Ankyra Sound not afraid of the storm that comes my way

Kjalarr had spoken his goodbyes to Scimitar; and they had been as hard as he had assumed they would be and yet somehow made easier by the news of disbandment. His adoptive father had attempted to convince him to go with him and the others. Yet, his purpose was here in the Teekon Wilds, in rekindling what had been lost between his biological family and him. They needed him — something that he'd not expected and the obligation of duty weighed heavily upon his shoulders. Still, Kjalarr was not sure why his family needed him. Charon was clearly the man of the house, which was the only reason the young Berserker could think that they would need him for yet he digressed. Kjalarr had not expected to make a diversion on his return back to the Moonspear, but he figured altering his path a bit could not hurt, and since Charon had brought it up in their initial meeting his curiosity had been piqued. 

On the slightly brighter upside he hadn't really had to come up with an explanation for the three clawed wounds upon his muzzle as he'd originally feared though if it would have come up the truth probably would have been spoken. Even if it was reckless. And stupid. While the reminder of his true mortality had been startling when the bear had left it's physical mark upon him, there was an unrest that seethed within Kjalarr's heart. An unrest that would likely not settle until he managed to finally kill a bear. However, he had more immediate things to worry about, and certainly needed more training and to recoup from his idiotic charge and nurse his wounded pride (and the flesh wounds that would surely scar). 
 
Though it's layout had not been particular in the order — in fact leaving the Ankyra Sound for last had taken him further away from the Moonspear — he had made the decision to return to where one part of his life had ended and another had begun. He'd hit Stavanger Bay on his way towards Jade Fern Grove, pausing to take in the place of his birth. It had not been entirely destroyed and there was something that still stirred within the ancient copses of trees, in the shrilling call of the crows overhead. Yet, Kjalarr had not lingered. At least, no longer than necessary. 

The ocean was not a particularly soothing sound to Kjalarr who had nearly drowned in it's depths. It was stupid luck alone that he hadn't, that it had spit him back out upon the very shores he stood, soaked to the bone, unconscious and caught up in washed up seaweed. Small and helpless. The two things that he was very far from, these days. He had promised to return swiftly, but he did not think his diversion would take him too much longer than it would have, anyway.