Stone Circle Once there was a way to get back home

Dawn broke, spilling pale pink light across the youth’s thin shoulders, tangling with the messy curls that had been untamed for some time. He rose, still exhausted from travel, to stretch and grimace at the soreness that had seeped into his bones. The hollow behind his ribcage yawned as he moved and flexed; his too-thin limbs sprawled and shifted as he warmed himself up.

He’d seen the mountain range in the distance- and now, it looked familiar. The great stretch of prairies before him had called to him like a beacon, and he knew somewhere across the vast expanse, there would be a circle of stones. 

He zig-zagged this way and that as he panned the area for any sign of a familiar scent- until he found one that made his heart sing. With a voice weakened but hopeful he called out, before weakly settling into the ground, ready to succumb to the tears of joy that gathered in the corners of his eyes.

He’s being watched.

There’s a pair of eyes upon a hill mapping his ascent, nose swiveling in wonder.
She does not attend his call, does not make it her duty to receive visitors to their land.

Her charmless vibrato leaves much to be desired. She’d sooner make enemies of roving beasts than bedfellows.

But in this empty stretch of time it is apparent no one else from the pack is coming. With a snort she rises and parts the mist towards the-

child?

A teary-eyed boy with a plaited mane.
She holds the stranger in a reproachful glare and gives a customary lift of wintery hackles.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be out galavanting all by your lonesome?”

The young boy dozed as he waited, soothed by the vision of a Bjarna coming to greet him soon, and take him somewhere warm. His time lost had whittled him down to a matchstick frame of what he had once been- and Skáld had never possessed a hearty frame to begin with.

But it was not his sister who appeared in the most, but one with a sharp gaze and dark coat. Droplets of dew dripped from his chin as he lifted it slightly to see her, doe-eyed. She spoke and he understood only her tone, not her words.

”No,” He whimpered, his voice shaky but apologetic. He had no idea what she’d said, but he wished to shirk the rebuke he heard in her voice. ”Home,” He choked, ”Bjarna. Gunnar. Home,” He pleaded feebly.

And then Gunnar was there quickly. Surprise on his face and relief that Skald was alright. He'd been at one of their allies and then disappeared again.

He doesn't speak English he said kindly to the girl then he turned to Skald.

Skald lets get you something to eat. Come along.

He made sure to translate for Tauris too so she wasn't unincluded. And if the boy'd allow He'd gather him to himself. He wasn't as close with him as Bjarna, but he was fixing to change that if he could.

“Kvarsheim’s home,” she whispers aloud with an emerging realization. He mumbles the names of their two leaders, there is Bjarna’s accent upon his quivering tongue. She can see a pulse beating in his throat, and his limbs are so thin a breeze threatens to blow him over.

Carefully she shifts a little closer, as if one movement too rash might frighten the colt off. In a gingerly lift she places one dark paw upon her chest- the very way in which Bjarna had introduced herself.

“Systir. Tauris.”

She holds the paw there, searching his hollowed face for a flicker of understanding.

The veld rustles behind her and she steps back for Gunnar to pass. Into his arms he pulls the spindly little boy. A son? A nephew? She wonders if there is any familial blood that marries all of these misfits to one another, or if they were joined only by heart and pack.

She nods at Gunnar's words, grateful for the translation. “I will hunt, for the boy,” she offers.

The woman’s mien shifted, and the severity of her gaze lessened as Skáld cowered and shrank against the dew-laden earth. Quivering lightly as the cold seeped into his fur, he looked up with shining eyes to see her expression gentle. Understanding came swift- and empathy soon followed. Skáld was quick to trust, and did not flinch when she moved closer, like a rabbit cornered and too weak and frightened to make a bid that might save its own life. 

He whispered her name softly, weakly, but had no time to introduce himself before Gunnar swept forward into view. The boy emitted a gasp of relief, tail thumping against the ground, ears flattening as an apology. He scuffled a bit closer to the man, rising shakily from the earth. 

Like a newborn foal he rose, teetering lightly but stubbornly, he kept himself on his feet. He felt no hunger, but the pain in his gut came from many days of starvation. He knew better than to turn down and offer for food- and he understood just enough of the common tongue to know that Tauris had offered to help.

”Thank,” He peeped pitifully, staggering lightly as he turned his head to address the slender, rough-hewn woman. 

To Gunnar, he looked with an expression of mixed dread and hope. ”Bjarna, she is still here, yes? And she is well?”

Gunnar held the boy tightly fearful if he squeezed or moved that he would be gone, but then his voice whisperlike and hopeful came and Gunnar offered him a smile. Bjarna was still here, her scent had not left. SHe wasn't as forthright at the borders, but for now she was around.

Yes she is. Now let's get you something to eat Skald

Gunnar would translate for the woman and ask her to hunt something, and then he'd lead Skald back into the pack lands near the stone circle for him to rest and recuperate and eat.

They part and Tauris watches the retreating silhouettes until they darken against the brightening horizon, like a pair of monoliths added to the Stone Circle. Then she turns to frisk off into the heathers, to see what she can lure out for the starving silken boy with the ocean eyes.