It had been some time since he had sought out the monk he had brought from the failed Vale, and so Lecter set off from his den into the mysterious rock network. His limp had lessened, though a raised, ugly scar was visible in the thin flesh ther, and he ground wild geranium between his teeth as he moved. I am the very vision of an elderly cur,
he groused to himself, before lifting his voice to summon Tenzin.
Here, sunlight trickled through the tracery, and he settled himself in a beam of it, sighing with pleasure as he was seated. Ears pricked forward, and the incorrigible thoughts of his life trailed unbidden into his mind, though this time the shaman gave it an audience.
There was warmth here that the monk had trouble finding in the Vale. Sure, sun touched many places in the raised paradise, but cloud cover was a heavy blanket most days. His wounds were healing quite nicely now but he had never been a man to dwell on physical mishaps. The most prominent worry he had for himself was his spiritual detachment. He could not find any strong spiritual areas on the mountain which was both a blessing and a curse. He needed to transition into his new lifestyle, become Yasuo once again; but traces of Tenzin clung to him like tree sap.
The stickiness of his former life was painful to pull away from. It was like trying to rip bits of his own skin willingly from his body. He was moving slowly through the rocks with a muddied expression when the shaman's voice reached him. A gentle smile washed exhaustion from his face as he turned to head toward his elderly friend. It didn't take him long to find the bloodied white body soaking up some sunlight. "My friend," the troubled monk greeted, taking a seat next to him with the ease he would feel with a Brother. When Tenzin devoted himself to monkhood, friendships were not something he took part in. They bred favoritism. Now, however, as his seagreen eyes moved to warmly regard his companion, he could feel himself accepting more and more of Yasuo.
"It is good to live among you," he beamed, turning to around the rocky scenery. "I do miss the hot springs, though," the man said cheekily with a grin, shooting the shaman a wide smile.
The pale monk appeared soon enough, and Lecter greeted him with a warmth usually only felt in Jinx's presence, though for her, he reserved other sundry emotions. Tenzin settled himself alongside Lecter, and for a moment he merely basked in the sunlight and the steadying feel of the man alongside him.
In his age, he treasured few things. Jinx's love was at the forefront of his mind, but the knowledge he had been given, the knowledge he intended to pass to Ira, was also a comfort to him. Tenzin was the third of these, and the hale look of a body that as advanced as his own. But the shaman had spoken with Lynx, and with Sos, and somehow he sensed that the pallid, gentle man would outlive him.
If your old bones can tolerate a journey to your hot springs,
he jested with a soft nudge to Tenzin, mine can as well.
It was upon the tip of his tongue to tell his dear friend what he had discovered regarding his own mortality, but he let the thought die, thinking of the day's pleasantness.
The shaman teased of a visit back to the Vale, but Tenzin gave a soft chuckle and shook his head. "Surely I could make it, but such places are better left behind," he said, turning to Lecter with a wink, "and it is only thanks to you that my wounds have healed so wondrously." Had the Dragon merely continued the assault for moments longer, the monk would have certainly died. His head injuries alone were not pretty, but with the added bruising to his ribs and multiple lacerations, he had truly been a eyesore. Despite that, Lecter had provided him with treatments and comforts.
"Tell me more about the Mountain," Tenzin inquired, settling into the sun lazily. He had melted onto the ground and now lay half-curled toward his friend. He had always loved storytelling the best and, as he had done in the Vale, hoped to tell the story of Silvertip Mountain to any and all who joined its ranks. To children, especially, he loved to weave tales. "What history builds it? Do your own gods—forgive me, I cannot remember their names—play a role?" he chimed, letting his eyes roll to look at Lecter as he let the warmth of the ground beneath soak into his body.
The shaman gave a low chuff, pleased with Tenzin's appreciation for his handiwork. Such things were his milieu now, the binding of smaller wounds, the easing of pain, though he recalled how he had mended Jinx after she had lost their children. Give thanks to Sos. It is through Him I am able to heal,
Lecter muttered with humility, aware of that which he owed his God.
As Tenzin relaxed himself, lips forming a request for the history of Silvertip Mountain, Lecter found himself wondering if he should tell the snowfurred monk of Jinx's loss, and thought better of it. Such things were better left locked into the closet of their shared minds. Jinx and I come from Shearwater Bay, which is far from here. There, we were divided into the worship of two equal entities; Atka, the Great Mother, the White Bear, who brings forth life, and Sos, the Black God, who brings death. Both must be respected, however, for without one there cannot be another.
We were driven by many things, and we may not return. The pack was comprised of her parents, Kesuks, whom I served as shaman and leader for many years before we were disbanded. Jinx's sister holds Shearwater now, but that is a point of contention better left unremarked. I arrived here, and came with my daughter Clarice to a pack called Swiftcurrent Creek.
In those days, a woman named Lethe led us. She had been an aspiring wolfess in Shearwater, and gave me and mine shelter. Jinx, unbeknownst to me until later, had found her way also. It was a stark day when Lethe left us, and she did not walk away from leadership. Driven by dark loa, tormented, I am sure, she cast herself into the waters of the Creek and ended her life. A yearling named Fox took up the rule of the pack, and later Jinx joined us.
As she had always done, she excelled in the ranks and rose alongside Fox. But the chafe of leadership had always been her curse; her mother, Nanuq, had been a fierce warrior and leader in her own right, as had her father, Koios. Jinx had been groomed for leadership since her birth.
Several events led us here, but the foremost of them was Fox's refusal to deal harshly with the wolves of your former Vale. Xi'nuata was the most brazen of these, threatening to hunt upon Creek territory, roaming upon our borders. Had it been Jinx's decision, she would have gathered our finest and come down upon the Vale with a bloodthirsty vengeance.
Instead, she opted to lead myself and a handful of those loyal to her here, where we reside to this day.
Lecter fell silent at last, running a tongue across lips gone dry with the effort of lengthy speech, and leveled a vaguely inviting look at Tenzin, so that the monk might speak if he so chose.