✦✦✦

Thank the gods, they were going home. Bragi didn't want to admit to the level of crashout she would've experience if Sindri hadn't found her on that mountain (...had already experienced).

They picked their way down the mountain in the dark, the rocky ledges and sheer cliff sides and looming peaks utterly devoid of any meaningful landmarks to guide her path. She was flying completely blind, finally setting paw down on soft, flower speckled grass on the complete opposite side of the one she'd started the godsforsaken climb on. Here, there was a river screaming in her ear, woodlands blocking most of her sight line, and the bright, reflective surface of a lake somewhere off in the distance.

She puffed out a breath, exaggerated, quietly resolved to put 110% of her trust in Sindri and her little owl friend because this is what happened when Bragi took point. She turned her gaze skyward, squinting into the sunlight, but that great big ball of fire was directly overhead so there was no discerning direction from that.

Bragi's head fell against her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the dancing little motes of light behind her eyelids away.

---

set at the base of highshear, between wisterian and sleeping doe
for Sverke, Sindri also assumed nearby

---

He'd caught a whiff of them when the wind turned, some miles back, while he was making his way north again. And again, going the wrong way. At a certain point, even Sverke had to admit he wasn't really trying to get back to the island.

He didn't want to step foot on his mother-goddess' land without the brother he'd grown up there with. He didn't want to encircle the island's beach borders on a morning run and note with every step Asgeir's absence from their scents. He didn't want to face Tyr alone. A failure. Unworthy of following Freya to the Fields. Unworthy of the family he cared about, in his own way.

But then, here they were, Sindri and - was that Bragi's scent on the wind too? Faint, but Sverke had nothing better to do than follow the wind up the cliffsides to sate his curiosity. Higher and higher, huffing and puffing under the noon sun, until he clambers over a particularly sheer cliffside, takes a breath, and notes a particularly big dark spot swimming in his vision.

Holyyy shit. Bragi. He couldn't believe it, even if he'd followed half a hunch and half a scent scattered on the wind to get here. Sad, quiet, undeserving of the sibling-pelt they share from Tyr, Bragi. Freakish, bleeding, nonsensical half-seer, Bragi. Sverke grins at her like the sun is caught behind his teeth, arrogant and thousand-watt. Well, well, well. Look who grew a pair! Beside her is Sindri, looking well-fed and wearing her normal, dumb 'I'm Cupid's Favorite' face. Ugh. Well, at least she seems alright.