The seer's days were troubled.

His vision had come to pass, the foggy figures that had surrounded his uncle turned out to be a pack. Vikings, merging with the saint's, creating a larger pack. The seer should feel at home, at peace, but he doesn't like the feel of Nyra's children. The spirits are angry with their presence, as if they were haunted.

But....he had no where else to go, not really. He would wait, and he would see, what would come of it.

But still, the yearling would wander, losing track of time, enjoying the quiet of the night away from Jakten. To a waterfall, it's roar hiding the screeches and chatter of the older wolf and owl from him until he looked up and across the way at the lake side. Startling, almost, coming out if his wandering trance. halló he called out, louder than he would usually to be heard.

There was something...sad, about this man.