
Tyr was walking through the northern caves, seeking comfort in the darkness as he wandered. It was aimless, but it was also just himself and the ominous groaning of the caves.
The god was trying to gather his thoughts, attempting to reconcile with the anger that brewed within himself. He wondered whether he could take the children out to spar, but even that he couldn't trust himself with. He might hurt the kids, by accident, of course, but still hurt them.
A thought of alcohol also, but he knew that drowning himself would benefit neither himself nor the pack he was trying to keep stable. Except, he wasn't stable. He was struggling with the loss of so many within 6 months. It was like a war, except it was only those close to him who fell. He wanted to hurt, as if it would take away the pain that swamped his mind.
Tyr staggered then, pressing his body against the cold stone wall as if it offered him relief. He refrained from hitting his head against the rock, instead slowly sliding into a hunched slouch, a haggard breath slipping from his lips as his eyes began to water.
Why did he feel so useless?