Týrr did not stray far from Duskfire Glacier, lingering like a wraith in the no man's land near the borders. Trepidation was not something that the Nýeldur felt often, and he loathed it now as it seethed beneath the surface of his skin. He yearned to be apart of what he had helped found but he would accept no one's command but Tuwawi's own. He had given Malachi a trial, though admittedly an extremely short and likely unfair one, but Týrr could not stand to follow other males. He had disliked it even in Odinn's Cove when his then-believed-to-be-father Ragnar Lodbrok led. Always, even the mere idea had left Týrr with discomfort though now the lost amazon prince understood why he had never truly followed Ragnar. It was in his blood to dislike other males, ironic though it was. It was either the rule of a woman or his own. Tezcacoatl — him, his past life — had been trained his entire life for leadership and these were things that Týrr had never forgotten even when he had forgotten everything else that he had once held dear, that had been so vital and important to him: his queen mother, Quetzalcoatl, his guard, Coatl's Rise, Tartok. They were nothing more than echoes now, memories that he could not clearly see. They were blurred and horribly distorted, some of them entirely all but unavailable to him.

Trying to regain what he had lost was a waste of his time and energy, he knew. Forward was the only path he could take now, though the winding path before him was full of nothing but unknowns. He did not know what would happen from this point forward: if he would attempt to return to the Glacier (though Tuwawi's presence was enough of a pull for him given it was with her that his loyalties truly lay), if he would go his own way, find his own pack, or if he would attempt to usurp.

Still, he did not know. Nothing was set into stone, after all. Interactions could always change the course he was on, which was precisely why he had yet to choose a course. Instead, the Rekkr held back, waiting. Patience warring with impatience within him. Týrr had not exactly, so caught up in his thoughts, been paying attention to where he was going, unaware that he had wandered a bit further from the no man's land close to the Glacier than he'd meant too. Pause was given, contented to know it was still nearby, yet it was the scent of a lone wolf that had caused his mind to snap to attention. Crystalline blue eyes, accented by the streaks of silver under each lit through the pre-dawn, absently marking where his breath left his lips in a white, twisting furl of steam before it dissipated into the cold, exceptionally early morning. So well blended was she into the shadows that initially Týrr had not seen her, though her silhouette was cut and cast by the moonlight that shown down from the velveteen darkness of the sky.

Hello, Týrr called to her, accented voice soft, carrying easily in the space between them.

Týrr could pretend what he wanted but the truth would not be so easily buried. Where he had once been vital to the life of Duskfire Glacier he was expendable and had likely been replaced with another. It might have been little more than his need to believe that he was still needed, but nothing was the way it was meant to be regarding the Glacier, as far as Týrr cared. He was not so ignorant to believe that there was any reason for Malachi to accept him back, should he decide to return, especially with the knowledge that it would be Tuwawi's command and no one else's that Týrr would listen too. That was a headache, and in a way Týrr understood all the reasons why it would not, and should not logically happen. Given his current thoughts he felt like nothing less than a traitor, though he believed that there was nothing traitorous about his thoughts. After all, the Glacier belonged, rightfully, to Tuwawi — Týrr saw nothing wrong with shaking the fragile and unwelcome (to him) hierarchy they had going now to see the Sveijarn ember back in her rightful place.

Wandering thoughts were re-gathered, collected back up like pieces of a torn paper having been scattered to the wind, when the other broke the silence his greeting had left in it's wake, returning it. It appeared to the Rekkr that the female was heading in a different direction than him, towards the Glacier he suspected, and with the belief that old habits died hard, he felt the urge to protect his once home strike him fiercely. Still, being cordial was his nature, the nature in which Queen Quetzalcoatl had hammered within him. Diplomacy first, savagery second, though Ragnar and Floki had done their best to reverse the order of this many times in the lost Amazon Prince. Given recent events, Týrr was inclined, with disdain that is, to consider that the two Northmen might have actually succeeded. After all, there was hardly anything cordial about thoughts of usurping someone who had, maybe, stepped up only to save the Glacier though Týrr knew in his heart that Tuwawi would have never allowed her Glacier to fall to ruin (or hoped, rather).

Do you have business at the Glacier? Týrr could not help but inquire, as he altered his course to mirror her own, though their affairs were not his business any longer. Yet, she did not know that, just as surely that Týrr himself did not know that he wouldn't play the part of belly scraping subordinate to rejoin the Glacier, with the ultimate goal of getting his way (or attempting to at any rate).

