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For years now he'd been following this little herd here in the north of Boreas, alone except for the reindeer. They'd become relatively docile around him since a large number of them had been born under his guardianship, but they were still wild creatures and he was still a predator, so it was a distant sort of relationship. He'd always been content in whatever situation he'd found himself in, so the solitude hadn't bothered him. He'd spent the time protecting his herd, guiding them, culling them when necessary. He'd spent it in appeasing the spirits and the gods, allowing himself to be guided by them. As the years of solitude had passed he'd found himself more and more drawn into the older ways and the superstitions of his peoples' traditions, probably in an attempt to feel closer to those absent. It was no great burden for him to do so, anyway, and it had helped him survive alone and helped his little herd to thrive this long.

Fall was coming, so his herd had moved down into the forested regions and was breaking apart. He had to range much more widely to keep them all within his purview, which meant long days of travel for him and, unfortunately, less oversight for his herd. It was the hardest time of year for them but there was nothing he could do about it. Every once in a while he whimsically entertained the thought of finding a mate or two, raising a few litters of children to follow the herd with him. But alas, it took a very unusual female to take to the life of a reindeer herder without having been born to it. Besides, he never did end up leaving his herd long enough to meet anyone, female OR male. He knew the likelihood of finding someone to share his burdens or to bear his children was simply too much to hope for. No, he would simply have to do his best for these reindeer until the day he was too old to continue, and they would need to return to fending for themselves.

Right now he was taking a short rest among a scruffy grouping of pines, watching a small group of his herd's yearling bulls wandering together as they grazed on lichens. He was panting lightly from the long path that had taken him from the last group to this one, though the weather was cool enough this late in the year up here that his fluffy coat was not a hardship. His blue eyes were partly closed, and his ears flopped to either side in a posture of complete relaxation. Despite his blissfully languid pose, the Jarvela had his full attention on the bulls, watching them for any signs of injury or disease or any other concern. They all seemed well, though one bull seemed more nervous than the others, constantly startling and peering around before fitfully returning to eating. It might have been simply because he was the smallest of them and had perhaps been bullied, but Mikkal kept a close eye on him anyway. He would likely not make it through the winter if he was being bullied - the constant harassment from the other males would probably eventually kill him assuming he didn't starve from not being allowed to eat properly. He would probably be a candidate for a cull a little later in the winter, assuming he wasn't injured by another bull sooner than that.