Blacktail Deer Plateau i have burned & burned

the wardog takes to the wilds in the early throes of the witching hour; tracking the trail has long gone stone cold. if he smells the valkyrja, it is his imagination leading him on false trails like the phantom pain of a limb long since severed.

sugarspun moonbeams drift through the thick foliage of the forest he stalks through; unwilling to release his grasp upon her even if it is most logical. even if everything in him tells him to find a new purpose, a new chooser of the slain to worship.

gleipnir ignores it all.

instead, he keeps following his ghost trails and holding onto the belief that @Sakhmet has not given up nor grown bored of him.