Brynmor had ventured out of the waste that most people viewed the tundra to be, not realizing the beauty that not only the snow brought, but that which lay just below the surface, because he was as very rarely was the case, low on supplies. It had become almost a yearly journey, spending most of the year out in the tundra, and venturing into town once or twice a year both to check up on the area, and to gather things he had run low on, and trade away things he no longer needed.
This particular trip, he had no need of resupply, but wanted to both survey the area to make sure all was working as it should, and to check for those newly born or just raised to maturity, who may or may not be interested following in the druidic path.
His slow and meandering steps led in no particular direction, save vaguely towards the center of town as he wove in and out of the spaces between houses, peering through doorways at startled occupants, then moving on to the next house, or to a random pile of snow, pushed aside for ease of travel, checking for signs of troubled life, or the sad lack thereof. His path, to an outsider, unused to the workings of his mind, or the sight of him wandering about, would have almost said he appeared to be drunk.
