The Tangle Hands to your hymnals, hell's at the door

If anyone was going to be the first to test the woman's words, it was going to be her.  She'd made the mistake of leading them on this cursed move and she'd be damned if she was going to let any of the rest of Rusalka suffer the consequences.

So she took to the tangle and sought out their borders.  It seemed that they claimed the massive mountain to the north, a fact that only cemented the comparison to Drageda in her mind.  A pack on high, but threatened by all below them.  Fucking cowards.

Hatred coiled thick and acidic in her throat and gut, threatening to choke her.  As much as she refused to admit it, however, it wasn't only caution that kept her from pulling something stupid.  Last time she'd encountered this situation, Drageda had taken and held her.  Fear kept her from inciting but it couldn't keep her from testing the waters.

Slowly, Rosalyn ranged the stones.  She didn't hunt, merely moved through them, hoping to meet these wolves on neutral ground and see what came of it.

WC: 181

It would be wise to stick with the brother-sister pair. They move on after their meeting and Kigipigak enjoys some time dwelling on the time spent with them. He carries their scent north until he finds the earth sloping up and journeys through the forest there. A hawk calls over his head and he is tempted to sing back at it for a moment but does not.

There is char here. It is not the first patch of burn he has found in his travels and Kigipigak wonders what hell has befallen this wild place. How common was it for the sun to race across the grass? He stopped at the western edge of the rise to roll in a patch of black earth, then carried on.

Kigipigak had seen rolling hills of forest from the rise. Now that he was down among the trees he knew he had made a poor choice. The earth was more uneven the further he went, with twists and turns and steep drop-offs, shrubbery that prickled like a frightened ilukutak, and no clear path within its labyrinth.

The scent of the sea struck Kigipigak sharply—he thought he had imagined it, so strode on, until a second wave hit him along a corridor of toothy stone. Curiosity pulled him through the dark after it. He was not quiet in his ascension of the stones.

She saw no one for a long while.  Then, just as she was thinking of heading homeward, she heard the sound of someone making their way up some nearby stone way.

She attempted to find the source of the noise and ended rounding a corridor of stone and coming face to face with the culprit.  Her head lifted in surprise, but she didn't immediately turn aggressive.  Instead she stood on guard a step back from previous and eyed him with wary curiosity.

This entire trip was meant to be a test, and if he belong to the woman's band, she wanted to see his actions.  So Rosalyn didn't speak.  She waited, the wind sadly against her as it flowed past from the sea behind her.

WC: 125

The sea worked as an ambrosia to lure him along the knobby cairn until a face appeared before him. Kigipigak wondered if he was imagining things. He blinked and looked back over his shoulder, quickly, and upon facing the stranger again he saw the shadow that she cast and knew not to doubt his eyes. All he could smell from her was the ocean.

He strode towards her and then stopped again, studying her face (or what was left of it). Among the moody maroon-tint of her coat were networks of many scars. Aside from this the woman did not look to him as a warrior might. She was mostly a wire-built creature with a softened paunch, a roundness indicative of motherhood. She reminded him strongly of his own mother in the serious stare she wore.

Not knowing what to say Kigipigak remained silent and still. His head lowered slightly so that it was less of a prideful bearing and more defensive, aligned with his mantled shoulders. He would watch her until ascertaining what her purpose was.

She watched him carefully, but he did not show any sign of aggression.  Instead he appeared defensive, as wary as she herself.  She huffed out a small breath of allowance, then took a step back, her bearing shifting as she did.

Are you here to ensure we get lost as well, or are you just here by chance?  She asked as she listened, waiting to see if he came out or chose to remain where he was.  Her tone was not unfriendly, but she didn't completely relax.  It could very well be that he was biding his time, playing dumb until his silent friends had her surrounded.   At least with the wind behind, she'd know if they came between herself and the cliffs.

WC: 123

They stared one another down. The woman broke first; her posture shifting only slightly while stepping back from the grey area they inhabited in the moment. Her words were sharp and lightly accented but not in a manner Kigipigak was familiar with, more like a borrowing from someone else, something one might assume from another that they spend long hours with.

If anyone is lost it is me, aumarak. Kigipigak answered. In studying the woman Kigipigak saw not only scars but skepticism, a composure set in by age alone, and something wizened that reminded him of his grandparents. She could not have been that old he reasoned—the scars aged her beyond her years. 

I am Kigipigak Tartok, he introduced in the next breath. I travel. This place is a maze—do you know the way?

An unfamiliar title, but not one that sounded like an insult.  He didn't appear hostile, nor did he appear aligned in any way with that woman.  So her threats were empty.  Either that or her forces were smaller than Rosalyn reckoned.  She let out a soft hmph, satisfied, and her presence warmed somewhat as he introduced himself.

Rosalyn.  He hadn't asked, but then he'd know what her proper title was.  His name did not strike any familiarity with her, nor did his appearance, so if they'd met she'd forgotten.  I do, at least out.  As to where your going, I'd need to know the goal before I could say.  She smiled with a hint of humor, a fact accentuated by the lopsided twist of scars across her face.

