Nova Peak [m] Cloister of St. Glinda

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Backdated to directly after the group thread. He's looking for @Dagur but all welcome!

Face bloodied and sides heaving, Dirtwater Fox retreated to lick his metaphorical wounds and curse the inability to do the same with the physical. He was reminded, again, why it was never a good idea to involve himself. Life went on the way it would all the same. As if he was never there at all.

He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

After a time he found a water source to clean his bloody face, already lamenting the scars that would surely take the place of his wounds. And what had it been worth, in the end? The thief had slipped right through his grasp as if made of water. Dirtwater Fox remembered the moment almost like a fever dream; slow motion, ineffective, ultimately useless. Had Lonesome Dove not believed the same of him?

More time passed. He picked himself up and searched for the sentinel.

Helpless.

What good was he? He had never been any.

Yet the warmth that spread like wildfires in his belly at the sight of the man was — something. Maybe not good or helpful, but a reminder that he was alive. That the dancer was too.

Would he soon be sick? Would all of them be?

He moved with quick, strong strides to intercept the dancer. Unsure if he would be allowed to touch that spiritdancer given physical form.

Dagur was desperate for something tangible in the wake of loss.

They collided in the manner of a thunderhead meeting a mountain peak; there was no time given for thought, nothing but the raw feeling of it. He didn't question it. He surrounded the sentinel with his own silvered rains, smothered him in it, drew him close with clutching arms and fervent kisses cutting a lightning-path through the dark ruff.

And perhaps there was desire in it — no, he knew that there was, but it was more. Dirtwater Fox felt it in the tremble of his own limbs, the quick heat of his breath ruffling that beautiful ochre fur. In this moment he did not seek to possess. He wanted — he wanted to make this okay. For him if no one else, for the silent sentinel whose eyes even now reflected so much senseless tragedy.

He'd been able to do nothing for the children, nor for the parents they'd lost too young, nor for the wolves who had written their own demise into that terrible scene at the den. But he could do this. He could give this.

Warmth, spilling out and over. The feeling that had started in his gut now bloomed to every inch of him and he was certain it would consume the dancer too.

Loss upon loss had turned into a gain. Maybe one that he would lose too but in this moment it all felt immortal. Let them live inside this moment until the universe devoured itself. Let them devour each other too.

He held the other so tight that for a moment he was convinced they might become one. He sought the skin that was underneath the fur. He kissed the wounded spots as if he might heal them. Those were the marks that should have been upon his own flesh but weren't.

Perhaps he was cowardly everywhere else in his life but here.

Come with me,

Soft words breathed aloud before he knew that he had spoken. Dirtwater Fox went on, hushed; Away from all of this. There's a boy on a mountain... I don't know if he'll stay there, but he's gathering others, His words all fell from him thoughtlessly now, a breathless hopeful song he never thought he'd sing for anyone. He withdrew to meet the dark emerald eyes. I'll take you there. If you don't like it, we'll find some other boy on some other mountain.

And we won't ever look back. Not for anything.

A boy on a mountain.

Wasn't that all that Dagur was? There should have been jealousy but he only realized that the dancer was here with him. Not the other boy, not the other mountain.

But Dagur had just done this song and dance, had just built one home just to see it whisked away by death and chaos. He almost wanted to say no out of fear. Fear! Something so new! Yet he was soothed by the promises of other mountains, of other boys, of —

Never look back. We never.

We.

We.

We.

Mature Content Warning

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Never.

His grip tightened, shifted as he trailed his teeth through thick-furred ruff. All thought fled him, every last fleeting notion save a fierce, pleasant hum at the back of his skull. Mine. He sought to draw the sentinel beneath him now —

to write his claim into flesh and bone, here and now, so that he would never forget to whom he had made this promise.

He should be scared. Downright terrified.

Yet he had seen how Riley mourned Raider and how it all seemed like such an explosive impact upon the world around them. He hoped that if anything befell him that someone would mourn him just the same, that there would be ripples in his absence.

He wanted the dancer to be in that story for himself. A thought that echoed as he was held.

His.

Mine.

He gave himself entirely now and, maybe foolishly-boyishly, expected to be given everything in return too. One might have said 'too soon' for such grand commitment but he had just witnessed how terribly short life could be.