The Sentinels they picked up our trail

Ford did not understand how long it would take for the woodland to return to the way it had been before the fire. Still, he knew that there were signs of life hidden beneath the layer of snow and ash. In time, the sentinels would thrive again. More than anything, the warhound wanted for his brother to know that it was his destiny to lead there. None of the others could have done it, even if they had wanted it more than Velen. That was partly why it was such a good plan. The inky titan could not see any of the others with the same obsessive desires as the man he stood beside. They were good and they were still family, but they did not strive for the same things. It made it easy to ask Velen.

“You need not thank me,” the warhound remarked with a smoky chuckle. Then, he shook his head and turned his attention toward his sibling with a knowing expression. The cold calculation of his gaze was latched tightly to the mahogany coloration of Velen's eyes. “It will take time, but I should hope that we will have numbers enough to fill both the bay and the wood by the time we are intended to claim it,” he then added with a confident nod. Perhaps they would be fortunate enough to see the first buds of life spring forth when spring fell through to their lands.