lungs of supine adolescent. The screech sent a fit of panic through the starved boy and his limbs flailed, muscles seizing, in an attempt to right himself. Eventually he scrambled towards Lasher's leg, but not before loosing a few drops of urine to fear. Sooty bat-ears cupped his crown as his heart raced, his insides suddenly animated by the shock. His lanky figure hugged the adult's foreleg as he watched the she-wolf return to consciousness, but couldn't help but feel the biting cold return to his side once again.