Katja had retreated for a time, recuperating and keeping her cousin company as he healed as well. Shilah, the slave... former slave... had helped the Finnvi's from the place where they had both battled - in Katja's case twice - and had begun treating their wounds once they were safe. She supposed it was the need most healers had of helping all those they found ill and injured, even when it was detrimental to themselves. Regardless of why, he had helped them, and Katja had healed and begun once more to train her body. This time she'd set out on an endurance-building journey and found herself deep underground beside a river. Beneath the earth was not where she preferred to be - the underneath was for dwarfs and worms, not vikings - but the place was oddly soothing and she'd seated herself at the edge of one of the pools the river had collected in, to meditate. The gods were punishing her. The timing of Yfir's dissolution, so soon after she had put the pack before her oath to bring Jaeger back for justice, spoke eloquently. She had chosen to stay with Yfir and was forsworn, and so Yfir was taken from her. It was a painful realization, one that edged self-doubt around the viking. Was she really the one to be leading the ragged remains of the Finnvi family in Alacratia? She had failed so many times to do as she had sworn to. The pack and the prosperity that Auora had died to secure was gone, washed away because Katja had let Jaeger walk away half-blind rather than bring him to her uncle Laeric. How could Kapra still have faith in her leadership? Even his nephews were gone once more with the pack's scattering. She should pull the tattered remnants together once more, pick herself up and move on as a true viking would. Yet she felt, in this moment, as if the strength and intuition Frejya had once granted her were gone. She felt lost, cut adrift, where always before she had seen her way so clearly and instinctively. She needed a sign from the gods that she had not fallen so far from their favor as to be irredeemable, but she had found nothing. ""

 

They had lost Yfir. It had been Katja's fight, not his own, but still he felt the painful weight of failure weighing down on his shoulders. They were the two Finnvis who were destined to continue the legacy of their family and they had failed. Even Kaprasíus had not managed to break Virgil's jaw fully though he knew he had inflicted injuries upon her that she would not soon forget. His own throat had been torn, all but preventing him from speaking for many days after the battle. Though recovering, his voice was hoarse and his throat tender, and he was beyond grateful that Katja's healer had tended to him as well. His morale was not entirely shattered. Still he felt restlessness biting at his insides, begging him to seek revenge, to secure a home for he and for Katja and to show Alacritia just what the Finnvi clan was capable of. But he knew that needed time to heal, and needed to seek forgiveness from the gods for his failures in battle. Only with them would he find guidance in what he ought to do now, and he knew the gods were not to be rushed.. however badly he wanted to know what to do next. Slowly he would pull himself onto all fours, shaking the dull fatigue from his bones. Though he was not exactly glued to Katja's side, he had grown used to her company since the fight and he wasn't thrilled about losing her again. Without any hurry he would trail after her scent, wondering where she was hiding today. His search led him underground, certainly no place he expected to find Katja; with careful precision he would make his way into the underground cavern. "Katja?" he would call out softly, his voice hoarse and strained. The darkness of the underground was comforting to him, despite the strangeness of this underground deluge and he found himself relaxing as he found her in the distance and began to slowly make his way toward her.

Over the sounds of water came the soft whisper of pawsteps, magnified by the cave's grandeur. Kapra's voice came to her, the harshness of his tone a reminder of their failure. Defeated in battle, yet still alive. Defeated not once but twice by the same wolf, in the same day. It was pitiful. It was... her weight to bear, not Kapra's. He had no need to have his heart similarly burdened. "Kapra," she returned, her cool tone revealing nothing about her inner turmoil. She turned silver eyes upon him, muzzle moving to invite him to sit with her before her gaze turned back to contemplate the water of the pool. She remained in silence a moment before musing aloud, "I have been giving our... current situation some thought." Silence for a beat, and she continued carefully. Subterfuge was not her strong point, was in fact not one of her abilities at all, so she simply avoided voicing any of the worries she held, and instead simply gave a solution of sorts. "I believe that our greatest chance of bringing glory to the Finnvi name does not lie in a pack at this time, but as marauders. Vikings, as we were meant to be. We must show the gods we have not forgotten who, and what, the Finnvi were born to be." She turned her head and cocked an eyebrow, inviting comment. ""

Though he was not one to fear death, he couldn’t help but be grateful he had survived his fight against Virgil; he was certain they still had some sort of purpose here on this earth. To serve the gods, no matter how great they must suffer, would forever be their goal. "Katja," he repeated her name in a somber greeting. For once, he wore no smile. The gleeful facade that he wore with such ease needed a rest and it was only around Katja that he would fall into such a thoughtful, serious mood. The man fell silent as he made his way to his cousin’s side, coming to sit near her. His eyes watched the river before them for a moment, taking in the earthy cavern. Rather than being surrounded by strictly stone, this place was teeming with moss and the dank smell of soil. It was relaxing, and he prided her silently on choosing such a place to spend the afternoon. She spoke soon after he settled down, speaking openly about what they ought to do now. She seemed to think that they ought to continue as marauders, rather than try to stake a claim on a pack. Thus far, they had failed in that manner. Her idea was a good one, and he had little need to argue. "So be it," he agreed, the briefest hint of a smile flashing over his features. "Truthfully, I am glad you have come to this conclusion. Pack life is not for me." Yfir had been okay, and he had been excited at the possibility of spreading some of his knowledge to the younger wolves; but most had been heretics and nonbelievers. A lone life would certainly suit them better... as marauders, as traders, unbound by duty and free to do as they pleased. Yes, it certainly sounded good to him. "I believe this is what we must do." He agreed easily with her, eying her curiously. He had no doubt she was tired of everything to do with that Virgil woman, and he was not surprised she wanted nothing more to do with the life of packs.