WC: 128

The woman responded with a single word at first, a name that was fitting for her. It was not of his language and so when he committed it to memory Kigipigak tied it to the term he had used for her; she became Rosalyn Aumarak to him. She smelled strongly of the seaside and that aided in Kigipigak's easing nerves.

He could not see the humor in her offer to help but there was the tone of a joke, and so he smirked with a vague and awkward mirth; the kind of expression one holds when they are not in on a joke.

My kin are settling nearby. I had hoped to explore before the reunion and I have gotten lost. Kigipigak explained.

You are from the sea? My people grew up on the icefields far north of here. It is a way of life I miss. A pause as he thinks of this, drifting and nostalgic, before chuckling to himself and focusing on the present again. My kin now form a tribe upon the mountains, where the ravens dance. As if that would clarify anything. Perhaps she knew of the Watch and could direct him towards it?

Where the ravens dance.  He was well-spoken for someone who apparently spoke a few tongues.  She wondered if he was similar to her in that most of her native language was gone now, stolen by the years and by the crew who had taken her.  There did not seem to be anything aside from nostalgia when he spoke of his homeland, though time had tempered her bitterness as well.  There was no way to know except to ask - but she would not.

The southern shores, she answered, to clarify that her own was likely the opposite of what he spoke of.  She couldn't imagine missing ice fields when she herself sometimes yearned for the overbearing sun and bright, raceous birds of her previous home.  If she could choose one place to die, perhaps it might have been there, but love had other plans for her.

If you are looking for mountains, south is your best bet.  The northern mountains were already spoken for and certainly not by his kin.  She doubted the wolves who were harassing them would abide anyone settling so near as the neighboring peaks either.  I can show you out of this place.  She beckoned him to follow and began to set off southward, navigating the tangle with an ease that spoke of long practice.  When she'd lived in the sound, this place had been a frequent haunt once the shadow of Drageda cleared.

WC: 237

In time he would come to know her home as Rusalka, where his not-yet-friend Njord lives; for now the place remained obscure to him, although she shared a bearing and Kigipigak made mental notes as he followed her.

There was a lost quality about the woman despite her knowledge of this tangle; Kigipigak wondered if it was merely age and circumstance that brought that out of her. The myriad of scars told him she had seen much, that perhaps this place was no more a maze to her than any other forest. He did not ask why her expression remained so resolutely sullen. She aided him, that was enough.

She beckoned one way or another, and Kigipigak moved to follow. It was not so hard to navigate this place when accompanied. Thank you, Kigipigak called to her as they hiked, —if I may ask... What were you looking for? You live at the seaside and yet you are here instead. Perhaps this forest held a special place for the aumarak people.

Rosalyn did not answer his question straight off, leading him through the winding and overgrown paths.  First she had to consider whether there was any reason to hide it.  In the end, she found none, and one clear reason on the inverse to share; she could use a stranger's perspective.

I was looking for our neighbors, she responded, the levity of the statement belied by the tone which she spoke it in.  We've recently moved to the cliffs, and since have had two warnings delivered.  Apparently they've deemed us too close and decided it's their duty to drive us from this place.  She huffed out a laugh.  And here I thought we'd be safer here.  So I thought, if anyone should run into this trouble, it should be me.

And let them try to take me this time, she thought savagely.  She wouldn't have attacked on sight, and had every intention of honoring the peace as long as they held it.  As soon as one of them broke the dam, however, the water was bound to follow.

WC: 177

Tribes were scattered across the ice where he came from, so to have two in such close proximity was a novelty to Kigipigak. From the woman's account of things there was an uneasy truce between them, however the wolves she sought were the aggressors, and wanting them to leave. The wilderness was vast—even between the two territories, with one a cliff and the other a mountain—so to Kigipigak there was no issue; he was young and stupid though, so his understanding was limited.

Are they a tribe of warriors? He asked next. There was no need to ask after Rosalyn's people; she had enough scars upon her body to answer any question for him. You are the leader of your tribe—but you would risk yourself? This was rhetorical—Kigipigak's voice fluctuated between something incredulous and something awe-inspired. Why would the matriarch of a tribe put herself at risk in such a way? That was foolish! Especially if the rival tribe truly wished harm to her people.

The ways of these southerners was confusing to Kigipigak. I am glad to have found you first, then. We can watch one-another's backs in case they come. Perhaps they watch us now—afraid to face the both of us! He huffs and lifts his chin slightly, peering at the mess of trees as if daring someone to appear. It is all a joke to Kigipigak.

She wouldn't have been able to guess his age before, but after he responded, she immediately knew he must be fresh from home.  It wasn't that he'd had so long away that the nostalgia faded... home was still close.  Fiercely, in that momemnt, Rosalyn was overcome with envy.  You are the leader of your tribe—but you would risk yourself?  How long had it been since she learned that to be a leader was to risk yourself?  Yourself alongside everything and everyone you cared about - sometimes simultaneously.  

