echoes of an old life || open, return

[Sympathy]

GHOST OF SPARTA

kratos — male — snowbound — hard

Kratos was not one to stick around in one place for too long. Every once in a while, he got an urge to explore, as childish and mundane it may be. It was something that he couldn't help- as much as he would have wanted. The last anyone had seen of the large battle worn bear was him lumbering off into a blizzard going to only Gods knew where. There was no note. No goodbye. No heartfelt words of missing. He was just gone. The first time he did come back, it was to the caverns where Snowbound had originally made it's home. The place had been deserted- abandoned; and for a split second, Kratos could almost see the reflection of a burning town, it's citizens dying one by one. And then he blinked. And it was gone, replaced by an empty expanse of white. It didn't take long for him to note that the clan hadn't been wiped out. No- they left on their own accord. He made a trip to his old den, retrieving several items of possession that thankfully went untouched by anything except the frost. It wasn't long before he set off once again. The journey had been long, as with all journeys across a frozen tundra. He had followed the stale scent of the other Snowbounders fine enough. And in the distance, cold eyes spotted it- a small village where he could faintly hear the hustle and bustle of life. It almost made him a bit excited in a way.

The bear approached the village roughly an hour later, on his back, a dead reindeer, still bleeding from a deep gash in it's neck and staining Kratos's ashen coat a deep red. The blades in his pack burned hot, offering an uncomfortable warmth. The bear would say nothing as he approached the outskirts of the town and waited, eyes focusing ahead of him.
"SPEECH"

#psychosocial.