Suspended Animation

Cold. No. Baltic. That was what Tyr had become acutely aware of first, skin singed by the frozen prison that he lay collapsed within. The wind was alone, screeching though the icy cavern like a poltergeist, chasing, raging, through the gloomy corridors of ice. Haunted, his mind was foggy and yet so clear with clairvoyance. It was time. Now. But where? Confusion laced his thoughts, not once was a single thing coherent and yet the jumble was familiar. Warm. Like a fire, searing his caged heart deep within his chest. 

Everything lay shrouded in darkness, something the male had become familiar with in his previous life and something he found comfort within. To wake up in the night was a sign to him that naught was lost, he had time - to process, to exist before finding his fated. There was no rush to make his sacrifice no more. His deed was done, his goal finally achieved. Despite his chin resting unceremoniously upon the floor, the brute cracked a crazed grin. Bloodied teeth displayed, the taste erotic upon his tongue as he swallowed for the first time in this new life. His throat was scratchy, parched from the transition to his new form. It took time to get used to a new body but this one did not feel so different than the last. He was a wolf then, and as he peeled open a shamrock eye, he recognised once more he was again. Not a surprise, but it filled his stomach with a rotten feeling of disgust. He cursed this form, more than any other. No bear nor god could have made this situation better. 

Mount Olympus was sourly missed in that moment. 

Thud. Scrrk.

A heavy paw groped the ice, claws dragging along its surface as his numb toes stretched and contracted back into position. A shoulder tensed, body shuddered and the beast rose with grunt and groan, lip twitching and eventually peeling back with agitation. Standing squared and attempting to bare all weight evening was harder than he had originally thought. His tongue darted across his teeth, irritation evident upon his taught expression. 

"Those fuckers. What did they do to my body?"

It was apparent his body had gone through tremendous stress before Tyr passed onto the next realm. His skin was alive with tremors, and his stomach left heavy, unsettled as it gurgled and– Hrrrugh! The behemoth's head dropped between his legs and whatever had been in his guts now painted the cavern with it's foul stench. Cursed! What'd I tell you?! He thought was a growl, swallowing back the acid that sat on his tongue. He missed the fires that littered the battlefields. The storms that put them out as much as they caused them. Where was the smoke? Where was the light in his very dark world? Freya.

His goddess. 

She was back and she'd summoned him using the wrath of Ares. Moros had shown him such in his dreams each night and that craving of reality was finally upon him. Tyr took a shaky step forward, obviously careful to avoid the contents of his stomach. With one came two, and two was followed by three. It wasn't quite what he called natural feeling but he had to wait out the storm before he could attempt to find the psychí deméni. He had time on his side, and the night was young. Learning to walk again, let alone run, would be his first priority on that lonely night.

Only then would his manhunt would begin.

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