Týrr knew that the Glacier's business was not his own, he no longer had to protect it and yet at the same time he did. He had helped the Sveijarn family found it and it was apart of him. He might not have been apart of their ranks any longer for now he could not any more let someone cause trouble (never mind he had his own intentions of it?!) then he would let them rip off his face. Thus, the Rekkr followed after her, feeling agitation with each step that took her closer towards the Glacier's borders, though they were still quite far currently, barely resisting the urge to pick up his pace and stop her in her path. Týrr's resistance was rewarded, however, when the female abruptly stopped. Týrr moved past her though, turning so that they were facing one another, fixing her in his gaze. He was curious, made even more so by her question giving him the impression that she had no idea what he was speaking about. It was possible that she didn't, but it wasn't a chance he was willing to take.

Still, the Rekkr showed nothing but patience. Duskfire Glacier. The pack you are on a collision course with, And if her lack of knowledge of it's presence was true, she knew now that it was there. Do you have business there? Týrr asked her again, redundant. It was redundant only because she had not truly answered it the first time. Týrr did not consider a question in response to a question to be anything near an answer.

Granted, she could easily just side step him if she really wanted too, and Týrr had already decided in that small cluster of seconds that passed as his action was observed by his nameless companion if she did side step him that he would not stop her. He couldn't stop her from going to the Glacier's borders if she truly wanted to go there, but that didn't mean she would be rid of him. He had no intentions to cease following her until he made absolute sure that her intentions at the Glacier were not harmful. Ironic, that. If his ebony company was bothered by his action, Týrr did not see it, though it might have very well stemmed from the fact that he didn't very much care. He cared about the safety of Duskfire Glacier despite that he was no longer in their ranks. It was still his home, and he would take no other, though for a brief time he had tried (and ultimately failed) to move on from these Wilds — though he had left his Guardswoman Manaiua behind to do so. In the end, it seemed the Amazon woman was right not to follow him: he'd came back. Yet, Týrr had needed the space; needed the open air and the loneliness to reflect upon what was truth and what was false in his life. His identity still baffled him and if he thought about it too much served to give him a dull ache in his head that warned him not to continue digging through the shrouded memories, echoing and see through as they were. He was Tezcacoatl but he wasn't. He was Týrr but he wasn't. He was both of them, the best of both cultures but neither of them, at the same time.

Her answer was no, and Týrr picked up on the tension, the junction between his shoulders tightening and tensing in response as his crystalline eyes studied her again, taking her in. You could have just said that to begin with, It wasn't that Týrr was ignorant, or unintelligent. It was simply that he was suspicious, and did not trust anyone's words with particular ease. That was Ragnar's doing, a side effect from all the lies Týrr had been fed. The worst part was the coward himself couldn't even face him man to man and tell him. No, it had to come from Ragnar's newest lay. Just one in a long line of them. It made the Rekkr wonder what kind of lies Ragnar was feeding her, though she was none of Týrr's concern. He didn't care about her. Or him. Of their crumbling family. Ragnar would bring them to destruction, too. Ragnar deserved nothing less than a coward's death, and perhaps Týrr would be the one to give it to him as compensation for lying to him, for stealing everything that the Rekkr had once loved and held precious from him.

Ragnar Lodbrok's day would come. In time. Currently, Týrr had more pressing issues.

Týrr's question was turned upon him then, and for a long moment the Rekkr was silent. He did not know this female — didn't even know her name. He hardly thought it wise to be telling her things, especially since they did not concern her. In time, perhaps I will, Týrr responded vaguely unsure if he could trust her and thus settling for the assumption that he couldn't. I'm Týrr. Týrr Nýeldur. He offered her an introduction next, hoping to steer the conversation off of his possible business with the Glacier.

The female gave him a strange sounding name, stating that it was the only name by using the word 'just'. The need for a sire name had always eluded Týrr for as a Northman he hadn't really been able to claim one, and had never had one as an Amazon. His name 'Tezcacoatl', he remembered, had always spoken of his indisputable lineage in and of itself. After all, in Coatl's Rise only the royal women were blessed with the holy name of 'Coatl', such as his mother: Quetzalcoatl. The next rulers in line. He was the first male to ever bear the name and many viewed the name and him as a blight, as an insult to the Gods and their culture; though their Queen's word was nonnegotiable. It hardly mattered anymore what name he went by. He was no longer apart of them — at least not in the physical sense. Their hierarchy, it seemed, would be preserved for he would not be returning to claim his birthright. Instead, he desired to make his own way. Whether it happened benignly or with blood staining his paws. The Vikings might have changed him but so did the renewal of who he truly was. The cross of the two cultures: vicious, commanding and savage as they might have seemed created something all together new within him. A new breed of feral.

