Bitterroot Valley you give out the glory of heaven, you give out the pain that is hell.

@Gleipnir please. <3

She knew not what the season meant to others. Only that it was cold and that warmth should be on the horizon. Although it seemed an impossible thought. The lands blanketed in moderate snowfall. She was a bloodstain upon them and somewhere in the area should be her ghost, her wardog. Hidden in the ivory with his own silver coat of winter. Blemished only by the scars of stories she could not imagine. Would not imagine.

Still she can find only softness in him, warmed by the presence of him. She wished to find him at that moment. Draw his familiar form near for safety and comfort. Even if she would never utter it aloud. Surely he must know like it is an instinct born into them. Wordless communication where boundaries laid.

She has found it proper to hunt him down. Find the freshest trail and stalk through the snow. She would take it along whatever lengthy or short path it might be, a flutter of her heart built up. It is the thrill of reunification, perhaps.

Whenever — wherever — she may find him, she made a choice on the urge of the boldness in her heart. Spring upon him. So that she may find herself near his haunches in her surprise arrival. Not once did she consider what wardog strength he might bring down upon her for an ambush.

though old enough to participate in the conception of what would come from the season upon them and knowledgeable enough to understand what happens to concieve — gelipnir approaches the whole thing with disinterest; unaffected by the intoxicating perfume given off by, mainly, pack females. his and his valkyrie's seclusion in the glacial region of the north where no packs have yet made their home ( at least as far as he can tell ) shields him from it ...though he senses it, like some primal vibration to the marrow of his bones; most days he is too busy to pay it any mind. hunting, exploring, practicing his clumsy common which does not appear to be approving much as far as he can tell. it is not an instantaneous thing and his patience wanes more than he would care to admit to sakhmet; though he suspects she can tell when he grows frustrated with his own snails pace of learning; though the ease with which they wordlessly communicate makes gleipnir a bit lazy with his common lessons.

as long as the rust colored valkyrie can understand him is all that appears to matter to him; gleipnir is hard pressed to care about anyone else.

the rocky terrain that merges into grassland at the touch of the loamy soil of the river is covered in a fresh blanket of snow; deeper in some places than in others. studiously, singularly he tracks the scent and pawprint trail of a small fox family. he steps in their wandering trail to make it known they were being hunted in case any other loner decides to move in on his quarry. focused; gleipnir does not realize that he's being hunted.

it's only when he's sprung upon does he realize his fatal error. for a split second his heart drops; at the same time his head whips around, lips curled back from his teeth, a snarl rumbling up his throat where it dies as glacial gaze locks upon the perpetrator. sakhmet. his heart races within its prison of flesh and bone then for a different reason altogether. the relief floods thru him with the heavy sigh he gives. not sneak. he half-heartedly grumbles at her. though worry floods him a second later as he realizes that he could've hurt her he is quick to assure himself that he wouldn't have even on accident.

He stopped and started her heart all at once. A rush of life through her as she faced his wild look and feverish teeth. The vibration of his snarl seeped into her bones. Exhilarated her in a way she could not describe. But the temper is a flash in the pan, died with his recognition of her. It emboldened her.

She would seek to find the safety in his larger size, her runty frame not once coming close to his own monolith of being. Press herself firmly into him before she mumbled. Sorry. Not entirely, but she knew she had startled him. Had perhaps ruined whatever he had been busying himself with.

There was still a feverish feeling in her core, her heart hardly having recovered from it all. She offered a hearty rumble to him (a rare sound from her, without doubt) then aimed for teeth to grab the plush fur of his chest. Teach me fight. Her own language is broken more often than not these days, said only what he might understand from her. She needn't anyone else's understanding.

sorry. sakhmet mumbles to him, the feel of her smaller body pressing against his own and the rapid beat of his wardrum heart nearly all he can focus upon. the surprise of her attack having ebbed gleipnir is not certain that the race of his heart comes from her presence, from her touch. it perplexes him. how she can cause this within him; command the wardrum heart, summon what vapors of gentleness exist within him. a berserker. one that was not known to be merciful nor gentle.

teach me to fight, spoken before her teeth pull at the fur of his chest. disarmed by her closeness gleipnir fears he will give her anything she asks of him like this. despite this, he cannot bear to part from the press of her body against his, the tangle of her teeth in the tendrils of his fur. why? he asks once he's summoned some composure. you learn fight, he begins trying to find the words to bring to light his true fear at her request. not need me.

the thought of not being in her presence makes him feel utterly hollow. not want me? he asks trying and failing to hide the hurt that taints his tones at how he chooses to interpret her sudden desire to learn to fight.

She had not expected the broken words that come from his rough tongue. It built a well of worry within her chest and what had been playful biting to the fur became gentle grooming. His word stung some horrible scars of her heart. Abandonment. Loss. She could not go through that with him.

Want you. Stay. Please. She had not meant to stir worry within him and she did not want to run him off. It was not possible but somehow she sought to push deeper into his side. Want. Stay. More reassurance with worry in her voice.

Grooming would cease as her ear laid against his form, waited with bated breath to hear what he might say now. Or if any words might fix whatever emotion she had cracked at from within him.

gleipnir's misunderstanding of what she means, of why she wishes to learn to fight is quickly cleared up. there is notable distress in her voice as she assures him, her teeth moving to a gentle grooming, the press of her body against his own feeling like she means to make it tighter, were such a thing possible. the berserker does find reassurance in her words, in the actions that accompany them. and though he isn't usually glad to be wrong in this instance he is very glad to have misunderstood what she meant. sakh — he murmurs her name.

i stay. for now it is his turn to reassure her. i stay. he repeats for good measure. i teach to fight. he agrees, having already acknowledged that there wasn't anything he would deny her.

It is her name (never in its full but let her feeling whole) that dragged down the fires of her worries. Assurance that he would not leave her. Not now, at least. Although she could not bear the burden to think there might be a world without him. Alas she thought such things with others before and how harshly the world had ripped them from her. If she could fight against it all, thrash against the harshness of the world, she might secure his place by her side for a long time. Protect him as he protects her.

Fight like you. She murmured against his chest. If she might harbor a fracture of the strength he wields, she would be untouchable — or so she believed.

Then she is overwhelmed with selfishness. The undeniable need to seek out more from him. Northern tongue too? More. She held close the word he had taught her for the fiery lights above the earth, but there was more, she knew this. Hesitantly her head would shift so that she might gaze at him through a sidelong look, wondered what he might make of her attempt to intertwine herself further into his life. His knowledge. His world.

like berserker? gleipnir clarifies as she states that she wishes to fight like him into his chest. a definitive fighting style that was all brutality and brought only death. ...ok. he agrees after a long moment. though gleipnir rather enjoyed how she balances him he will not deny her what she wishes from him; simply because she wishes it. ironically, though, he has no trouble picturing her fighting like him; all fierce fury, ethereal like the valkyries of legend.

northern tongue too? more.

something primal swells within his chest at her next request; a hot feeling that gleipnir struggles to place as he realizes that she wishes to integrate herself more into his life. yes. her wardog croons in response, with stolen breath hitching in his throat — even though he suspects her request will only give him more reason to approach learning common as lazily as he has been. feverishly, gleipnir thinks, he doesn't care if anyone else can understand him. sakhmet is the only one that matters.