---

His dreams had been full of storms, of wild winds, glimpses of Elli leading him down trails he doesn't know, before lightning struck him and jolted him awake. They were trails he must find, paths he needs to follow for his destiny, but first he has work to do.

As he gathered the herbs, the flowers, what little pieces of treasure Elli had in her den, he'd realized he'd forgotten to clean her before he buried her. The rites having slipped from his mind in the moment, in the urge to keep scavengers away from her body. She'd forgive him, right?

.....she'll probably yell at him the second he joins her.

But. Whatever. Putting the herbs in the grave mound will have to be enough, they hadn't had Ragnar's body to cleanse either. The seer dug into the grave, carefully avoiding unearthing his littermate's corpse, before setting the herbs and items in and covering them back up. After stomping the dirt back down, he aligned the stag head just so. Muzzle outwards, in the direction the den entrance had been, flowers placed around it like a wreath. Pretty stones he had found, set in the dirt below.

It took time even with Dimitri's help, mouthful by mouthful, but the shrine to the tempest formed. It wouldn't stay pretty, this wasn't their grandfather's cave high up on the mountain, the weather and critters would do away with it's beauty in time.

But wasn't that the way of life?

A storm was coming, in truth this time unlike the night before where it had passed around them, the sky darkening as the sun began to set. Fireflies were still out, brave little things, blinking all around the flowers, the lone boy, and the grave.

He sat there, admiring the work of the last two days.

.....the head looked kinda ugly right now, considering the birds and bugs have been picking at it, but the antlers still stood tall and proud. A fitting mantle for Elli.

The rain started, the thunder rumbled, and Vitus Stormborn threw his head back and sang.

A song of mourning, a funeral song, sung far too much in his life.

His voice was built for this, deep, echoing, cracks of lightning striking closer and closer.

One hitting just behind the burial mound, setting the grass and flowers ablaze, toasting the head and it's antlers.

Sending Vitus scampering back like a struck pup, though he hadn't been hit himself, it was hot and loud.

He guesses Elli likes the shrine.