Moonspear we just sell different parts of ourselves

settling into moonspear is easy; though having once lived among them prior gave wintersbane a distinct advantage. he sought his old den — though it was really a cavern cut into the bottom of the spear. it took some work to dig and clear away detritus and uproot overgrown vines and grasses that tangled together to form a natural blockade but wintersbane persisted and sniffed at the musky air, confirming that it was, indeed, truly abandoned before he shrugged inside, ducking his head lest he smack it on the rock wall overhead; admittedly, he was a fair bit taller than he'd been when he'd first claimed this as home having not even been a yearling yet.

it was long ago and in the overcast morning; made bitter by the cold that nips at his nose, wintersbane exits his new ( old ) den and seeks to make himself useful.

it was not only grandfather bear that had come through in destruction, it was the snows that had not abated. kukutux had grown thinner with grief; she tended few of her tasks, unable to stand in the storm for so long. and for this she experienced a great feeling of worthlessness, of weakness.

tucking her diminished shoulders into a wrap of mottled rabbitfur, the woman slowly made her way out of the ulaq, padding through the high drifts for a nearby cache. but when she arrived, the duck found hunger had fled her, and so pressed on, aimless for once. she had no word for the great sadness that dragged at her limbs, that filled her head with exhaustion but took sleep from her, and she wandered into the path of a tall shadow-etched stranger unknowingly.

"aya!" came her sheepish exclamation; the moondrop dipped her head to the stranger, who smelled newly of moonspear. "this woman greets you."

the exclamation startles the tundrian, who turns to face the owner of the voice with a quick whip of his head and half twist of his body. it was a fellow moonspearian, of course, and this settles the bristle of his hackles quick enough. but it is the familiarity of her face, of the mottled rabbit skin she has draped over her shoulders, of her unusual way of speaking that morphs wintersbane's face into a rapid progression of surprise, to shock, to surprise and then, finally, to acknowledgement.

kukutux?

her name feels like a memoir upon his lips; as he tries ( and simultaneously tries not to for the memoirs are painful to recall ) recall when last they spoke. shortly before andraste married her off to this place; a year or so ago now. it was a different lifetime, when he went by the name his feywife called him, when life had seemed to be looking up.

an ache resounds in his chest but he ignores it; as he always does.

"melkor."

memories swept away as if it were snow from the edge of a stone-goose's perch. kukutux blinked, shame barbing her to realize she had not recognized him. she saw the scars upon his towering form and the blue-black of his proud pelt with its remembered feathering. they had both served the elf in different ways. 

recalling courtfall brought her to sharp mind of agana; the pain bleakened in her soul but the duck pushed it away. "it is good to see you again," she murmured. something must have happened to the silverwood creature, else he would not be here, melkor, a subordinate to the blackbear when once he had ruled his own kingdom.

melkor

a ghost of a name. a man that no longer existed; surely having been laid to rest with andraste.

as it is good to see you well, kukutux. he returns in a soft murmur; words genuine and softly rasping.

please, call me wintersbane, the tundrian asks of her softly, with a small, perhaps forlorn smile that does not touch his glacial gaze. it was my name before andraste gave me 'melkor'.

which, he supposes, is the only natural lead towards the words that he does not wish to say again; a memory that he does not wish to rehash. still, he assumes that kukutux does not know and feels it only right that andraste's windowed husband be the one to tell her. andraste, he gives a small clear of his throat. has been gone— he hopes kukutux gleams his meaning and the finality of the word 'gone' without him having to say she is 'dead' for even in his mind it sounds such a crass thing to say. for a year now, maybe more. ...if you hadn't heard.

wintersbane's time following her death had been far from idle as he threw himself into work and danger with a reckless sort of abandon.

"wintersbane," the featherbride said softly. different but no less iron-sided, she supposed; he had always been kind, but kind in the way that a stone atop a mountain might choose when it fell downward to kill its enemy. melkor no longer. he said the name of andraste, and the elf-queen's visage filtered back into the duck's mind. kukutux parted her lips to speak, but then the shadow revealed that she was no longer.

harboring the muted terror of a moment for having not recalled only the name but the face of a dead ruler, she nevertheless breathed up through the grey anguish. "i did not know. i am sorry for the hurt in your spirit." he had loved her and she him, but kukutux had not forgotten that she had been traded here to pay a debt, and had not been told until she stood before hydra and arcturus. 

it blunted the end of any sadness she might have experienced at the knowledge of it, but so much had gone on, and so many lost, that the duck was unsure where that pain ended and the newer began.

kukutux hoped the elven-made had been kinder to wintersbane in the end.

wintersbane had always ran with the assumption that kukutux and andraste were friends; unknowing of the extent of why she'd been married off to moonspear beyond that it was happening. it wasn't anything the feyqueen had confided in wintersbane about and would he have known prior he would've tried to speak out against it — trading ...even in the terms of marrying off — did not feel like a power any wolf should hold above another. but those were times long gone and he, ever eager, looks to the unknown future and what surprises it might hold for one of his youth ( for he is still young ), far from the twilight of his life despite his severe scars might paint a different picture.

