Silver Creek he is beloved and he is feared

kjalarr's journey was long and from it's start to it's finish he is alone. kjalarr draws in a deep breath as he crosses into the threshold of the teekon wilds once more. it draws him back, like a siren draws in a sailor. it is his birthright and no matter how hard he tries he always finds himself returned. he follows the path of the forked creek, moving swiftly across it's bank, pausing only when the scent of prey diverts his attention. he is quick to move further into the wilds despite that he has no true destination in his mind; other than he knows he will not return to blackfeather woods. he is no captive. he is a son of ragnar. he is skrælingjar. he is a descendent of the allfather himself, if legend is to be believed ...and kjalarr whose vision is torn between the fogs of niflheim and the realm of midgard is almost inclined to believe legend. though there were times during his travels that kjalarr considered carving the eye out himself. to end the curse of it.

he pauses after a few more feet, bowing his head towards the creek where the twin forks join. his thirst is sudden and it is deep and kjalarr takes time to lap at the cool, refreshing water.