It was official he was a pack wolf. He wore the title like an ill fitting cloak. But he was willing to hurt a little to form and grow into it. He liked it here. He could offer his skills to those for a meaning though honestly he wasn't sure anymore if his trades were even worth anything to others.
It was alright though. He liked himself enough for everyone else. He slipped and shimmied through thr mountain. His own steps a dance to it's own drum. He wound his way to the very edge and stood at the edge staring down. The wind buffeting him, but he felt alive.
Keen was lost. The one time she dared to explore higher up the mountain — ah, it was only to be expected, though. Luck was never on her side. It was windy as all hell up here and she was half afraid of getting blown right off the edge. So when she came across someone standing dangerously close to that drop into open air, she could only stop and gape at him for a moment.
What are you doing?
Keen blurted, and realized only after she spoke that she shouldn't have said it that loudly or abruptly lest he startle right off the edge. Oops!
Lucky for her and well lucky for him, Alaric didn't startle to easily. However, he did turn to gaze at her with bright green eyes. Brown Fur, blue eyes. Pretty he supposed. She was graceful otherworldly and she fit with Sialuk well. Both of them holding a bit of a dreamy quality.
He motioned back down and smiled. Feeling alive. Would you be more comfortable if I moved away from the edge?
He was fine honestly. There wasn't much he was afraid of. Because he had seen so much. And he def wasn't afraid of death. It would be one of those things that he'd meat with full tilt and a smile like everything else.
She let out a breath of relief when the man did not startle off the edge, but the irreverent manner in which he smiled and spoke promptly drowned that feeling in indignation. Um! Yes!
Her ears flattened, and she could not decide between glaring at him or glancing fearfully at the edge. Are you - trying to die?
Her tone changed from indignant to dismayed and concerned even as she spoke. Was this what it looked like when someone truly stopped caring about life? Keen wasn't sure she wanted to witness this.
And she certainly didn't want to witness his death. She swallowed hard and eyed the scant space between the man and a wolf-flattening fall. What could she do? Nothing, that was the answer. If he decided to jump, she would be forced to watch.
Alaric calmly moved away from the edge and further near her. She was clearly distressed with his devil may care attitude. And he supposed those who weren't like him would be, but he couldn't quite help the manner with which he threw himself at stuff. Perhaps he was damaged beyond repair, which he would be unable to explain, because he had good parents. His father was often disappointed in his attitude and thought him flights of fancy, but he hadn't mistreated him.
He shook his head. No I'm not. I don't want to die, but I'm not afraid to die. But I like the things that get my heart rate going. The edge of a precipice, or that run, fear, a good moment between consenting adults. So forth and so on.
He moved a brown tipped paw as he spoke, through the air, his body language always working over time.
Once he was far enough away from the edge, but close enough that she could see he wasn't going to jump he offered his name.
I'm Alaric, healer, story teller, trader. At your service.
He gave a low dip of his head.
Okay. He didn't want to die. He was just insane. Got it. Keen resisted the urge to start laughing hysterically, but the corners of her mouth pulled back slightly in an expression somewhere between mirth and pure stress. Right,
She said, trying not to sound like she was judging him even though she totally was. I'm Keen. Historian.
Which sounded a lot less impressive next to his list of titles!
Her first impression of Alaric overall was that he was very irritating to be around. Somehow she liked him anyway. What kind of stories do you tell?
Keen asked, a little friendlier now that she'd had a moment to recover from the scare he'd given her.
Had he known her thought process, he probably would have laughed and nodded. and told her. WHere's the lie, but he didn't and he couldn't.
He chuckled at her words and a light of pure mirth lit up his eyes. He could hear the way she wasn't saying what she really wanted too and it filled him with the good ole jollies.
Well met Historian Keen. That's a noble trade and speciality.
Most people either loved him despite his clear shortcomings or hated him. There was no inbetween. There had never been.
A smile lit up his face and his eyes. They glowed with a deep seated happiness. He loved talking about stories. There was a small wiggle in his tail as he spoke. I tell all sorts. Ones of love and passion, those of darker nature. I tell myths and fables and legends. I speak for those that can't speak for themselves. I tell stories of the spirits that inhabit places. I tell stories of heartbreak and happiness. All around.
Noble. Pffft. Keen knew a brown-noser when she saw one. Historians could be many things, but noble was not among the key descriptors. Her own particular brand was a nervous, obsessive thing, a passion driven by fear because what if she died without knowing all there was to know?
Yeah, Keen had some issues. Ahem. She squinted briefly at him when he paid the compliment, but opted not to tell him that he was full of shit. Sounds a bit like being a historian. We collect all sorts too. Only thing is, it has to be real,
She smiled then, a touch of mischief in the expression. Mostly.
No good history was born without a bit of embellishment, after all! Otherwise it would just be boring.
He had meant the compliment in good faith and to him anyone who followed the storyteller profession, whether as a historian, as a story teller, as a chronicler, whatever it maybe. That was something to be proud of. And he was much teh same as she, except it was what if I die because I can't share the words that lay written in my heart of hearts.
Alaric grinned at her mischievous smile and green eyes danced at her. The mark of a good storyteller is to make you think it's real, and all legends and myths have a grain of historical truth no? Just as all of your history has just a touch of legend and myth.
White teeth flashed in a disarming grin and he moved in place, excited. What is your favorite history story?
Ah, so he liked to debate, too! Keen was delighted, to say the least. Depends on your definition of truth. It's all relative, isn't it? The ones who lived it are dead, and it's the ones who are alive now who get to decide what the truth is,
Of course, put that way, all history could be nothing more than fiction. And who was to say that it wasn't? People lie, and misremember, and mislead; maybe history was just an amalgamation of all of those things, only vaguely drawn in the same colors as the reality of it. So I guess it is about what you believe, or what you make people believe.
But! Her favorite piece of history! My favorite story is... a little depressing,
Keen admitted. You sure you want to hear it?
There was no question that he liked to debate when he could and if the topic meant something to him. IT was another of those things that got his heart rate going. Put a little prickle of unease at the back of his head.
Alaric chuckled. But then if you say that, does that mean then, that all history is like stories and not real?
A small movement, a dance in place as he thought of what to say. yes, but those alive had to hear it from somewhere, no? So then the dead still speak, yes? Just through the younger generation with different words.
OF course i want to hear it. All tragedy and sad things make for a good story. Does it hurt yes, but that means it's good. When you can feel it. And all sad things have a little bit of hope in them so then that means there's a little happy mixed in or at the very least bittersweet.