Wind rustled through the fur of the golden crested male as he stood atop the rise, the land below him stretching far, father than he'd seen in sometime. Too long had it been, since he'd stood here, stood in his rightful place as a vikingr. He could not say where he'd been, what he'd experienced. Once again, it all came to him in a blurred and shifting haze, as if he were peering through a snowstorm.
The answers of the past, of how he once more arrived to this land, however, were not answers he sought now. He knew the start of this tale, knew the first steps of this path, this journey. He awoke with little memory, but strong purpose, a demand pulsing through his veins alongside the very blood that kept him alive, kept him going.
Hringja. The Call. A demand he knew well.
A different call reached his ears at that very moments, the soft appendages flickering before he lifted his head, dark eyes searching for the white raven he knew to be his old friend. Synin. The feathered creature cawed again, softer as it circled down from the lofty heights to settle upon his perch, the grip of talons upon the man's shoulder a familiar and welcome feeling, a piece of the puzzle falling into place neatly.
Here, upon his mountain, a friend upon his shoulder, the stareater returned to his rocky throne. Those that had followed were scattered, lost, but he would find those he was meant to find, new and old. Home once more, Stjornuati's task now was to reclaim this mountain and find his siblings.
The answers of the past, of how he once more arrived to this land, however, were not answers he sought now. He knew the start of this tale, knew the first steps of this path, this journey. He awoke with little memory, but strong purpose, a demand pulsing through his veins alongside the very blood that kept him alive, kept him going.
Hringja. The Call. A demand he knew well.
A different call reached his ears at that very moments, the soft appendages flickering before he lifted his head, dark eyes searching for the white raven he knew to be his old friend. Synin. The feathered creature cawed again, softer as it circled down from the lofty heights to settle upon his perch, the grip of talons upon the man's shoulder a familiar and welcome feeling, a piece of the puzzle falling into place neatly.
Here, upon his mountain, a friend upon his shoulder, the stareater returned to his rocky throne. Those that had followed were scattered, lost, but he would find those he was meant to find, new and old. Home once more, Stjornuati's task now was to reclaim this mountain and find his siblings.
the staff team luvs u
