Bob, the little tawny wolf, hadn’t been in Boreas long, but it liked it a whole lot more than home. Even though the sky looked a mean red, no one shouted at him here, no one said nasty things; like he was useless, that he ought to just die. It wasn’t easy to fend for himself so he’d just been scavenging here and there where he could, but weirdly enough there were loads of carcasses about. The pickings were slim as plenty of other animals had beaten him to it, but he’d always managed to grab at least a mouthful, sometimes enough to fill his belly if he was lucky.

Except now…he felt weird, unwell. Everything hurt, a pressure throbbed behind his eyes and belly ached, all swollen and distended. Poor Bob was so so tired. No amount of sleep was enough, the red sky was too bright, and it made him afraid, like something was coming. And so Bob stowed himself away somewhere deep and dark, found comfort in it, though he didn’t really know why. Just that this was where he was meant to be. He laid there, curled in a tight little ball deep in the darkness, trembling as he wondered if he ought to go home. Was it better than this?

He didn’t even raise his head as he heard sets of paws approach.

The Maw. His mountain. Víðarr had to get back to his mountain, had to be close to his gods, had to be where the only true members of his kin remained. The viking king and his triumphant return, face still covered in blood, everything about him worse. Delusional? Maybe. But everything is so real to him.

Returning home as if dragging himself over a finish line, the viking king is back-- with no sign of the betrayer to boot. Good. Gaze sweeping the foothills, Víðarr fixates on a small, tawny creature. Treating travelers with the upmost respect is in his blood, and especially with the gods so near under the red sky-- Víðarr calls out, tone more gentle than it has been, lately. "What brings you to my mountain?" His tone is curious, open, as he approaches.

"Víðarr"

Everything is weird. The sky was red. The night was pitch black. Beneath, the ground trembled. It felt as if the only safe place was high up on her mountain. Her mountain. Would it stay her mountain forever? She looked out over the cliff she stood upon, able to see all of Hemlock's territory minus what lay underground in the crypt. Sumer was coming to an end, but now that the sky was red, would it actually?

The shift of the wind, a slight rumble of the ground had Delphi moving down toward the base of the mountain, a safer valley than the snow covered cliffs. Through the tunnels and down the winding paths until she sees a small wolf that isn't alone. Bones of animals lay scattered over the ground, picked clean from scavengers. A stark scent of carrion masking the scent of both strangers. In the murky light, she can see their shadowed forms though. A small wolf that looked worse for wear. He didn't even look up as she walked closer. Who was this wolf and how had he gotten here unnoticed? And was that Vidarr?

Delphi's hackles raise, a deepening growl reverberating through her chest. "Trespassing is not taken lightly," she warns, chastising them both as her gaze sweeps from the ex-king to the malnourished boy. "And this is no longer your mountain," there is a threat there as her attention is distracted from the stranger and lingers on Vidarr. Why the fuck was he back?

"Delphi"

Oddness Seemed to be taking him all over the map, lately. Vut he was finally returning home. paws weary as he trotted back into home territory. He was already imagining a long soak, and a longer nap. 


However, two things alerted him shortly after crossing. The scent of a stranger, and the scent of someone familiar. He had mixed feelings about Vidarr, without that wolf he would never have fallen with Delphi… but the man had also stolen his knife and locked him in a cupboard. 


“Whats going on?” He asked softly as he approached, coming to a stop near Vidarr and the stranger… who didn't look well

Meandering as she was, when she caught Víðarr's scent she followed it. He might be able to point her in the direction of Morganna or Erik, since they hadn't joined her back at the Scowle. What she hadn't expected, was to stumble upon a scrawny tawny wolf, his belly bulging as he trembled in the shadow of the mountain, the man she had been trailing asking after the stranger, while two younger wolves stared him down.

Exhaling, approaching with a lowered head, her tail angled towards the ground, she would pose no threat in her body language, but would tolerate no foolishness from those gathered either. "Yer look like yer've seen better days..." It was directed at the tawny wolf on the ground, though nobody would miss the flick of her eyes towards the viking. She couldn't see any obvious wounds, not like on the bison, but strange things seemed to happen when the sky changed like this. "Yer didn' happen ter follow fireflies ter get 'ere did yer?" She was only half joking.

"speech"

His digging hadn't turned up much in the way of answers. With no homeland to be tied to Coran set his ways back to wandering, his feet eventually leading him back up north where he'd first encountered the spires. The sun still blazed red, the air humming with an energy he didn't understand. Coran scooted between the spires and a pack territory, working his way northward. As he neared another pack border at the base of a great mountain his buzzard flew back to him, noting a suspicious carcass as well as a wolf that seemed unwell. Uh oh… that didn't sound good.

Coran quickly followed the trail of the strange wolf with his buzzard guiding him until he came to a small gathering of wolves. A set of them seemed focused on each other but his eyes soon rested on a lovely woman who was addressing a tawny wolf who looked terrible. His belly was swollen and distended and he seemed to weak to pay them much heed.

Coran gently, and meekly, moved forward so as to not further agitate the pack wolves. He crouched down near the tawny wolf, speaking softly. "Was it something you ate? Or are you in need of food?" The buzzard had mentioned a carcass, if it was foul perhaps it had caused this wolf to be sick. That said he had seen starving wolves with pot bellies. If he recalled it was something about fluid retention and edema. But he wasn't a healer. He hadn't the faintest idea how to treat the poor wolf and looked to the colorful woman to see if she had an idea what to do.