Silvertip Mountain daybreak

the mountain does not intimidate arktos, he finds. he had been uncertain when he'd begun to explore it, at first content to remain at the safety of it's base but there was something about it that calls to something deep and wild in the marrow of his bones.

but that was the problem with remembering nothing before ground zero: it wasn't just him and what kind of man he was that he was discovering. it was everything. what land he felt comfortable roaming: the plains, for sure. often, his thoughts go back to the plains ... because it was where he met nephele, because he considered that while they offered no forested area to rest one's head, there was plenty of prey. one of those thick beasts that roamed it could feed a pack for a while.

at some point, arktos' legs had begun to move of their own accord, carrying him up a path that a quick analysis had told him appeared relatively safe. and he climbs and climbs and climbs; losing himself in thoughts and instincts of navigation and survival.

and when he goes as high as he feels comfortable with, he stops on an outcropping, overlooking the glacier and valley below. it yawns before him, a kaleidoscope of colors and topography.

he draws in a deep breath, the air slightly thiner and colder. but the view? it was breathtaking. up here, arktos imagines a man could get lost in his own ego, if he let it. arktos sees the expanse of land below and cannot help but think ( despite that he doesn't believe in any sort of deity ) that this is was a god might see and can feel the power of having this hawkeye'd view; but begins to humble himself by allowing the realization that he is so small in comparison to what he can see of the wilds from up here.

a small rumble of amusement, a half chuckle, lingers in his throat as he settles upon his haunches, not far back enough that the outcropping obstructed his view but not close enough to tempt danger, either. moss green gaze cast out at the land stretching beneath him contentedly, losing himself in memorizing the land.

being intentionally vague here

Despite a resolve to return to the glacier, Fjall still lingered.

He felt the wind here more sharply than any place else, and he would stand on a precipice in brief stints just to have a feel of its feral gales. The rush of the air always took him back to that night. And each time, his heart would begin to hammer anew.

Surely, there were more pressing matters to attend, but Fjall instead stole away to make a quick ascent up the mountain slopes. He needed to feel the rush at least once more before descending for a time!

He aimed higher, this time. As high up as the wallflower dared. His eyes chose an outcropping as his destination, but it wasn’t until he arrived that he saw its other end was occupied. Oh, Fjall took a step back. I… I did not mean to disturb you.

company up this high was something that arktos does not expect; so when company finds him, he pushes himself to his paws in a quiet rush, hackles bristling and lip curling back from his teeth. he wasn't keen on having any sort of scrap up here, aware that a tumble down the the mountain from this height was more than enough to kill a man.

whatever aggression had been brewing stilted into gruff caution as the other man takes a step back, words slightly tumbling over themselves. it was easy to forget up here, to let himself cross that threshold between the present and the hellscape of ground zero that seemed determine to call him back in his mind's eye.

not a place i'd expected company, arktos admits, trying to shake loose the tension still lingering in his broad shoulders. i know what drew me up here, it sound a little ominous as it leaves his lips, like the brewing grey of a storm on the horizon. but i wonder what might draw another man to these heights? a demand for an answer, choked in honeyed illusion of invitation.

From a cringe, where his eyes had fallen apologetically to the ground, Fjall drew his gaze up, up, up to meet the great beast before him. Gold-maned and -tailed, he was the most impressive man he had ever seen. He felt his stomach drop, and a scattering of butterflies fled from the turmoil, fluttering up his throat.

The tension in the titan’s body began to ease, and when he spoke it was conversational instead of confrontational.

“I knew what drew me up here…”

What could that be? The yellowmoon wondered at the deep rumble in his voice. He thought he could sense something there beneath the quiet baritone through which the stranger spoke. Shyly, he looked towards the edge, assessing.

“…but I wonder what might draw another man to these heights?”

Fjall hesitated, as he seemed prone to, but answered earnestly. I came to feel the best winds. It sounded strange, he realized, too strange! He wanted to take it back, to not be so embarrassing… Wh-, what are you doing up here? he asked quickly, hurrying to change the subject from himself.

the best winds, as the younger man tells him, was not what arktos had expected, if he'd expected much at all. the best winds. he mulls over this answer, chewing like it was a toothpick betwixt his lips. it was certainly windy up this high, a constant nape ruffling breeze that at times swelled in speed so that it pressed against his body like a palpable force.

as arktos thinks it, so mother nature wills it and he shifts his weight against the swell of air, until it passes.

there's no shortage of wind up here, his silence finally breaks, unsure of what else he could say to it.

and then the table is turned, and for a longer moment arktos considers holding his cards close to his chest; but this wasn't a game of poker and he was finding that he wasn't the kind of man that shied away from assertiveness and honesty, regardless of how awful it might paint him.

to be up this high and look out at the land beneath you is to know both power and vulnerability, he gestures with his muzzle to the horizon. i came to find those feelings and find out what they both mean to me.

