Almost to Northfall. Within a day's time, he'll be howling at the borders. He's not entirely sure that he mourns Ragnar, but keeping up appearances is important. And frankly, even if he doesn't have a lot of respect for someone who would pawn off their children, he supposes making a fuss at a funeral isn't something Dimitri should do.

He did, after all, tell Wardruna he wasn't going to marry her. Right? Maybe not in the right words? He doesn't remember.

He comes to a stop near the edge of a shallow creek. It's frozen over, so he can't exactly get a drink. He licks up the snow instead, feeling the chill deep in his lungs. He doesn't plan on entering the tournament (that, he's going to leave to Fleetwood). But he will watch, and hopefully he'll see Vitus while he's there. Maybe... Well, he's got a feeling.

Someone's here.

A brief step, a glance around the tree, and...

"You're real."

He remembers her, from one of his freak-outs.

That must be a weird way to greet someone.