Stone Circle Bellow until out of breath

The boy's looking for @Drøugr but anyone is welcome!

The boy had been running for hours—perhaps even days. Time had long since lost its meaning. All he knew now was the searing pain in his torn and battered pads, each step a cruel reminder of the ground’s indifference. His body was a canvas of scars, streaked with blood and viscera; his ears freshly torn, still weeping. He searched, he scanned—like a headless fowl he staggered across the land, erratic, frenzied, in pursuit of a man.

DRØUGR!! he cried, voice ragged, tearing from his throat with the last of his breath. He prayed his scream would summon the warrior. Drøugr of the frostfields!! he called again, more pleading than commanding now. His voice faltered. His breath came in ragged gasps, and though still upright on trembling legs, the boy seemed on the verge of collapse.

I am Áskell, son of Stòròlfr! he declared, though his voice had dimmed to a broken echo. I seek Drøugr, he murmured to himself, the last embers of hope flickering within him, all but extinguished.