He had thought it was odd, a whiff of his uncle on the breeze, but then again perhaps it wasn't, given the strange way the other adults were acting. Still he had trailed it, ever so casually out of the willows and into the rise. His eye had stopped its aching and he could head home any day, but he wasn't ready. Not yet. If he didn't have his sister to return to, he might consider never returning to the lowlands. The trees were an obstacle yes, but nobody made assumptions here, and there was much he could learn from his aunt.
Despite the warm bout, the snow remained, drowning out whatever plants might grow here. He had heard his mother speak of a field of flowers that lay just south of the willows and he could only assume that this was it. Well, it was rather underwhelming in the cold months.
Deciding to put his suspicions to rest one way or the other, Odin tilted his head up and called for his uncle, wondering if the man might appear or if it was all in his head, a sign that it was time to return to the north. Single eye squinted against the reflection of the sun off the snow as his jaws parted to better grab a hold of the scent. Was he here? Or wasn't he?