Lornaal’s tantrum came to a predictable conclusion. He stormed into the woods, swatting angrily at branches with coloured leaves dusted by snow and kicked at fallen branches. As the heat of his anger and the effects of the alcohol waned, however, he quickly turned back to the encampment to rejoin his companions.
A great weight hung over his heart as he resolved to once more follow the party on a detour. He couldn’t very well force them to turn north (though the thought had crossed his mind). Rather he must strive to hastily dispatch these walking dead in order to turn towards the Spine Gulch with all haste.
When he emerged from the woods, the large northman returned wordlessly to his possessions, shouldering the packs of provisions and gear easily. Prepared for the march, Lornaal wasted no words or sentiments on the people of Tundrein. He only hoped that the tragedy of their village did not precipitate an even greater one back home.