Frostfire Ridge i've been looking for a way to lie

No need to match the length — I got carried away!

Týrr had paused in his steps as he neared the heart of Frostfire, the area that would become the most heavily guarded of the pack's territory, inhaling deeply. The air was crisp and carried the scent of flora and fauna of spring. The herds had been coming back to the Wilds in force, many of them grazing in the neighboring territories of the Ridge. It was aptly located, though the Amazon Prince's reasons for setting his desires upon claiming it had been solely because he could not bring himself to reclaim Duskfire Glacier. Frostfire Ridge was a connected neighbor, close enough so that he was not far from it. Frostfire would be a tribute of the Glacier, but not a replica of it. Týrr, or rather Tezcacoatl had his own ideas, and he would see the embers of those stoked in the Ridge pack. He reveled in the relief of tension that had filled him on his diversion and the trip back for he was inherently glad to be back; happy, too, that Manauia had not allowed another to swoop in and attempt to claim what was his. Not officially, for the gathering of recruits was a slow process and raising a pack here was not something that the Amazon Rekkr intended to rush. The time put into it would make it seen well worth the effort.

Týrr's muzzle inclined skyward, crystalline blue eyes squinting against the sun, exposing the three scars trailing down his neck close to his throat. All he had left of Duskfire Glacier besides his own memories. He had earned them during his fight with the siren consort, earned them by fighting for Tuwawi and the Glacier, proving that his loyalty would be hers until his death. They were scars now, though puckered, pink and fresh. He had gained a few scrapes down his muzzle, and on his brow from his death match with Ragnar, but otherwise he had came out of that fight without being worse for wear. He felt powerful, this feeling no doubt borne of his ability to single-handily take down a seasoned Berserker. The little tidbits of knowledge he gained with every wisp of memory he regained as Tezcacoatl, coupled with the training Ragnar had given him had more likely than naught been the boon of his victory. It had felt good to pit Ragnar's own lessons against him. Ragnar had trained him to kill as a Viking Rekkr and Ragnar had learned that he had trained Týrr well. Comfort soon eluded Týrr at the sound of rapidly approaching footfalls. As it had previously, the instinct to chase out, to dominate was strong but these lands were not claimed yet and thus the Rekkr knew he had no grounds to stand upon. He allowed the leisure trespass because he wanted recruits with the belief that perhaps the land, striking as it was, would be one half of the battle of the lure. His ability to lead would be the other half.

The rapid footfalls increased, nearing him. By the time that Týrr took in the unfolding scene before him, crystalline eyes locking upon the woman, a blur of brown fur, as she rushed him and then collided with him. They fell down to the dirt and grasses previously beneath paw, a collision of their bodies, a tangle of their legs. Stupid, Týrr cursed himself as he found himself under her, heart beating rapidly in his chest. Oh the tales they would tell of him. Defeated a legendary Berserker in a death match but was taken down by a woman in the comforts of his own home. Humiliating. The noise that tore from the Amazon Prince's throat and lips was a feral noise. No. He would not die like this. Not here, and not now. Focused upon where his best opportunity to lay a blow to her in order to free himself that he nearly missed the name she growled and spat at him. Tezcacoatl. Her version had contoured it a fair deal, added a 'fucking' in there that was not supposed to be there, but it was enough to give him pause. She knew him. Or rather, she knew who he'd been, who was trying to break free of the chains amnesia kept him in; but he didn't remember her. In fact, he didn't even remember Manuia. He knew her as she was now, a link to his past and something of a trusted friend (if one could consider them such). It became rapidly apparent that Manauia had not had a chance to speak to the woman, to inform her of his condition. She spat more words at him, threats and the assertion that she would not make good on them in the next breath. Another, open ended threat followed in regards to his health — which from the scars that marred his neck close to his throat, and the recent scrapes from his death match with Ragnar he was in excellent health; if one wasn't counting the amnesia.

Another woman soon joined the one already situated on top of him, slighter and with a dark coat of ebony, no doubt recognizing him as Tezcacoatl as the other woman had. He did not remember her either, but was patient and tolerant as she chewed at his face, and ears. Her manner was not truly aggressive, but he would not call her bites necessarily affectionate. Holding no memory of either women made Týrr wonder what they had been to Tezcacoatl. Neither woman seemed as disgusted by him as Manauia herself had been, but he was nothing short of weary. They were expecting Tezcacoatl, and he would have to be the one to tell them that he wasn't him. Or at least, wasn't fully him. In fact, Týrr wasn't sure what he was most days; oft settling for the simplicity of that he was both Amazon and Viking. The ebony woman wore herself down and collapsed, with Týrr still beneath the both of them. Their weight was not uncomfortable, though if the Rekkr had been a different kind of man he might have been smirking at his luck. After all, it wasn't everyday two beautiful women tackled you to the ground and stayed there, and while he didn't particularly mind he was still distracted by Tuwawi despite her absence; and the ebony woman's fiery gaze reminded him of the wildfire queen for a second. Brat Prince, the ebony Amazon addressed him as, commanding that he fix her hurting feet. “Soon to be a King,” He corrected her, and took a deep breath, inhaling the air now mixed with their scents through his black, leathery nostrils, and let it out in the next few seconds. “There is something you both should know,” He gave pause though, weary as to how they might handle the news of his amnesia.