1st of Vhalar 722
His soft footfalls fell arrythmically to the crunched leaves beneath them. He went by methodically, slowly, venturing farther afield of the outer forest of Myrkvior. His pace was intended to conserve energy, energy he'd need to outlast his quarry should they make the fatal choice to put down camp in these woods, and rest. And while they had the benefit of rest going for them, Sævar had the benefit of persistence. Sævar had been stalking this part of the wood for about a season, having received a word from the Kin of Myrkvior, that there were Norn witches harboring outlanders, stormbloods, and other unsavory abominations. Sure enough, he found the signs of human passage easily enough around the shelters.
The Witches he left well enough alone for now. He was not equipped to deal with their brand of devilry. But those they harbored were fair game and the Witches afterall cared little for their patron's safety, once they'd gotten what they wanted out of them.
Whatever kind of blood those Norn craved from their visitors, whether they traded in divine blood, or blood of arcana, or something else entirely, it was immaterial. All that mattered, was that they didn't abide the disrespect levied upon Myrkvior by their passage.
He didn't think these particular outlanders were anything special, like magi or immortal worshippers. No, these were paying customers, not those contributing to the sale of their blood. They had made off with the remedies created by these hedge witches, carved out of the generous bounty of Myrkvior and twisted with their profane rituals that called upon powers that were not of the spirits.
Not of the Dark Mother.
Illur called to him from the beneath, her words like the smokey breath of a campfire. "Where have they gone, Sævar?"
He shook his head. he couldn't tell just by one track after another.
"Are you travelling in circles again, my dear?"
Sævar grunted. "I'm not that green." He thought back, "Am I?"
"A grayish green, perhaps. Not quite, though." The fox-spirit quipped. And then it frolicked off to wherever spirits went when they grew bored of their bondmates.
He grunted again, seeing the tracks moving around in a very strange pattern. There were two individuals, that much he could tell. But by the marks of their passage, he couldn't quite tell gender or even race. He did know that they'd not come overladen, as they didn't have a pack-horse with them. His eyes shot up to the horizon, taking in the view of the treelines as he came over a hillock. He could see a well-trod path ahead, crossing the direction he was moving. If they'd left their animals out at the blazed trail, then perhaps it would be easier to track once he got to the path.