He followed neither but instead drew from what he took to be the best of both cultures, figuring that the Gods could war with themselves, may the victors carve their own path. Týrr was not so fanatical that he cared either way about Gods. He could not see them, could not touch nor feel them. Their existence to the Nýeldur was questionable at best but easily brushed aside in favor of “reality”.

Isqi, Týrr murmured, repeating the name she gave him, to himself, committing it and her face to his memory (not that it was all that great, admittedly — potentially a side effect of the amnesia he suffered from). A few, Týrr responded, though his destination had never been further than Duskfire Glacier because he hadn't ever needed to go further. There was nothing else for him. Is there something you need in the North? Casually, the Rekkr inquired in attempts to keep their vague conversation with one another going.

Little did his companion know that he had been apart of Tartok though, admittedly, he remembered nothing more than the name and the knowledge that he had belonged to the pack, at some point. Some point between leaving Coatl's Rise and being injured and taken hostage by the Vikings. Which left a broad time line of severe and troublesome unknowns for the Rekkr. Týrr noticed that she did not seem inclined to give him much information, a fact which he felt no need to capitalize upon for the simple fact that he was the exact same way. If she were to ask him a question similar to the ones he had thus far inquired of her, he too, would not be very forthcoming; and had in fact, decidedly not been very forthcoming when she'd inquired of his business with the Glacier. He had no intentions of delving into his own intentions with someone else, especially when he was not sure about the ironed out details. At this point, he had no ironed out details.

Crystalline blue gaze swept over her again as she inquired about his knowledge of the lands. Subtly, Týrr considered his options before he reached his decision a few moments later. “Around the Glacier?” The Rekkr inquired aloud to her, though it was a rhetorical question. “It would be easier for me to show you,” It was not often that the Rekkr had need to go further North than the Glacier but on the rare instance that he had tracked a herd past it he did happen to know of a way to avoid the pack and trouble as she put it, all together. With a gesture of his muzzle he took a step forward, pausing to see if she would follow or not. This way, the Rekkr figured, he would have a chance to keep his eye on her and make sure she was being honest when she spoke about avoiding trouble.

Before the identity crises, having no other words to use to describe the massive and altering changes to him, Týrr would have been much more gentlemanly than he was currently. He was polite, of course, for the moment, but he was not as courtly as he had once been known for. That part of him, weak as it had been, was gone and for the better the Rekkr could not help but think. It had allowed him to be taken advantage of, stepped on as if he were no more than a doormat; but he was more. He was a Prince and a warrior to boot, and he wasn't a boy anymore. He was a man grown now and it was high time he begun to act like it. He led the way, feeling a slight knot of unease in his stomach at having his back exposed to her, having lost his ability to trust quickly, though he blamed this solely upon Ragnar and his equally as deceiving newest harlot. No, Týrr responded simply to her question, giving a small pause before his lips parted again, his breath snaking out from between them a small plume of white steam. I come from a place much further North than this,.

Though Týrr's focus was on the path before them, his ears previously pushed forward atop his crown to pick up any noises that were what he might consider out of the ordinary, one of them swiveled to the side, in her direction to show that he was paying attention to her despite that they were on the move. It would be foolish not to pay attention to her. Just because she did not seem to have any ill intentions did not mean she could not attack him at any given moment. Though the Rekkr was not so paranoid about such things (after all he made no habit of running around assuming that everyone was his enemy) he was nothing if not cautious. Her question was a prying one and for a moment Týrr met her question with his silence as he contemplated if he should admit to her our not. It wasn't like he was there, nor had any intentions of ever returning but even so. Where the winters are harsh and unforgiving and it is expected, come spring, to find those who were unfortunate to be frozen with the thawing of the snow, The winters of the Eldingar Valley were brutal, though as luck would have it both the Viking and the Amazons came out of it alive and have for generations. The other, lesser packs, the ones raided by the Vikings on a chaotic rotation often did not make it through the winters. Where Týrr came from it was truly survival of the fittest. It is called the Eldingar Valley by the Vikings, He spoke the Icelandic rolling off his tongue paired nicely with his accent. Though I imagine the Amazon's call it something else. Either way it is the same. He did not expect her to know of it very little did, he assumed, unless they had passed through or came from it, that is. Where is it that you came from? Since, they were talking about it. It was only fair that she share, or so the Rekkr believed, anyway.