#souls.

Accordingly there was surprise painting partially covered features as light-blue eyes caught sight of the woman resting close to a bonfire. It leaves him hesitant. How did he end up here in the first place?  Where exactly was it his feet had brought him?

All questions he did not necessarily want an answer too. Instead the man turned on his heel, tensed as he was, about to take his leave again not wanting to possibly endanger the woman with what was inside of him. There were just so many times he would be able to recollect. Hœnir did not want to lose himself entirely around anyone if it was preventable. Especially not someone as helpless as her.

Too overwhelming the surges were; pain jolting through his spine leaving the entire man shake. It did appear more like a last stand than an attempt at the own duty at this point. As though ghostly fingers grasped at the bit of honor left within him. As though it did not matter whom of them both did get out of this alive; him possibly even wishing for her to set an end to it all: saving him from this suffering.

The winter-haired managed a shaking breath, as eventually the greatsword ultimately  dropping onto the forest ground with a dull thud, followed by long legs shaking before they too gave in. There was no way he would make it out here — all alone. Not that there was waiting anything at home for him he could be clinging to in a desperate attempt to survive this, no matter how much he wished he could.

The Watcher had considered not making his way home. Sooner than later their senses would tell them about him, like his had told him about the Mother and the dark sitting within her, lingering, feasting at the few parts that were left of the woman walking this world for longer than any of them had. How came she had survived it for this long, he wonders, and for a moment there is hope inside him that he too will manage to sustain and avoid the pain / manage to not end up eaten alive inside his very own body.

Yet Hœnir knows better than to believe that for long. He was too weak — too empty. He did not have a reason keeping him going like it had her, in the search for her lost son which had given her the strenght to fight it even before he had gone. There was no such person to the blue-eyed male. He could not comprehend how having someone so important felt like and doubted his loyalty alone would be enough to have him keep fighting.

It would be a lie told if the Watcher would claim that he was not at least a little bit unsettled by the close proximity of the other, standing before him with the own entire upper body reveald to those golden eyes. Hœnir would also tell a lie that it had not been his intention for the other to see how he looked underneath chainmail, shirt, vest and all that leather straps they all always wore. Was it genuine curiosity, the tall male asked himself, slowly relaxing against slim fingers feeling both hair and skin as though he was someone holy.

He was no different than him. Both wolves from the same pack — bound by the blood so graciously offered to each man by the Old Wolf of Farron. Perhaps it was that exact bond that always made him end up close to the medic whenever he found himself with a little free time. Then again Hœnir was almost certain it was far less complex than that. He knew the golden-eyed wolf did not have a mate. Or so it seemed to him at least, because whom was he to know every little detail about every single man and woman roaming the Keep.

“ Do you trust me ? “

How bad are his eyes exactly at this point, the Watcher wonders, after silently entering the room without even knocking, seeing his Lord rest on the bed. An unexpected visit from his side at this time of the day, specially with all the extra work he now had to do with their Alpha turning blind. He would not tell why he came, wanted to keep it a secret for as long as could.