In the boundless darkness between Dimensions, the Steed stopped.
It had not wavered in all the crossings behind them, the last of his eight, running on the hope he had whipped into it, following a scent that no distance had managed to thin. It simply stopped, mid-stride, in the middle of nothing, and stood trembling in its chains!
"Why have we stopped," Jarl Skallagrim said. It was not a question as really, questions implied patience and he had fucking none.
The Steed's voice came up to him small and confused, a mountain speaking like a child.
"She is gone."
"Gone."
"I can no longer sense Hvitrmarr. Her trail did not thin, Jarl. It did not turn. It..." The great head swung slowly in the dark, searching. "It ceased. As if she stopped existing anywhere my senses can reach. There is nowhere the scent goes. There is only where it was."
