He had awoken suddenly, lying on the plank of bark, wearing the symbol. He had died in battle, and would never see his living twin or cousin again. The dead could not return home; it was forbidden.
Freyr picked himself up and stepped gingerly from the floating open coffin he had been placed upon in his death ceremony. He didn't hurt anymore, and he could breathe again. Strange... he didn't think breathing was a thing the dead did. Maybe it was in his Valhalla that he was allowed to indulge in the sensation, even if it wasn't real.
He pawed at the ground idly, wondering what he would do in this new state of being. He wondered if there would be other wolves, family or pack members who had passed on before him. "I should seek them out, if they exist in this realm..." he spoke grimly to the open air around him.
As he walked, the big male looked around himself. He had imagined that his Valhalla would have been snowy, like his home in the mountains, but it was dusty and dry here. Hm, well, you can't have everything.
