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That morning, he had buried Elli.

He had gone to Dimitri and Fiadh , told them, asked for their help hunting down one of the big stags. An old one, who's crown was fitting, he'd seen it before and kept his distance. Until now, at least.

And once they had taken it down, he went right to taking it's head, chewing and tearing until it was off.

Denying any help, no matter how much quicker they could make it.

Storm clouds had been gathering during the hunt, the rumble of thunder echoing over the fields of flowers and beauty as Vitus carried the stag's head towards the burial mound. The seer was a sight to see, his jaws, chest, legs, covered in blood and meat as he walked with purpose.

Was it Thor, watching him?

Was it Elli? Ragnar?

The storms were coming from the east, and once he reached the grave and set the head on top he turned to stare at them.

A flash of lightning, marking where he should go, he was sure. It was a long moment before the thunder reached him, before he left the grave to gather what else he needed. To clean himself in the river, to sleep, wrapped around the lion's skull in hopes more direction than the lightning strike from earlier would come to him in dreams.

In his dreams, he saw Elli, leading him through Elysium, past it, east. Further. White wolves...or were they spirits?

That's where he needs to go, if he remembers in the morning.