Bearclaw Valley i'm never finished answering to the dead

Wardruna moves along the path, pushing in like the walls of a nature-made labyrinth: large moss covered boulders, other assortments of rocks, and confers mark the path into the claw shaped valley and likely, the northerner deduces, the only exit. Wardruna is careful to try to assess the path he takes and where it lets out into the valley when he does finally clear the entrance with his single, functioning eye. Just to the right there is a forest of maples and oaks: spread out before him is a grassy field that evidently appears to be surrounded by a lazy river. His ears cup forth atop his skull as he listens for any signs that he is not the only predator. There are no scents and if there were they are long since faded. Good. The Northerner thinks as he heads towards the woods, guided by the soft golden glow of the early morning sun. That means he can assess the migration patterns of herds that linger within this valley and report them back to Valette in relative peace. That is why Wardruna had set out into a territory he automatically assumes will be apart of Easthollow’s hunting grounds in the first place. He takes a moment to stretch before he shrugs into the forest catching the scent trail of a small deer herd that is relatively fresh and alters his course to follow it unable to help but think that he must have the goddess of hunt’s favor this day.