He wasn’t built for these long journeys. Sure his proportions might suggest otherwise, a typical Archer build, medium physique, dark phase coat, pale amber eyes - but he was all solid and stocky where his sisters were more willowy in their proportions. He was built for fighting, not for the endless plodding that it seemed his life had become. He thought for a moment to complain to his sister, then remembered she wasn’t with him at the moment, so he would have to suffice with a click of his tongue behind his teeth. How Odin had managed this journey, not once but twice was beyond him.
It didn’t help that the same monotonous landscape seemed to pass them by, day by day. The same tundra, the same trees, the same prey goading him for being too slow to catch it. His paws ached and his stomach hurt, far from used to being forced to subside on carrion. Urgh. He, just like his siblings, had been sucked in by Morganna’s grand tales of the land of Relic Lore and the stamp their family had made outside of Torbine. Truthfully, had his mother not fretted so at the absence of his siblings he might have been inclined to leave them as they were, fanciful tales of a far-off land. Instead, here he was. Trudging across the country with winter on the way. It was only his sense of duty that kept him going. But gods help them all when he caught up with them. If they thought he was prone to complaining before they had no idea just what they were in for.