Silver Moraine tell me, mockingbird

dated for around the 11th

his travels had been swift. carrying him from the lands of moonglow and the moonwoman @Kukutux, and into these tundras that bit at his fur.
he was certainly not crafted for weather such as this. he felt the bite of the chill down to his very marrow, and endured it either way. head raising stiffly, nostril content to sniff at the wind.
he knew who he searched for—the man @Sun Eater—now, he need only find him. his objective was to speak. masa did not know if that was how it would go.
he could not know anything for certain.

faust moved like the wind that swept across the valley, steady, unrelenting, carving paths through ice and stone with a presence that needed no announcement. his breath curled in the frigid air, his muscles coiled beneath his thick pelt, honed by the land that had made him. the glacier was his kingdom, the valley his charge, and he patrolled it with the watchful eyes of a wolf who trusted nothing that had not been tested.
he smelled him before he saw him—the scent of the deep forest clinging to a lean frame, foreign against the crisp, frozen winds. faust slowed. a stranger. his tail rose instinctively, a display of quiet authority, though his approach was not yet hostile. he did not fear trespassers, but he did not tolerate them either.
you are not from here, his voice rumbled low, sharp like the ice beneath his paws. his green eyes burned, assessing the male with a steady, unyielding gaze. the stranger smelled of distant lands, of pine and damp earth—not of the glacier, not of the valley, not of the wolves who called this place home.
he did not ask why he was here. if the man had sense, he would offer that answer himself.

it is not long that he sees a herculean man come ripping down the glacierside for him. in preparation for being assailed, he loosens and lets his shoulders square. paws scrabbling upon the rock and ice.
it does not come. only questions. he sees the tail stoic in the air like a flag and masa lets cool, calm eyes then probe upon the face of the warrior. you are alpha here? comes his stagnant question. so he is.
masa looks briefly to their surroundings. scenting the crisp air. @Kukutux of moonglow sends me. she says that there is a man in these lands by the name of cen who once committed crimes against her people. judgement was passed, but she fears he does not lay dormant. masa informs.
tall legs hoisting up his athletic frame, feeling a burn in the scars now that decorate his gunmetal pelt. i am to find and speak with him. to ensure he will not seek out the moonwoman's family and bring harm in vengeance.
he gauges the reaction of this man. he takes a shallow breath, and then: do you know this cen? then, a raised brow as masa takes a questioning step. are you cen?

cameo! I can have her be a passerbyer if three is a crowd just ping me! she’s skippable for now!   

As her season approached, Tikigâk had taken to the Moraine for its proximity to the man that often occupied it. His ways were not dissimilar to Tartok, who ranged beyond their claim to protect grounds they called their own for the hunting. But it was only him she had noted—all for the better. Tikigâk had grown less tolerant to others as of late the closer her season came. 

Faust had returned, and Tikigâk tracked him without difficulty. When she heard the voice of another, her stride lengthened. She could smell no stress or anger or fear upon the wind, and so moved without haste—but there was purpose in her step.

She did not come too close. Business here, not her own. But she lingered in the backdrop, not a threat but a promise of violence should he misstep. For that singular step taken toward Faust, two were taken in their direction. 

It did not matter that he could protect himself, handle himself—Tikigâk knew this well. She had drawn nearer only to better see it done. But were she called upon, Tikigâk would not mind the solidifying of their bond in teaching lessons that very well might need to be learned. 

But her eyes also sussed out the man before the Kaan. A rival, perhaps? Had he come for her scent? She had not heard the words, caught by the howling wind.

Time would answer that.

faust’s eyes remained steady, the weight of his gaze settling on the stranger like an anchor. there was no immediate hostility, but there was caution, a quiet and measured thing. his ears flicked as he listened, taking in the name—cen—tasting it against the cold air. nothing familiar stirred.
aye, he confirmed, kaan of darukaal.
the lean male spoke of moonglow, of kukutux, of a crime, and faust listened, but his expression did not shift. he did not know this cen, nor had he heard of such grievances. yet, even as the wind carried the man’s words away, another scent curled around him—tikigâk.
he did not need to look to know she was near, lingering in the shadows, watching. she had grown increasingly restless, the pull of spring tightening around her, sharpening her edges. it did not surprise him to find her trailing him now. still, instinct drove him to act—to drift slightly, his steps carrying him around the stranger until he positioned himself between them, a silent warning. this one would not reach her. not without consequence.
his gaze flickered once toward the bushes where she watched before returning to the man before him.
i do not know a cen, faust admitted, voice low, considering. but then his head tilted slightly, an edge of something colder settling into his tone. we have few packs in the north.
a pause. his muscles coiled, not with aggression, but with a readiness that came naturally to a man who had lived his life on the battlefield.
he is a lone wolf?

