Swiftcurrent Creek under the folding branches

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When had had a moment, after settling Mae in, he sought out his frost-tipped brother. Eyes swinging over the rugged ranger, he felt the corner of his lips curl up in a darker smile. “@Viinturuth... How do you feel about trying to find the location of the guy that hurt Mae?”

Step one: find the fucker.

Akavir approached, and Viinturuth lifted his dark gaze to regard him with ears pricked forward in interest. He expected an update on the yearling's condition after the attack in the marshland, after her treatment in Hearthwood, but the raven-pelted leader gave voice to a request instead.

He knew Viinturuth would never say no.

His tail lashed in quiet acceptance, a familiar glint in his eye that demanded more information.

Viinturuth accepted with quiet acknowledgement—Akavir released a breath, already feeling the twitch of anger drift through him as he tried to recall details he could give the man before him.

“Big. He’s huge… Reminded me of a bear. Dark pelt and dark brown eyes. Scars. Hopefully I gave him a few more,” he offered, his tail lashing in quiet thought. “Seemed like he was heading in the direction of the creek, but he changed after the attack—East or South, I’m not sure. Kvarsheim also isn't above attacking us, as proven in the past.” It hadn’t been North.

“If you find him… We’ll decide what to do, then. After that… I might need you to go to Akashingo.”

He didn’t love the idea—but the knowledge and reach they held for resources might be one of Mae’s only chances… “I would go, but she needs me here. She needs someone with her… She can’t see.”

He was a giant, apparently. Dark, marred. Viinturuth tried to imagine the hulking beast who dared touch a hair on his niece's hide, and rumbled a low note. This beast could've easily killed the Swiftcurrent yearling had Akavir not been around to intervene.

He did not know Mae as well as he'd have liked - but she was family. She was blood. She was the dearest thing to his brother despite the rockiness of their relationship.

Thus, she was dear to Viinturuth, too.

He lifted his proud head and turned his gaze to the South-Eastern horizon, brow furrowed. If I find him, I'll bring you his head, he growled, seethed.

Fire ignited in his brother—the words could have chilled any onlooker to the bone, but they drew a faint smile to the corner of his lips. Viinturuth lifted—Akavir pressed his forehead to his brother—there was little much to say, now. “Bi sàbhailte,” he murmurs—one of the tongues of the Mayfairs.

The brothers might not have had a penchant for magic, like the rumors of their aunt Deirdre… but generations of fire, blood and war carried with them.

The man who hurt one of theirs would rue the day, surely.

Akavir shifted beside him, and Viinturuth himself moved to accept the gesture. He adjusted his crown to meet that of his brother in a rough shove, a low rumble of affection in his throat. Akavir spoke in their father's tongue and there was warmth in the pale ranger to hear the words, comforted by the knowledge his kin would be waiting for him to return.

I will go at first light, he moved to seek the raven Alpha's gilded eyes with his own burgundy stare. While he wished to hurry off and cover the ground required to catch up with the beast who'd harmed Mae, Viinturuth knew he'd do better after a fresh meal and a good rest.