Sigmarr was in a mood. A bitter, cold aire that could've frosted the ground on which he walked. His mind had been eating itself, reminding him over and over of his failures in the day and haunting his dreams during the night. It had been the final straw. Sindri was gone now too. What a marvelously useless brother. He couldn't keep mother around. He failed to impress Valeriya enough to bring her back. He couldn't rescue Svet. Now Sindri had been kidnapped. How pathetic?
The boy swallowed, fighting back tears as he felt panic rising in his throat. But he wouldn't cry. He was pathetic and useless yes but he was not that week. Fangs bit into the flesh of his left ankle. Hard enough to draw blood but not hard enough to be anything serious. The pain cut through the vice-grip of his anxiety, jarring him enough to allow him to breath. Then he heard the call.
Katja. Did she know? What the hell was he going to tell her? He was beginning to feel like his purpose in the pack was to deliver bad news. Sighing he turned around headed to the training. The turnout was disappointing. Katja, Baldur, and some strange femme were there. Words spilled from his maw before he could stop them.
"Katja? I ran into Valeriya, she's back in Alacritis but Ebony is, to her, a hellhole. She won't come back. Apparently her family isn't worth enough to weather this storm. And Sindri? she's missing. She's gone I can't find any sign of her." He just wanted to lay down and die at this point. "I.." his voice cracked. "I'm so sorry."