it is during his questioning of the man that another scent drifts near. it is inherently feminine, but feminine in a way that is... alluring. masa's attention flickers with obvious acknowledgement of it, but not in the way they might expect. his lip curls, in disgust.
a foreleg raising to briefly cover his nose, to try and snuff it out from his attention.
the man moving, to position himself between masa and that woman who lurked, made his eyes flash with offense. he had no interest in her. you do not need to behave that way. masa says, monotone and drab. his voice lacking much of any emotion, like it often did not. my tastes are not for the woman.
and that is that, as he looks around, eyes working over these lands. if cen was not here, where would he be? he recalls the detail about the caribou, and masa seems to relax in recognition then. perhaps that would help this man.
this man, masa begins. he has one eye only. he moves with quick foreleg to make as if he might scar his own eye, nails flashing. the other taken by wolf's teeth.
he follows the caribou.

faust let out a dry chuckle at the man’s dismissal of tikigâk’s presence, shaking his head slightly. is that right? there was no challenge in his voice, just wry amusement, though he did not move from where he stood. whatever the man’s tastes were, faust did not care—but he would not assume safety where none was given.
it was the next set of words that froze him, that wiped the humor clean from his face like snow melting beneath the sun. one eye. wolf’s teeth. follows the caribou.
the breath he took was slow, but his stomach coiled tight. he knew exactly who the man-loving-man spoke of.
sun eater, faust uttered, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening.
the impending war had made the eyeless soot a marked man—he had been too blind to see it coming, but now? now the bloodshed was inevitable.
he exhaled sharply, glancing to @Tikigak just briefly before stepping toward masa.
he’s a wanted fuckin’ man? his tone was almost casual, but the weight behind it was anything but. who else was looking for him?
his paws carried him forward, predatory, eyes searching the man’s face. who else hunts him? who else wants him dead?

tikigak free to join!

there it is.
masa has found him. recognition in this man's eyes. masa clicks his teeth in thought, hearing his words, hearing them strongly. the man now goes by the name sun eater. smart, to change his name. but masa did not think it was easy to run when one had been scarred permanently.
the past catches up.
no one. masa says. i do not come to hunt him. it is the truth. kukutux asked for no violence, only for words. it was masa's duty only to find knowledge and return it to the moonwoman of moonglow. this man had wife, and son. he abused this wife; brought her to harm. tried to drown her.
he relays what he has been told and only that. the people of moonglow bring him to justice. do not sentence him to die, but take his eye. they do not hunt him. they only wish he leave them in peace.
masa looks even to faust. you hunt this man?

faust listens, but his face darkens with every word. his jaw tightens, the muscle in his cheek twitching as the man speaks. tried to drown her. his stomach twists at the thought, at the cruelty of it.
his growl rumbles low, threatening.
he is a wanted man, he confirms, voice rough. his eyes burn with something sharp, something cold. tell your moonwoman that we have something in common, then.
allyship. the word lingers, but he isn't sure it's worth it. moonglow is far south, too far to be of use in the battles that may come. still, knowing they share an enemy—it has its value.
he exhales sharply, like he's trying to rid himself of the sour taste in his mouth. we do not hunt him yet, he admits. but he has made himself my enemy, too. and that, he knows, will not go unanswered forever.

the way a name can turn a man's blood to ice, the way truth can carve a path straight to vengeance, is something masa is more than familiar with. if in some other world, perhaps he might have offered his services. but:
this is not his war.
then you and moonglow have common ground, masa says, voice even, impassive. he does not care for alliances, but he understands them.
he does not offer further words. the moonwoman asked only for knowledge, and he has gained it. his task is nearly complete.
if you move against him, it is not my concern. i will return to kukutux with what i have learned.
his yellow eyes flicker once, sharp and assessing.
but if he is truly your enemy, i advise you to not wait long before the hunt begins. it is my understanding that this man is dangerous. both body, and it did not matter if that body were broken, because: and mind.

faust exhales, slow and deep, the weight of it settling in his chest. his green eyes flicker with thought, distant for a moment before he gives a curt nod.
yeah, he mutters, glancing past masa, as if the wind might carry the shape of the man they speak of. the thought of him lingers, a bitter taste in the back of his throat.
he does not need a warning to know what sun eater is capable of. he has seen it already, in the way war lingers at his heels like a starving hound.
i'll take that under advisement.
he doesn’t watch masa leave, but he listens, ears twitching at the sound of his retreating steps. the glacier winds howl around him, whispering of the hunt to come.