thank you. wintersbane settles for, only after assuring himself that 'it's fine' sounded terribly callous. death was never fine but andraste was not the first love he's lost. that pain of mourning is something wintersbane has become quite familiar with over the years.

how has life been treating you since last we spoke? he inquires, more than a little eager to let the conversation shift.

they moved forward. kukutux would grapple with the sea of new sensation that had surfaced in her heart another time. "i am wife of jarilo, brother to hydra. i bore a son and a daughter to his hearth. at the end of spring, they will have twelve moons." it was a strange thing to consider, the passing of time, for it had changed them both.

as for the rest — kukutux did not want to speak of those who had been lost to the storm, a child and her mother, nor those slain by the bear. she rounded her shoulders against the cold, looked up at the quiet warrior. "why did you choose moonspear?" she wondered aloud, hoping wintersbane would not think her impolite. "aiolos rules in yuelong, across the water," she motioned, a name perhaps her companion might also know.

kukutux informs him that she is the wife of jarilo, brother of hydra. though the name rings a bell, it is the two sisters of hydra that he most remembers; having been closer to hydra and his brief dalliance with their pale sister, vela. she explains that she is a mother: to a boy and a girl. a very belated congratulations, then. he speaks on the topic of her children, a wiry smile tugging the corners of his scarred mouth upwards.

this is not my first time calling moonspear home, wintersbane admits readily to her curiosity; more than willing to placate it. i spent some time here as a cub. hydra trained me, actually, he says with a fond chuckle and a soft swell of nostalgia. for times that were, in hindsight, simpler but just as rife with conflict. i have a great respect and admiration for her.

to the news of aiolos there is a slight show of surprise upon the tundrian's visage as he processes that news. is he? he inquires in a contemplative hum. wintersbane hadn't gotten to know the man well, but held onto an inkling of suspicion he had not welcomed him as the king of court whether the suspicion was unfounded or not. i'm glad to know he's doing well, all the same. wintersbane gives a slight pause before admitting, i only know of it's empress, hua. with a soft shrug of his shoulders.

aiolos hadn't came up in any of the conversations that he had with the empress but, in the end, wintersbane supposes whatever their relationship was, wasn't any of his business.

"i was to find a wife for him but —" the agony was still fresh as caribou tracks in new snow, for she had seen too much death and could find no words to stomach its telling.

instead she let the surprise push back the bleakness: he had been here before, had been been trained by hydra. "thank you. she is a great woman," the duck remarked of her sister. "and i have made a meeting with the empress of yuelong, though it was some moons ago."

a comfortable silence followed. the duck sighed into the wind. "be careful where you place your feet. grandfather bear has awakened too early and he is angry."

the knowledge that she was to find a wife for aiolos and the trail off leads wintersbane to believe that things did not go as planned. he does not pry, not wishing to delve into what he presumed to be her sorrows. he makes a small, noncommittal noise in his throat, thinking of himself as not the sort of man that was good at expressing the proper condolences in such conversations without feeling that they were offered hollowly and thus left better unspoken.

for a strange moment, wintersbane strongly considers asking kukutux if she can find him a wife; if only because he alone could not produce children and what he wanted most of all was still to be a father in stead of a donor. he'd struck some luck with quellcrist but he'd missed so many milestones that even now she sort of felt more of a stranger than his daughter — not to mention the strangeness he feels every time his path crosses with miwa though he does not know with any sort of concrete certainty ( for black and silver are perfectly common colors ) if he is her father.

in the end, he pushes the thought away. perhaps it is better reserved for another time, a time when he is not burdened by the sorrow of memories of his lost loves and the loneliness that he has lived with since.

or maybe it was the perfect time.

are you a match-maker, then? he inquires lightly. think you could... maybe find me a wife? he asks her a bit hesitantly, finding the words to sound horrendously strange to his ears; especially considering he didn't necessarily want it arranged. at least, not in the way he thought of 'arranged' as in 'no choice'. er, a wife prospect at least? i mean, if not that's fine — gods, he was rambling. i'm curious and perhaps it's the season but a little more lonely than i thought i'd be. then again, he was settling into familiar routine without watching his back or leadership duties or anything else overly time consuming.

to the news of the bear, wintersbane makes a small noise of gratitude; thankful for the warning. i'll watch my back, then, he murmurs. i'd hate to have another run-in with an ursine. especially as he isn't too sure he'd survive another bear attack.

a blink. she looked ahead, and thought of the way that blood had flown from the body of her once-sister.

had she wished a bond with aiolos so much that a curse had been brought down upon the soft soul that now walked the dancing lights? had taken with the dark and silent warrioress? she remembered jesting gently with jarilo of it, speaking of such things with kigipigak — perhaps she had named herself atsak before the spirits had judged her ready.

and then wintersbane speaking of grandfather bear again, and kukutux paused to glance up the high hillock of his shoulder into a visage she had only known as elfbound. but the bear soul had come to him before, and silently she marvelled at this. it was the sign of a strong warrior, and for an agonizing moment she dared hope that perhaps the great and terrible wound in the side of firefly and moonspear might be healed.

