Ragnarok had wearily followed the scent for so long he could hardly remember what it was the scent of, save that he knew it would give him a meal. The sustinance given by the pony was long gone and now he trod mechanically throught the snow, guided merely by his nose. If he was capable of a sigh he would have let one issue forth.
It had been folly on his part to leave their homelands. They had managed a few good meals that was true, but at what cost? Their pups were dead and they were shadows of their former selves.
His skin was stretched pitifully across his ribcage and his battle scars seemed unwilling to heal. The strength regained by tarrying in the dell had ebbed away and Ragnarok faced the fact that he too would freeze to death as had so many of his pack.
Nimue and Roth staggered along behind him, also focused on the vague smell of food but none of them really had the energy to mount chase, nor attack.
He reached the top of a long low slope in the road. Their weary state lead them to follow the easiest path, too tired to consider a safer route. Somewhere other scents mingled with the one he was tracking. His befuddled brain was focused on food alone. He breathed in deeply. Another living creature, yes, a meal may yet be had. The other scent he took to be mistake by his malnurished senses. It smelled like home. A long ago home. The home of his childhood. He shook his head sharply to dispell such a notion. His sudden movement caught the eyes of the others. They too had a keen sense of smell. It is the last faculty to fail when all others are crushed. They looked to him for guidence. Ragnarok had but one starving thought. He led them down the slope toward the scents that filled their nostrils and promised food.
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Auriel
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