Memories Like Broken Glass, Threaten To Tear Me Apart

The days had only been getting hotter and sleepier, and Viðarr had grown sick of it. Really quite sick to his stomach, and he'd thrown up his afternoon meal the day before. Shit. All of it was shit, and the fucking summer... well, it was at its height. Really, he should have known better than to be trying to push himself through it. That, and he'd been much farther south than he should have been... okay so maybe it was Viðarr's own damn fault, but he wasn't going to take ownership of that fact. Too hard headed. Too stubborn. If Sanngriðr had found out, she would have smacked him. The shadow would have deserved it too. Heat exhaustion.

Was that the reason that he started wandering north? Viðarr cannot remain idle, so he seeks refuge from the heat. Pulling himself northwards, and then farther. Farther than he's been yet, since arriving here. The farther he goes, the more he relaxes. Though the landscape was inhospitable at best, he's able to breathe easier. He feels better. More himself. It reminds him of the home they left behind, something strange running clear through his veins. Strange and wonderful. As the landscape turns to snow, Viðarr breaks into a run. For the first time since leaving home, he can make use of his broad, strong paws. Like snowshoes, but for feet all the time-- yes here, he's confident. Here, Viðarr feels as if he makes sense.

What catches his eye, though, is something that doesn't. Something that doesn't make sense, not all the way out here. A creature wrapped in the heavens themselves... though Viðarr had seen many loudly colored wolves afoot, it didn't seem to be on them to be this far north. They hardly ventured as far as the Trygg camp in the woods. The shadow calls out long before he reaches the stranger, moving easily through the snow as it blusters. Were they alright? They had to be lost, it was the only explanation. Viðarr doesn't bother masking his concern as he draws near.

"Viðarr"