the rise called to him before he knew its name.
red dusk came out of the taiga with ash on the wind and stone beneath his pads. the mountains rose narrow and close, their ridge catching the last light. worn paths cut through steep ground, and he followed them without pause.
fire had scarred this place once. blackened trunks still stood, but grass and green pressed through the burn. a stream split the slope to the east, loud and living, and he stopped long enough to breathe it in.
burn. water. return.
something settled in his chest as he reached the ridge. not hunger. not memory. a pull he could not name.
he did not turn away.
red dusk came out of the taiga with ash on the wind and stone beneath his pads. the mountains rose narrow and close, their ridge catching the last light. worn paths cut through steep ground, and he followed them without pause.
fire had scarred this place once. blackened trunks still stood, but grass and green pressed through the burn. a stream split the slope to the east, loud and living, and he stopped long enough to breathe it in.
burn. water. return.
something settled in his chest as he reached the ridge. not hunger. not memory. a pull he could not name.
he did not turn away.
nowkē has not known many names in his short life. his mother’s, his father’s, those of his sisters, and the names of the places they gave him.
winsook of nova peak.
saatsine of qeya river.
darukaal of duskfire glacier.
stories of what had brought ruin to these lands. of how wide teeth in the mouths of arrogant wolves did away with peace.
nowkē is determined to establish a peace on the rise, where he has laid down his axe and sworn his own fang to the skydanser.
it’s dusk when he spots the stranger, just a flicker of red movement on the far slope. his back rises with thick bear hide and above bridgework does his lip curl, unthinking. he creeps over the ridge of the rise towards the rogue.
a flagging tail and a demanding snarl. a speechless question: what do you want?
3 hours ago
moon runner welcome to pop in whenever
red dusk does not bare his teeth.he stands his ground as the boy crests the slope, rusted coat still, shoulders squared but easy. the snarl reaches him and he answers it only with posture, weight settling through his limbs, tail lifting in a slow flag. he could press. he does not.
the feathers at his nape stir when he lowers his head. ptarmigan, redtipped and clean, bound there as proof rather than boast. he steps forward one pace, then another, close enough for breath and scent to trade between them.
he noses the air along the male’s shoulder and throat, reading where he has been, what he has chosen to leave behind. mountain peak. river cold. glacier dusk. there is steel there, and restraint. a fang laid down rather than sharpened.
red dusk turns his head slightly, offering his own scent in return. rise earth. old burn. meat taken clean.
he does not challenge the flagging tail. he does not retreat from it either.
nowkē does not lower his tail, but he does not strike either.
the male does not approach with aggression and does not move to push against nowkē's clear defenses, and so there is no need for escalation.
stalwart beneath the stink of his bear-hide, glacier eyes bearing into the side of the red-fur's face when he sniffs along storm-tossed neck.
barely, stubbornly, redjaw answers in kind, dragging his nose along the male’s side, thick inhales of breath. drinking in what stories lay in his pelt.
satisfied, the broad yearling steps back and huffs, ice eyes frosting along the other male's complexion.
he calls for @Moon Runner.
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