Shadowwyn Moor Broken Crown

Aw! Tagging @Sven for reference. An explanation of Ujurak's absence.

He remembered that it was still cold when he left. The creeks were bound by ice and the trees laden with snow.

Red rimmed the stone prince’s eyes, fatigue crept into his marrow.

He had taken too long.

It was all he could think as unknown territory was left behind. The familiar landscapes of the Rising Sun Valley eased his weeping heart, but the land had changed in his absence. The snow had melted into the earth, leading to thick swathes of mud across the moorland. The spring grass was rejuvenated with vibrant greens, and dotted by the closed buds of flowers promised to bloom. The clear skies revealed the long-missed sun with its warming rays.

An east-bound wind carried the bold scents of the Bearclaws and the distant scents of Swiftcurrent Creek. His lip quivered at the absence of Kvarsheim’s sweet, meadow scent. A faded remnant lingered on the wind, but it was stale and easily overwhelmed.

He had taken too long.

The ghost of his pack’s scent brought to mind the reason for his absence. His brow furrowed as he recalled the sudden illness that brought its own spectres. Fever dreams and the confusion that followed, it was miraculous that he had even left Kvarsheim’s territory. He reasoned that it was the strength of his longing that carried him so far. The hallucinated whispers of Astrid, Kristjan, and their mother, Taktuq, lured him away from his people. From Sven.

There was no sweeter siren song than the voices of loved ones, even if they were in fact conjured by the subconscious. Yet it did not absolve him of the shame he felt. He’d be lucky to be left with shambles given how weak Kvarsheim’s scent was.

But Ujurak was lucky to return at all. The past weeks were a haze upon his mind. Lost to the febrile state he had succumbed to, it was only the passing assistance of a stranger that kept him from the grave. The stranger had nursed him to some degree of coherency, before leaving Ujurak with the herbs to finish his treatment. He did not retrieve the stranger’s name, but he was grateful all the same.

Healed from his sickness, Ujurak was not without wear. The toll on his body left him drained, and the weight upon his soul nearly made him buckle. Pausing in the Shadowyn Moor, Ujurak crooned out a mournful note into the wind.

He did not know if he would be answered, but he made himself known. He had returned, but were there any who remained?