moss green gaze sweeps over the plains; a spark of something familiar tugging at the back of his mind. there was not inherently familiar in and of itself about the plains that stretch before him: golden stalks of flora dried and trampled and dull of lustrous golden color he can tell that they once were.
it was just that the color reminds him of that place. the place he'd woken in with no memory of who he was. the coyotes that had lingered nearby disappointed that he had survived whispered one word that he could make out:
badlands.
he had thought they were speaking of him, naming him. badlands.
a gruff noise lingers in badlands' throat, a soft snort passing from his nostrils.
determined not to be distracted by getting caught up in the web of new memories and the strings that tie them, badlands continues on, towards the heart of the plains; steps faltering and hackles bristling slightly as he takes in the massive beasts idling; grazing. for them, he has no name.
he gives the small herd of bison a wide berth, not interested in picking a fight with them.
many of her days were spent stretching wide across the flatlands, marking territories in the mental moving boxes of her brain. she returned regularly to the glacier to preform daily chores; patrol, socializing when necessary, stuffing caches with the small game caught off on her brisk trips.
each return offered the fading scents of souls lost to the wind, and she found herself amused at their declining numbers. should the glacier fall, the viper would readily slither on to the next willing pack that would host her and her future offspring.
there would be little lost for the snake amongst the songbirds.
with day-to-day responsibilities completed, the stormcloud slipped free from the glacier once more and set off towards the lake she had seen in passing, but never up close. it was on her way that she caught the aroma of a man, and steered her course to catch a glimpse of the wanderer amongst the bison.
should he be displeasing to the eye, she intended to pass him by with silence and a disinterested blink. but oh, she'd been blessed with eye candy. a handsome man of considerable size with all the right proportions in all the right places.
she immediately shot the nameless man to the top of her potential donor list, and let absinthe gaze drink in the sight of him until she was drunk and stumbling.
badlands, badlands, badlands ...—
that moment, so fresh in his mind ... because it was his only real memory? or because it was so very recent? ... haunts his dreams and apparently his waking hours. sharp, harvest gold eyes boring into him from a distance; mouths twisted in arrogant sneers, gaze never wavering as the coyotes whisper to themselves in their native tongue, spitting badlands.
a sharp breath is taken as if he resurfaces from the violent sea of that memory, realizing that he had ( dangerously, perhaps ) disassociated. the thousand yard stare had nestled itself upon his facial features during those stolen moments, claiming its new host.
he has successfully avoided the massive herd of beasts and is startled to realize that there are footfalls approaching him. he turns, confident that from the lack of weight to the sounds that it was not one of the beasts in pursuit, moss green gaze taking in the pale and soft greyed slyph approaching.
a low chuff of greeting leaves badlands' lips, a curious tilt of his head given. you alright there, miss?
he inquires, wincing as he hears his voice for the first time since ground zero. it's not unpleasant; it is deep to match his size, a low rumbling baritone. quiet because a man of his stature does not need to raise his voice to be heard.
he turned, and she halted the steady beat of her footsteps. the sun enveloped him in an ethereal glow, one that left her squinting until clouds drifted to cover the light. he was well formed, muscles sculpted to tell stories while scars danced to them.
his voice rang out, and she tipped her chin in interest to his question. "i'm fine, now that i have something nice to look at," she answered with a captivated sweep over his figure once more.
a breath was held as her tail gave an amused swish, and she considered for a moment on where the stranger might have come from. his coat held no significant scents, no purpose other than that of the typical vagabond. she momentarily wondered if he had brothers, and if so, hoped they might be as stunning as he.
"do you have a wife?" she asked with boldened curiosity?
badlands' tail sways against his haunches, ears cupping forth to attention as she offers him a compliment. he is flattered, and lets out a low chuckle that borderlines embarrassed. he's seen his reflection in ponds and rivers and lakes, of course, but hasn't ever really thought about it. or perhaps he did. perhaps he had once been like narcissus, utterly obsessed with himself. but the scars he could see on his legs ... he doubts that. even if he couldn't fully trust his own doubt.
even if he'd been, the point was his past no longer mattered. he couldn't remember it. he couldn't remember him.
he feels like he needs to tell her she's pretty, to return the favor of a compliment — because she was pretty; a small slyph of a thing — but it also felt to badlands like it might come across as disingenuous.
and as a man of intention, he wasn't interested in being anything other than as genuine as he could be. even if he wasn't quite sure he wanted to go around tell the masses that he suffered severe memory loss and felt, at times, as young gangly cub might still discovering himself.
her next question throws badlands for a bit of a curve ball and he feels his left ear twitch back, his head tilting slightly to the side as he regarded her. did he have a wife? did he? or maybe he had a husband? was this a trick question? was she his wife?
these worries are soothed as his dissects the moment, reminding himself there appeared to be no recognition when she first came across him.
no,
he answers. i am alone.
a sobering reality that he had no relationships: not romantic, not platonic, not even those of a pack.
her weight shifted as he seemingly thought about what she would have deemed an easy question. he looked almost confused by her words, which she wouldn't have thought odd given the question, but it was in the way he almost seemingly didn't know the answer that threw her off.
she didn't think much of his visible uncertainty when he spoke, for the answer given was a delightful melody.
he was alone.