Fjall fought not to squirm under the militant inspection of greenmoss eyes. However, he still couldn’t help but look away. His ears fell backwards, uncomfortably, only swiveling forward again when at last the wolf had considered him enough and spoke again.

The wisteria of his eyes flashed back to the man’s face, his chin tucking further. He’d have guessed that the other wolf wouldn’t feel as he did about the wind, but somehow it hurt a little to find out for sure. Mentally, he shook the thought away, woefully uncertain about why he felt so concerned about the stranger’s approval.

Was it because he missed Ariadne’s approval that much?

He was glad to have his change of subject accepted. The wolf, perhaps just as odd as himself, spoke of “power” and “vulnerability,” and of looking for meaning in them both using what this vantage point could afford him. It was strangely philosophical, from such a bastion of physical prowess.

Fjall wouldn’t have guessed such depth was there, but he was not the type to judge a book cover. No – he was interested because he had glimpsed a single sentence of a single page and now wanted to read more.

Can I… join you? he asked, haltingly. I could tell you all about vulnerability, he added quickly, with a wry, nervous chuckle. As if offering this would somehow make his company more inviting.

though not perhaps as far apart in age as arktos was wont to assume ( though he didn't really know his own age now did he? ), he can't help but think of the other man as younger. even if arktos is unsure of what exactly draws himself to that conclusion.

sure, arktos accepts and invites. this height's not for the weak hearted, drawls the warbear. but i suspect you already know that. for his winds comment led arktos to assume that this wasn't the stranger's first rodeo up where the chill remains and the air thins.

you got a name? if they were to share this space, he figured he might as well learn the name of the man he was speaking to.

Fjall’s heart skipped a beat when he was invited forth. Swallowing, he stepped forward gingerly, meeting the broad man in the middle of the overlook. The lion of a wolf was even more daunting up close, the yellowsilk wallflower practically dwarfed by comparison, but he felt no fear for his own wellbeing here. It was a peculiar sensation, to say the least.

Ducking his head appreciatively, he turned in a small circle and faced the vast world below. He tucked his tail over his paws and sat primly beside him as the wind wailed and ruffled his fur anew.

Despite the chill, Fjall felt strangely warm.

He looked up at the question. My name is Fjall, he said, the tip of his bushy tail quivering. Too shy to ask the same directly, he went on: So— have you, uh, figured anything out yet, up here…? There was a pointed pause, searching for the man to place his name there.

the height gives arktos the illusion of stillness and idleness, that the territories that yawn out before him and fjall — as he names himself as — has frozen, awaiting their return. logically, arktos knows that is not true.

arktos, the warbear offers with a soft draw of breath, finding it not as satisfying as it usually is and pushes it out on another soft gust of wind; moss green gaze taking in the landscapes below once more.

up here, arktos has found clarity. i believe i have. he replies vaguely, a soft noise lingering in his throat. now i just have to share my revelations with my wife. because his decisions affected her too and she deserved a say as his other half.

Arktos.

It sounded like the name of a celestial body. A star, a comet, a galaxy. But Fjall might have thought this of any name the man would have conjured. He stole glances at him as he surveyed the land; he was much more interested in the introspective stranger than the views which he had seen before. Though, perhaps, not from this height…

He turned his lavender gaze outward when Arktos answered. There was so much more beyond the glacier: hills and valleys and rivers and ridges. He stared towards Winterglade [Neverwinter Forest], but he only heard the man’s voice.

Wife.

Oh. Briefly, Fjall felt uncomfortable again. Wait— was it disappointment he felt? What was there to be disappointed about? Colored by emotion, he understood the exchange to mean that he should back off. I won’t pry, he said quietly. The revelations were for his wife, he reminded himself.

