you can hear the thunder long before the storm

The band was a loose approximation of things, and that suited Viðarr just fine. There were thoughts in his head, thoughts that had been there since his run in with the statue. Since his run in with the gods. What a thought, what a concept that was. Viðarr had been there. Shoulder to shoulder with his brothers, he had been there. Brothers of blood and bone, brothers of spirit, brothers he knew and brothers he had yet to meet. They'd all been there, and they were real. The shadow dreams often of that night. He dreams often of the things he saw, and the things he felt. Those aren't dreams he can share with anyone, there's no one around that will understand. Still, he clutches them in the same way a child clutches a blanket. Familiarity.

Familiar to him, too, is the forest. The trees that spring up around him and shield him from the rest of the world. There was solitude here, and after all this time, he's still fond of it. Though plans had changed countless times, the shadow's resolve has not. This would be his one day. Another thought he held secret, close to his chest. Still, he likes it here. There is still snow to crunch beneath his paws and a stiff northern breeze.

Viðarr stands among the trees, the late afternoon sun drawing his shadow long before him. Gently he tips his face to the bracing, chilly breeze as it swept through the trees. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. Nearly as good as home. Nearly.

"Viðarr"