Sunset Valley he stole her youth

for @Silatuyok

the mist is cool; saturating the nape of his neck and along his back, stirring him out of his restless sleep.

sleep did not come easy and the scorned prince lingered oft in the limbo between sleep and awake. in the valley there wasn’t much in the way of shade — a few hidden and abandoned dens in disrepair.

he does not plan to stay and thus settles for the risk of sleeping beneath the stars.

he pushes himself to his paws, gives his coat a shake and stretches. taking this as his sign that it was time to keep moving, his few stolen hours of shut eye over.

sharp teeth tore through the flesh, separating it from the bones with quiet precision. claws moved with practiced ease, each motion deliberate. her focus was entirely on the task—nothing else mattered.
she didn’t hear his steps at first, too absorbed in the task at hand. the wind had shifted, but the sounds were lost in the soft hiss of the fog rolling across the valley. only when the air changed, and his presence grew nearer, did she lift her head, ears flicking slightly.
her eyes—pale and quiet—sought him only for a moment before returning to her work. a subtle acknowledgment.

please excuse the trash posts while i find my groove with him. <3

he does not notice her right away; by the smell of carrion and blood upon the wind grabbing his attention. for a moment, the scorned prince considers to keep going. ignoring her. he almost does. he takes a step and then two before hesitating; letting his gaze trail over her pale form again.
something stops him. some guiding hand of the invisible mythos he has once devoted his life to, whose blood flowed through his veins ( or so said the generations that came before him ).
she smells of pack, he realizes now that he is slightly down wind of her. he couldn't recognize any of the packs now. with the pharaoh and her pack that he'd been intended to be a gift for from the living god ruling the oasis so very far from here gone ... he is free. a liberating and terrifying realization that he's spent many days and nights warring with.
hello, he offers in the common tongue, voice a bit rough from disuse.

silatuyok's ears flicked at the sound of his voice. she stood still for a moment, the weight of his presence pressing in from all sides. she swallowed, the cool air sharp in her throat, and took a small step forward. her voice came in a low hum, the words foreign on her tongue.
nɨmɨ, she said, her accent thick, unsure but at least respectful. her eyes studied him cautiously—his size, his scent, the weight of something heavy in his presence.
there was a moment of silence before she added, you... lost? the question was gentle, her eyes flickering between him and the empty space around them, a soft invitation for more words.

she speaks and her words are thickly accented; but despite the accent the scorned prince knows that whatever word she had used is foreign to him. he hadn't been the crown prince and thus teaching him more than two languages hadn't been at the forefront of his mentors' minds. his gaze lingers, noting the uncertainty in her micro expression despite that she'd taken a step nearer to him.
lovely. soft; her words gentle.
for a moment her question hangs between them. the scorned prince rolls his shoulders, ego warring not to admit that yes he was lost. in both senses of the word. deliberating at a crossroads he'd stumbled upon when his path, his purpose in life had been violently derailed. twice. these wilds were widely unknown to him so he wandered without destination ... because he knew not where he was heading.
he draws in a breath and lets it out in a heavy sigh. yes, he can feel his pride take the lashing sting of admitting it out loud, of letting himself be vulnerable even if it was for a fleeting moment. i am very lost.

silatuyok tilts her head slightly, watching him with curious eyes. her fur shifts softly in the breeze, and her stance is open, but cautious. she does not press him further, but the silence holds her own quiet weight.
her voice breaks the stillness once more, her accent thick but her words steady, eyes intent. where... home? she asks, watching him with quiet sincerity. where is your home...? her gaze softens, her tone warm but laced with something deep, as though she, too, has known the ache of not knowing where one belongs.

she asks about home and the scorned prince is quiet, even after she clarifies. home ... was not something he'd had in a long time. if ever, in truth. but that was a whole thing that he didn't have the time nor the energy to unpack. still, he draws in a breath, heavier still than the last.
i have no home.

quick post before bed; sorry it's so short! <3

NW<3!

home... she mutters softly, the word foreign on her tongue. her ears flick back, then forward again, a gesture of something unspoken.
home is... where heart is, she says slowly, carefully, her numic accent thick but her intent clear. not... always... where born. she tilts her head slightly, eyes still watching him.
she lets her words hang, then lowers her gaze to the ground, her expression softening. her own history of home is fractured, and she knows better than to press the subject too hard.

home is where the heart is. it's a nice sentiment ... but the scorned prince had no use for such things; a cold outlook borne of the fact that he had no idea where home was. his heart had lain so dormant, it's proud song suffocated by the dismissal of his pharaoh-father. swallowed by the merciless jaws of ammit. the would've-been pharaoh was stripped of his identity despite the fury of a scorned god burning in the cavern of his chest.
but his studious gaze watches her, following the softening of her expression, the aversion of her gaze to the ground. he gets the inkling of a suspicion that there's a tale there.
...don't have a home my heart calls such, either. if the charred thing in his chest could even beat. he pauses, weight shifting. where d'you call home?

silatuyok's eyes narrow, a thoughtful look crossing her face. she tilts her head slightly, sniffing the air before her gaze returns to him.
winsook, she repeats, the word thick on her tongue. she takes a slow breath, her stance firm, yet there’s something wistful in her eyes, something hidden beneath the surface.
spirits call, she repeats softly, as if the mountains themselves whispered to her. then, her posture shifts, and she meets his eyes, sharp yet guarded.
nova peak... where winds call. where my ancestors walk.

she answers, offering him something deeper than what he'd asked. spirits. nova peak. winsook. he picks apart the word 'spirits', lingering longer in his mind as it did. interesting, he finds, that she speaks of spirits, of ancestors calling her there ... but not her heart.
but he knows better than many what the rage of blood left denied does. the genetics of primordial gods ignored in the favor of whatever frivolities his father-pharaoh had chased after spurning him, after trying to deny him. it is his father's handsome face he sees in his reflection, it is the same cruel eyes. he misses only the twisted, misshapen flesh 'round his left eye and mouth. a mark of the gods he'd been born with, whispered the priestesses when they'd thought young abydos had been milkdrunk and asleep.
would you take me there, this winsook? i've been searching for a place to call home ... for a very long time, his grin is small, almost sheepish; charming. maybe he would find it in winsook ... and maybe he wouldn't — only shai could foresee that.
and on the way, maybe you could tell me of your ancestors?

silatuyok watches him, her gaze steady but distant, as if contemplating something far beyond his words. she nods at his request, understanding the weight behind it, though her expression remains unchanged. she shifts slightly, the wind pulling at her fur as she stares toward the distant peaks. silatuyok, she introduces. eh..you?
she doesn't speak much more, simply offering him the path forward, a quiet invitation that speaks louder than words. the spirits of her people linger in the winds and stones of that place, and she knows he will find what he's looking for, or perhaps learn that home is not just a destination but a journey.

can fade in your next and ill start new in winsook!

silatuyok.
the scorned prince takes in her name and tucks it away, though not before trying it out, testing the weight of it and how it sounds rolling off his tongue, silatuyok.
it carries with it a weight of unfamiliarity; a foreignness. it does not move the same way on his tongue as the names of his own culture.
he does not offer his own right away, flitting between them as if they were pages that he did not wish to read. did it matter who he was? even as he strove to embrace what his pharaoh-father had only ever attempted to snuff out of him, he was not sure that his names fit him. at least not anymore. not yet.
vhagar. he speaks as she leads the way, remembering the word being whispered and carried along the cavernous walls of the temple den from time to time. even as he speaks it now, claiming it as his own, there is something in it that feels ancient, heavy, armored.