I'd be no leader if I didn't.  They didn't choose this.  She answered simply.  She could have waxed on about some bullshit life lesson but he'd learn with time or he wouldn't.  Maybe, if he was smart, he'd never lead anything.  

Are you a warrior then?  She asked, trying (and failing) to hide her amusement at his optimistic interpretation of their hidden enemy.  She highly doubted, if this pack watched them - an old woman and a yearling - it was fear they felt

WC: 169

Kigipigak did not know how to take her answer. He wanted to heed it as wisdom as she was so much older than himself, yet the logic behind it did not make sense to him. He heard it more as a fable; something recited but often not fully believed. His good ear turned as she commented on his skills, earning a frisk of his tail.

Of course! I am Tartok; to be Tartok is to be strong. I proved myself to my tribe and am the youngest to earn my name. The boy was on a roll and didn't clue-in that he was talking gibberish as far as Rosalyn might understand it. When Kigipigak realized how enthusiastically he'd burst with that information he became a bit more subdued, not exactly shy, but self-concious.

He clarified by adding, The others earned their name during great battles for sport, or when they took a tribe over. As for what he'd done, Kigipigak remained vague. I won my battle. I am no longer Anneriwok, the unproven.

Oh, so his name was a title, then?  Funny thing about names, they only meant something to those that knew it.  He seemed to take quite a bit of pride in this, though, and Rosalyn wasn't stupid enough to strike at the wolf's family.  She didn't need more enemies in these parts.  The bit about earning a "name" jogged some memory, somewhere, but it was a fleeting feeling and left before she could determine exactly what.  The concept seemed vaguely familiar.

Impressive,  she replied.  It was all rather meaningless to the pirate, who thought pride in fighting was more stupidity than anything else, but he seemed to think enough of himself for the both of them.  Likely he'd die young, as so many like-minded idiots had probably done before him, and wear his 'pride' until that day came.  Who was she to sully his few years?

What do they call you, before you earn a name?  Boy?   Bet that got confusing in a pack with more than one batch of aspiring sprogs.

WC: 172

They called me Sisamat, Kigipigak explained. I was the fourth-born. My sisters were Atuaserk and Malguk, as they came first and second. It felt like he was explaining something so simple to someone who should have been well versed in the make-up of tribes; but it had not yet occurred to Kigipigak that his home's way was not the same for all homes. That his tribe was more than just very far north, but also very far removed from what was considered normal here.

The children of my tribe keep this name until they have survived to one year. We are all Anneriwok then. Sometimes if a child is particularly good at something the issumatar—ah, the... leader, in this case my mother—gives us new names. I became Kigipigak. As he outlined this he followed Rosalyn through the thicket and around a series of thick mud puddles that must have formed prior to the drop in temperature; they were frosted in places.

I.. Suppose it is not the same here. Have you always been Rosalyn? How boring that must be for her.

It all sounded rather complicated, and Rosalyn was glad she wasn't likely to need to repeat his name anytime soon.  Boy would be preferred to all that.  He spoke as if what he said was universal and she wondered idly if this pack he spoke of were the same.  If not he may have some realizations on the horizon.

Unfortunately, for better or for worse.  She replied drily, amused by the pity in his tone.  She couldn't resist a slight push back upon it, though, a subtle barb.  I suppose, where I'm from, a name has only as much meaning as you bring it.  True, no one had handed her a title and signified her an adult.  Her mother had handed her a different sort of future - and it had been no less significant.

They were nearing the edge, and the way was fairly straightforward now.  She needed to get back before the sun faded, and as thrilling as this was, she feared if she truly got him going on a subject she might never get free.  She slowed to a stop, then indicated the direction.  Nearly due south you'll find mountains.  I don't know about birds, but it's the best I know.  Surely a warrior like him could manage.

WC: 210

His question was met with a surly rejoinder that Kigipigak took as humor, relating it to how some elders of his home tribe could appear unhappy or grim but truthfully be the opposite. Rosalyn was one of the oldest wolves he'd ever met. It was easy to place her in the elder category and treat her as a wizened travel companion.

The tangle faded away around them; as they stepped out of the shadows and halted, Kigipigak looked around. He could see the crown of cliffs on the horizon—and Rosalyn confirmed that they were a chain of mountains. Perhaps not his particular haunt, but close enough. He was glad to be free of the woods.

I can find my way from here. Thank you Aumarak! He grinned, tail swaying. As he made to depart Kigipigak stopped mid-stride and murmured, It is the name for things that have burned. Some places flourish after the burning. A reference to her old scars. I hope you return safely home. A dip of the head—and he is away, striding pleasantly across the rolling hillside.

She just nodded, but didn't speak as the description of the name he'd given her threw her for a moment.  It took the briefest pause for her to determine whether she appreciated it or not... and she settled on the fact that it was cheeky, and that she could respect.  For such a young thing, he spoke as if he knew what she was.  He didn't, but as before - the young and stupid had hardships ahead.  She'd leave him his ill-gained confidence.

Good luck,  she replied finally to his repeating form, and with a final shake of her head, she set off back towards the cliffs.

WC: 106