The wind buffeted them, and he closed his eyes to it, ears falling as he enjoyed a quick washing of his face. It calmed him considerably. The wind is very fretful today. It does not know whether it is coming or going, he commented, smiling to himself. Are you a believer in spirits? he asked, opening one eye to peer up at Arktos. If you do not mind my asking.

there are some things, in arktos' mind, that a man doesn't share with strangers or ...acquaintances; but if nephele took to the idea there could be no progress if word didn't get 'round. arktos needs it to spread like wildfire in a small town bar, carried on the lips of every gossipmonger. he didn't necessarily see the young man beside him as a gossiper but a planted seed was potential. a small purse of arktos' lips is given; contemplation heavy as he weighs pros and cons.

a soft shift of weight.

oblivious to the way the other man seemed a bit crestfallen, arktos makes a decision and speaks, if she's open to the idea, there's a possibility we could be try building our own pack. of course, it was all a hypothetical at the moment, with nothing more concrete than the ideas percolating in his mind.

you got a home, fjall? asks arktos conversationally, just two men sat at a bar, drinking beers.

he lets it sit, mulling over the philosophical turn their conversation had taken. i believe in what i can see, in what i can touch, taste, smell — his senses, he could trust. was all he had to trust besides the memory of ground zero and the memories made after it. i take it you are? he asks.

Though unmindful of Fjall’s emotions, Arktos did relinquish a scrap of information that had been withheld before: he was thinking of forging his own pack.

It seemed a fitting role for such an imposing brute. And he was as serious and no-nonsense as they came – Fjall didn’t think he’d ever met a man so hardnosed. He couldn’t even imagine this man smiling! But most troubling of all was that none of it explained why his heartwings flapped a little harder when the man asked if he had a home.

I did— I do, he huffed against the wind. I mean, I used to live there. He gestured towards the glacier. I want to return, but… my family has gone from it. There’s only strangers there now. It begged to question why he would go back at all, but Fjall thought it was his responsibility to do so. (Never mind the fact that he was severely stalling his return.)

Fjall would’ve opened up more about it, but he was unconsciously emulating the tight-lipped mien of his company. Half of his mouth curved wryly when Arktos stated his beliefs, rooted only in the corporeal way of things. But what if one could sense spirits in that way – touch them, taste them, feel them? Surely, they would be worth believing in then.

I am, Fjall answered, unashamed. I can sense them as well as I can sense prey, or you. It might not make sense to a wolf like Arktos, but he didn’t expect everyone to have had their awakening through the Maker – the Fearsome One – the Wild Spirit. Perhaps it’s a rare sense. Like when some never gain vision or their ears. Maybe some are born with a different kind of sight, too.

arktos isn't entirely convinced, especially when it's mention that there's no one at fjall's home but strangers. home is people. home is not a place, while there are no memories to back this up for arktos, this was one of those things that he just felt to be true in the marrow of his bones. for a man who followed logic over sentiment, that was profoundly sentiment of him.

fjall offers an opposing view that arktos cannot deny: if it was a sense, it was certainly one he didn't have ... and that didn't make it untrue.

i see, drawls the warbear on his next breath. you present a compelling opposition. he gives voice to his thoughts, finally; accepting. two things could be right at the same time, and all that. he falls silent, unsure of how to communicate that he was impressed.

1. forgib my ramblins as i figure this gumball out~

2. i also figured this would be a good place to wrap up, so you can have another founding thread done (+ it made the most sense with how things have progressed since this)! we should have a new one posthaste <3

“Home is people. Home is not a place.”

Fjall was quiet for a while, in his thoughts, tracing the outline of this idea, so that he could grasp the picture as a whole. Where was home then? Was it in Winterglade, where he’d been born? In Moonglow, with the bulk of his family? Had he given up too soon on finding Ariadne? (How many moons would it take? he wondered.) Was his resolve to return to the glacier misguided? Would he find that it was home there no matter who lived upon it?

And most frightening of all: was it possible that he had not found his people yet, and therefore had no home?

Arktos had broken Fjall’s brain in less than ten words.

He was glad for the distraction of another subject. The man’s next words even almost sounded like… praise. Did I just open his mind? He felt warm all over, as warm as a happy lizard basking. This is nice. He was so distracted by the feeling that a strong gust of wind was able to catch him off guard, shoving him sideways in his sit. He stutter-stepped and pushed backwards to catch himself, ducking his head as the wind rushed up his spine and used it as a ramp.

I think the wind’s telling me I should get down, he wisecracked once the galeforce had died down again. Too much wind could certainly be just as bad as not enough. He stood and shook out his wheatfield fur. I’ll be going, but you’ve given me a lot to think about… with my home, he added more seriously. I appreciate you, Arktos. Fjall dipped his head gratefully. I hope to see you again, he couldn’t bring himself to say. I wish you good fortune on your path. Farewell.