"do you want one?" she asked with an arched brow and spirited enthrallment. the question was presented with an air of light play in hopes of removing some of the weight that came with such a heavy inquiry, but held all the sincerity a proposal should have.
she would have got down on one knee were she capable of it. though her desires were not motivated by the romantic notions of love at first sight, rather she was pushed by the selfish attraction she held for him physically and what he could offer.
he would make strong, healthy children. she would have a strong, healthy partner. it was a craving near insatiable, and yet he might be capable of filling the void.
she is forward. this, badlands can appreciate, even if it throws him a bit off. she does not appear to be unabashed with her question: did he want one. he hesitates, trying to discern whether she she meant him and her, here and now ... or whether she asked in general.
in truth, he hadn't thought about it. his mind had been much more preoccupied with everything else.
finding a wife or husband hadn't been categorized as a priority, necessarily.
but ! —
this conversation had made him consider that well, yes. he hadn't necessarily been too worried about being alone until it was shoved into perspective in his mind: that he had nothing and no one to stand for, to stand with. no place or anyone to call home.
and that very suddenly made him aware of the ache of loneliness in his chest; a cavernous hole that woke with an angry vengeance.
yes.
the word rips itself from his lips; raw and rasping. even if it was with a total stranger.
there is an inviting thrum that echos in the pit of her chest as the moment between question and answer hangs thick in the early spring air.
and at the sound of his voice — of his answer, she finds herself bewitched.
there were not many she found to be as forthcoming, as honesty with their desires as she considered herself. and so at the the spellbinding words of — yes — she finds a deep appreciation for the man she had not considered before.
a step is taken, an extension outreached as if inviting him to dance. "then you should have one," she let's slip, but her eyes speak of more. then you should have me.
she waits a moment before summoning forth the truth of her wordless passion. "come with me," she offers, a breath taken before, "be with me."
the truth is revealed, insinuations and what he reads into the questions, are made clear. badlands considers with a twitch of his ear, chin lifting slightly as he regards her: not in disinterest. he is plenty interested; at least physically. the logical part of his brain argues that they are strangers, making wed vows without even knowing one another's names was ... crazy.
but not any more crazy than what has befallen him in the past few weeks.
and what was the harm in a marriage of convenience?
from him, she could have what she desired and from her, he would take companionship. anything to make him less lonely. to fill that void he feels like an aching, gnawing hunger. she would give him purpose.
it may not last, but perhaps it would. even marriages made of love weren't a certainty.
he draws nearer, drinking in her scent, in the scents of others. i will,
agrees badlands; knowing that he should shed that name. whether it was truly his or not. perhaps fitting, it would not suit here. did not suit the man he wished to be, nor the life he wished to build. true or not, badlands had been stolen from the sneering coyotes cloyed around him at ground zero.
but it was not the last thing he would steal from them. i am arktos.
he does not know it's meaning, of course; a word, a name, a sound. one that he had liked. that had tucked itself away, waiting for this moment.
her tail sways to an agreeable beat as he inches near, the truth of his size revealed in the close company of each other. he towered over her, and she would have preferred it no other way.
he accepts her offer, and a delighted hum resonates within. "i am nephele," she introduces.
she let him lead in this choreography, though when given a moment, aimed to brush herself along the side of him. where no scents clung to him before, he would now wear her, and she him.
"come," she instructs with a gentle touch to his shoulder should he allow it. "i will show you to our home." their home. it was an odd thought to consider what was hers was now his. she had not desired a husband before now and yet...she did desire him.
and so, badlands is arktos.
arktos, husband of nephele.
it is ridiculously easy, to call himself such even in his thoughts without any preamble. it fits, somehow. husband, nestled beside his name. it is a purpose. someone to serve. someone to protect.
simple and uncomplicated, which is how arktos is finding he likes things to be.
her small frame brushes against the side of his and arktos shivers, drawing delight in the touch. a touch he can see himself yearning for. physical attraction and a purpose to fulfill was what arktos believed he needed in life to be content.
on a random day, in a random plain he had found it.
or rather, she had found him.
and where to do we call home, nephele?
asks the warbear, liking how her name feels against his tongue.
it settles in the depths of her mind that she is a wife now. a wife to a man she'd just met, a stranger, and yet it does not feel wrong.
she could ask of his past, of his scars, of his stories, and yet truthfully she did not care for what history had written of the man. she had learned all she needed in the few moments they'd spent together, anything more she saw to as a sweet reward.
cloudy ears swivel as he asks of their home, a pale chin tipping towards the direction of their intended destination.
"it is a village called morningsong, nestled neatly atop a glacier," she revealed with an eager glance towards her husband. "i hope you are not shy of the cold?" she lets out as she takes a step to begin the guided tour back to the aforementioned village.
a smile teases her lips as she waits for any answer, the thought that they now had each other to keep warm sending a flush of heat through her she had not anticipated.
fade here? i'll go ahead and start us a thread in morningsong. <3
she names a village of morningsong as their home, informing him that it is atop a glacier. though the word glacier with it brings with it an image, there is no emotions positive or negative associated with it.
was he shy of the cold?
there was certainly a chill in the air of these wilds that had not been present at ground zero, a desert. or, at least, something akin to it. but it is still winter, even if it should be at it's tail end.
i don't think so.
it was as honest an answer as he can give.
tell me about morningsong, and of who leads it,
he encourages.
and then tell me about you, wife.
he enjoys the word
wife, how it tastes, how it sounds. more than he thought he would like a word.
it might've been startling to arktos if he wasn't numb to being startled by such things.
he suspects they have a bit of a journey to reach morningsong and he is curious: about morningsong, about her. he would return the favor, as much as he can if asked; even offering the truth of him: that there had been ground zero and nothing in his memory before that.
though he is wont to hold that information close to his chest, as if it were a secret, he feels it is something his wife should know of him.