"i think that i will ask for you in the names that i know," she told him slowly, thinking of the few here and there. and all around her, death, and the cloying cling of sorrow to each step. she must give her mind focus, place her attention upon the potential of new life rather than the crimson stains. "tell me what you wish in a wife."

though rarely prone to anxiety over decisions made, opting to make them and ride the coattails where ever they may take him, the slight prickling of anxiety in his chest as if an invisible creature were worrying his flesh was surprising; felt keenly in the stretch between his inquiry and her response. he would not push if she did not feel up to it — he was many things and not many of them good but he respects that space all the same.

thank you. wintersbane says in a soft rasp of the words, attempting to battle away the relief he doesn't want present within them. i'm a simple man, kukutux, wintersbane replies. i believe in reciprocating what i am looking for. loyalty, wintersbane begins, thinking thru it in a way he'd never had before. then again, none of his past relationships had ever been based in pragmatism. only love. for while i can't promise love nor do i expect it, i will be an attentive husband. his heart has been too battered by the losses of those he had loved prior and though he wishes to add he'd be a good husband that felt a little too arrogant. i would like to be a father, perhaps that was his most driving point. so a potential wife who wishes to have children would be good.

it wasn't much, but surely went to show that this ( as in, contract marriage ) was all new territory for him.

kukutux nodded softly, though she did not think wintersbane so simple. his spirit held a dark shadow, but it was not malice she sensed in the cold warrior. it was pain. perhaps a good wife might brighten the clamshell edge of him, but the duck was not certain he would never carry such.

with a start kukutux realized it was her mother's voice, speaking through her heartstrings. a blink of her jadestone eyes; she looked away, veiling her expression with the sable fall of her lashes. time in moonspear had made her too bold, too forward, too direct. she must remember the proper way if she was to teach sialuk well.

not for love he wished to marry, but children. it was natural; the duck suspected a younger wife who wished children might be a better fit than the woman aiolos wished. the redsun. she must go to him, but how could she tell him of the departed she had meant to bring down toward the water? pain, pain; the winterwife put it aside. "you would trust me with this?"

i would, wintersbane replies to her inquiry. i do. he emphasizes with soft correction of his words. though, admittedly, he has not been actively seeking a life partner to share the little and big triumphs with — for he was too busy being reckless and acting out the whims of his youth apparently yet to fade; emboldened by the morphing change that pain and loss have left upon his besmirched soul — he thinks it'd be nice. to have that part of his life figured out. to at least get one fragment of it stable.

for it has always been a wild and unstable thing; bucking him along as a wild stallion not yet broken bucked any that would attempt to bridle and ride it.

it is stability i search for; to plant roots and see what blossoms from them. a balm to ease the ache in my soul. he has found the ground he wishes to sow and grow upon ...he only has to let himself.

"to put down roots is an important thing," kukutux commented softly, glancing up at wintersbane a second shy time. "are you not afraid that you will grow restless? i ask now, for wives must be promised a consistent foundation." the duck had not borne the misfortune of being forced to move about during the moons of carrying children; moonspear had been a constant backdrop for sialuk and saviguk.

and yet she knew that no other woman would tolerate less than she had been given. "my last question is about her face," and because she burned with embarassment to even consider speaking upon what was considered beauty, kukutux hoped that wintersbane might comprehend her meaning. the visage of his wife; he had not said anything to the consideration of loveliness, but the duck knew that men saw such things first, and wished to know it firsthand from the warrior.

no, wintersbane settles; after a moment of quiet contemplation. i’ve been restless for far too long. and it’s long overdue that he stops barreling forward. being a husband again would be good for him, he thinks. being a father would be better …and not just to random children he’s spawned scattered across the wilds. both wife and children would give him something to focus his energy upon.

kukutux’s question about looks very nearly draws a snort from the tundrian’s lips. he tempers it last second, letting it die on his tongue. the idea that he had any right to be shallow was …amusing. i am not concerned with such things, he tells kukutux sincerely. vanity has left me with each scar i’ve earned and so as long as my prospect wife can accept my ugly mug then that is all that matters to me.

kukutux did not agree that wintersbane was ugly, though it was not seemly to tell him so. she did not need to publicly disagree with a man; her opinions belonged only to herself. but she did see his scarring; she saw the marks of the stories in which he had featured, and perhaps had written himself.

"a wife might enjoy your experience," the duck chose to rejoin, a humoured look lifting the solemnity of her pale features. "it means you are strong. you are hunter. you are fighter. you will teach your sons to be the same." a glance skyward. "i will travel soon, wintersbane. i hope to have a name for you in the moons to come."