In thought, his mind echoed her words to him, the sound of her worried and sad tone begging him to stay, begging him to stay. Each time she told him to stay home and be safe. Sniffling a bit as the feeling of the cold started to numb his fingers. It won’t effect him much, after all the cold was all to familiar to him. For this was always the place he went.
Looking up to the now fading tracks he had left, he had to fix this, he had to go back no matter if his feet bled during his walk.
Without pleasuring himself that of a hooven animal so he could spend his time walking easier, he kept his booted feet to the ground, shifting the snow and ice to give himself a goal as well as punish himself for laying hands emotionally and physically onto Lyra.
Suddenly, a sharp pain had entered his neck, almost one of a knife or pin. He swore he had protected himself from such ways of dying but looking around, he saw no one who dared to hunt him or hurt him. Loki worried, after all he was now losing feeling in his legs, he had to hurry.
It had only been a day since he had vanished, being a four legged ceature at a constant run was easy for him to travel but now he traveled as he should, travel as all others do. But something was wrong, his covered hands unknown to him were blackened by internal rot, his red hair almost a dull brown as if a dying flower.
When his eyes gazed to where the healers home would be, he saw the dying rose, the connection he placed for Lyra so she would never be alone, the lifeline he had for when he would pass on from his godly body he would never truly die as long as the flower had stayed.
His fighting spirit was gone, he looked blankly now at the rose, knowing that it had to have been tampered with by someone who knew. Falling to his knees, his stillness had let the rot of his body catch him now, much like the brown stem of it in the cold, the swift snow fall covered the once bright man as well as the dead rose.
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