The earth’s last rumble was weeks ago, not a single sound of anger shaking the ground since. There was a growing sense of comfort that filled him as this dawned on him, encouraging the young leader to investigate further into their surroundings; the plains that surrounded them received his attention already, yet the mountain that shielded them from the north was yet to be explored. He eyed it carefully each day, curious but hesitant—was he capable of hiking across the ridges? His time at the glacier was months ago and, even then, the terrain there was nothing like the crags of the range. But his curiosity continued to grow to the point where it could not so easily be ignored, and he soon found himself searching the mountainside for an access point.

Trekking up the mountain was no easy feat for the male, as he was unaccustomed to doing so. It was a course of trial and error as he worked to figure out how best to climb the rocky paths, although reaching those peaks provided him with nothing short of a heart attack as he spied another as pale as himself at taunting heights; it was danger she danced with, on narrowed paths whose integrity he questioned. His own legs stiffened with each movement she made, eyes wide and staring—

—“ÂnnitailiKattagit!” he called out, voice hardly registering in his head; he didn’t think to speak, the sounds that escaped his lips acting on their own accord. “Don’t fall!” That she might better grasp the dangers of this land, accustomed to the ridges the mountain had to offer, never quite reached him. The image of another wolf in what he perceived to be danger covered every inch of his mind instead, not letting a single other thought come to light.

Pleasantly and wonderfully so, his calls did not strike her with an ounce of surprise; her footing seemingly remained sound, the upward jolt of her body that he worried about, absent. Unaware of the breath he held in, it came as a brief shock when he relaxed and it was freed from his lungs; the tension in his muscles gradually released, allowing him to move more comfortably over the rough terrain—yet, her comment soon had that same tension taking hold of him all over again.

Freezing mid-step, Aningan struggled to find his voice—“Âtsuk”—no, that wasn’t right. Clenching his jaw, he tried to slow the whirlwind of thoughts rushing through his head, seeking and settling for the language he knew all might understand. “I don’t know if I could,” he admitted. “Wouldn’t it be better to avoid the fall?” Rather than trust in him to catch her—he didn’t know if he could, the thought of missing panic-inducing—would removing herself from danger’s reach not be the simpler of options?

Aningan could do little more than watch her move, steps taken towards him that made him wonder: what did she intend to do? And, in the same breath: what would his father do? The woman pointed out his doubt—doubt that he would gladly swallow whole, should he ever possess the ability to do so. But as things were, he could not so easily rid himself of that doubt; it kept him grounded, prevented him from making any risky mistakes there on the mountain—a mistake that could easily result in death, should he not exercise caution.

A question—

“Auka, auka, auka,” he insisted, eyes widening and heart threatening to cease its beating. A foolish boy, seeking only to help—Aningan’s body lurched forward, nails digging deep grooves into the mountain’s face as he pushed himself further up, closer to the phantom, eager to reach her before the test could begin.

The shore, a glacier, the plains—to reach her would have been done with ease, familiarity ingrained in each step taken. But the mountains were a new realm, untravelled and uneasy; even the most heedful of wolves could have their legs swiftly swiped from beneath them, overturned by preciously placed pieces of earth. By this, he was slowed, physically, but reflexes set ablaze; burning with overwhelming intensity, a hyper-focus wave struck him, senses locked onto his target—

—moving, slipping, falling.

Driven by forces he could not place—call it instincts, perhaps—the bear turned sideways and braced himself where he felt most sure-footed. And as the pallid wisp sought to steal past him, Aningan struck forth with parted jaws, akin to a cobra, and plucked her from her descent; a bear saving a bird, taking hold of her scruff and leaning back, stiffened legs held out before him to prevent himself from being yanked down.

But even settling her back on solid ground, he could not free her from his grasp; adrenaline coursed through his veins, the thrumming of his own heart the only thing he could hear. Trembling—be it relief or fear, he could not tell—he was lost to the moment, there but absent, replaying the event in his head; he feared letting her go, feared that doing so would cast them back to moments ago, her fall on repeat in his head.

Silence broken by a voice, snapping him back to reality and reminding him where he was—who he was with, what he was doing. Assuring her paws be firmly planted to the ground, Aningan eased up on his hold and then released her entirely, freeing the woman from his jaws, after which he nervously drew his tongue across his lips. “Âha…” he uttered in breathless tones. It was hard to believe what just happened, even though her being there before him now confirmed that it was not a dream; she fell and he caught her, something he doubted could ever be recreated, at least not without error and several missed bodies.

“You are—” he croaked, falling silent thereafter. The Inuk drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly and carefully, attempting to calm his nerves. “Are you alright?” Basic words for an advanced occurrence, a sudden inability to create anything more insightful overcoming him; he could be content with the barest of questions, dependant on her response. All he needed to hear was that she was alright.

A new degree of warmth radiated from where her head was placed, the touch stilling him to his very core; he could recall none being as near to him as the woman was, not even those he dared to consider family. Uncertainty stiffened his muscles, gaze downcast and seeking to settle on her frame; there was little to be seen from her current position, tucked against him so close. Gradually, he relaxed—although but a stranger, he could not tear himself away after her exposure to such a frightful event.

She spoke—a question of her own, quieted by the breeze. And Aningan answered: “No.”

A lie, however small, was a lie all the same; he could not in good conscious request that of her, especially not when doing so might lead them down another path of unwritten chaos. “Rest, then,” he offered, relief flooding over into a sigh that tumbled out with her own. A stranger, true to the word in every form, yet he remained; body looming over, providing a barrier between the wintry winds and her own.

Teeth grazed through the fur of his chest, welcoming a chill that then raced down his spine; he was unsure what she was doing and attempted to steal a glance, although that provided not a single answer. He did not know this woman that rested against him, this woman that he took a chance and plucked from the sky—she was an unknown entity, a phantom of the mountain with a touch just as chilling. He stiffened beneath her touch as uncertainty crawled through his body, settling, then, within the forefront of his mind. What more was he to do, for a phantom brought to life?

“Who are you?” he murmured, curiosity gnawing at him. “Do you have a home?” Was there anyone out there searching for her, wondering how high she may have climbed?

A name was not given, only the confirmation of a home in possession. And yet, it was not home that she wished to go, speaking instead of a peak he wondered if even safe to climb; not only with her, nearly having taken flight once already, but with the sky allegedly booming over the heights she wished to visit. “I don’t know…” he said, uncertain. “Is it safe for us to go there?” He could not endanger himself, nor could he allow her to endanger herself once more. If there was a place that she called home, then surely within it there were those that wished she may return to them.

“I don’t know the place you want me to walk you to,” he added, brows knitted together. A potentially dangerous place with a woman unsure of her footing, in a direction that he knew naught of. To him, it seemed a risky decision to make.