No matter all that he heard and all that he had experienced since arriving in Mythris, it never truly settled in him this whole matter of the world breaking. Of course he had his Gods, he had those of his line that waited for him in Valhalla, and this was past all expectations. Even when Ragnarok was threatened, this went past the destruction of the world. At least they knew the signs of Ragnarok. This was different. Dreams whispered to them, dreams commanded them to settle scores from long ago. Old wounds festered. They had to be cleaned out. It hurt to do, of that there was no doubt, and this was something that had been neglected. Somehow, the acrid air was not even the most alarming thing that filled his lungs with the heavy weight of dread. Two, three, four, five careful steps and the rich metallic tang of blood cut even the most foul stink of the air. What seemed more horrific was the fact that it was familiar blood.

Two years back, perhaps, since he'd come upon Winterscar, to find Svajone the target of a polar bear. It was foolish, it was painfully foolhearted of him, but he'd tried to use his own bulk and catch the bear off guard. No part of him could believe that he'd actually killed the thing, but he'd fretted over the borders all the same for some time after, just in case he needed to call in the pack to deal with the apex predator. There was some irony that the same shoulder the bear had ripped into was the one tat had been burnt. Maybe that was just his luck, at least he still had one good side, right? He wouldn't have been able to forget Svajone - even if they had never crossed paths again she wouldn't have been one he'd forget. His brow furrowed in confusion, and his attentions shifted into finding the familiar source of the scent.

She could only be described as pitiful curled in on herself. Even beneath the threat of certain death she had never looked so forlorn. He let out a soft chuff to announce himself as he approached and found his voice was trapped in his throat. Vidarr's keen golden gaze swept her and quickly took measure. Her leg was clearly troubling her, blood staining with the crimson that looked so out of place against the pale of her fur. It was not the worst of her injuries, though. Vidarr swallowed thickly, even as a tremble ran down his spine. Her stomach was heavy and round, even if she did not look close to delivery. Whatever had transpired against her, it had clearly taken a personal vendetta. He couldn't smell anyone on her coat, which did not exactly diminish the twist of jealousy coiled like a snake in his own gut. That was unfair of him, she was no object to own, and how he felt was unimportant. Dismissing the feeling Vidarr approached her before he let out a soft crooning sound. M-may I? He could do no better than to curl himself around her and try and help her through the worst of it.

Whatever despair he had felt at the notion of Hilde being missing seemed so small compared to what he assumed Svajone was feeling. He had a lifetime to experience his love, and it was so hard to try and pretend that he wasn't hurting from her disappearance. But they had loved. They had days together, nights, they had so much and it felt so selfish when he saw the pain on her face. Tell me what you need....I am going nowhere. If she needed his protection, if she needed him to carry her home, if she wanted herbs or food or just the company of sharing the burden of pain - he was hers to command.