Nova Peak Toquer

for @Lorcan and/or @Elowen

In a little while, spring will claim its own, and so too this newly bedded fold beneath the mountain. It is a good place for a den, the huntress surmises. The forest here is a thick caress and also the gentle wound of earth surrounding it. In close proximity is the lake where Ayovi had pulled the large spotted trout, now still at her paws. She remains a dozen steps down from the newcomers’ hollow, announcing her presence with a soft, feminine voice; careful to hide what eagerness plays truly in her heart.

visitors, so soon?

long, scar bitten legs stretch outwards from where they had been curled against elowen's body. draped closely against his mate, man stirs at the calling voice. distinctly feminine, soft in nature; unlike the raucous voice of the man of the peak.

it must be that man, skorpa’s, wife who beckons them from their den. lorcan rises with a nudge to the cup of his wife's ear, breath fanning with the coming of few words, and then he steps over her body, squeezing from the hollowed space.

it is there he finds the pale huntress, trout in tow, limp at the deck of her paws. burning gold eyes drape her in unknowns—but not long is it before a, no doubt, charming smile cracks upon a roguish face. you are the mountain man's wife? he asks, drawing himself to seat a respectful distance away. i’m lorcan. he offers her a rooted dip of his head, and then turns to glimpse at the den hollow. teeth glinting.

my wife is elowen.

“Ayovi,” she watches him as he talks. A scar over one eye mars the otherwise shadowed figure. His legs are long and stiff with strong muscles. Still, she was surprised a rapport had developed between her rogue and this hunter. Ayovi had never seen him want companionship outside her own.
“I admit, I had not expected Skorpa’s hospitality,” her voice is candid, blue eyes alight with humor.  Gently, she noses the trout towards him— a repast rich in protein and fat for gravid women.
“What brings you this far North?”

she had doubted her husband's hospitality, and that alone brings lorcan great humor. it is wry, as it pulls upon his dark mask. a smile cracking, teeth revealed—but not knives aimed at this woman. he rises, coming closer.

and why is that? curiosity killed the cat.

he is a slinking form of ink as he dances toward the trout. ignoring the absence of his wife, as she continues to laze within their den. it is not her fault. she is tired, her pregnancy progresses. still—lorcan hides the shame he feels. she should show herself. meet this woman. he pauses, to say: you are generous.

he noses at the trout, and then pulls it closer, teeth upon its tail, lifting it and turning to deposit it at the entrance of their little hollow. inspecting briefly elowen's resting form, hidden among roots and dirt, then turning halfway back to ayovi. perhaps his wife would join later.

you could say i enjoy taking in the sights. a response to the snow woman's question, and then he offers her invitation to join him on the walk he appears to be taking now. away from the den, along the length of the snowy embankment. being alone... he trails off. well, i've grown tired of it. and now i'm a husband, and soon to be a father. elowen and our children deserve a home, yes? i've put aside my wanderlust for them.

“Because I’m also pregnant,” her eyes smile. The wintry plume flicks as she falls into fleet step beside the shadow of Lorcan. Big Sky was brutalized and Faust had haunted her steps in the North. Wariness marked Ayovi’s approach to her own kind, but Skorpa had seen something trustworthy in this strong man. He would not have sanctioned access to the Northwood otherwise.
Hearing Lorcan’s reason, Ayovi understood it then. Their desires were the same.
“My husband is a rogue. I do not think he ever intended to claim land.” Think! So much of Skorpa remained unknown to her. “He does right by… us.” By his new wife. By his coming children. Her voice mists with adulation, the same sort of distinction she was beginning to see in Lorcan.
The huntress motions ahead to a narrow brook while the waxwings swoop and play their orderless singing beneath wide swatches of light. The air has a texture of pine and ice and she fills her lungs with its coolness.
“You should know there are rising numbers in the taiga,” a staid look measures the dark hunter. If he and his family denned here, they would also be expected to defend the North in fang.

this comes as no surprise to the man, and certainly makes sense. ahhh, lorcan hums in response, letting gold eyes—one involuntarily narrowed, slitted by a scar—pass to her. congratulations, then. he certainly did not find the mountain man to be a family man, but there were stranger things in life. lore heaves a content sigh. men will often surprise you. he flashes ayovi a smile then, eyes glittering with knowing. women hold the power to change the most stubborn of man. the right woman need only come along.

that was what elowen was for lorcan, and what he assumed ayovi was for skorpa. they could find kinship in that.

his strides are long, just as the woman with the hunter's build takes. eating up the ground, making distance from where elowen lay resting. his head is high, nostrils flaring as he inhales the many scents that nova peak has to offer. he could see a great life here, he need only take it and make it his. obediently he follows towards the source of a trickling mountain stream, stopping to take a short gulp of the crisp, icy contents.

listening with darkening eyes of what she tells him. head rising to turn, and look in the distance where she speaks of. he is quiet for a short time, before speaking finally:

have they threatened?

It’s a sentiment she turns over in her mind, yet another unknown aspect of her cubs’ father. Has she changed Skorpa? For he had once taken her throat in his jaws to substantiate an ego against Faust. Certainly she’d seen the women of Big Sky soften their hunters, but Ayovi had begun to view it as a stale tradition, that a man should be good upon his own merits.
But Lorcan is not privy to her musings and when he slides her a smile Ayovi only smirks, turning to trot alongside the bended creek. She is aware of him beside her, the great shadow devouring this rugged land. Her ears turn to take his question, pace slowing.
“We would not be standing here if they had. The mountain is outnumbered,” she tells him bluntly. “There is history, between myself and the Darukaal leader,” her eyes look off, ashamed. “Peace will be difficult, but I do not believe it's impossible.”

it is not the hunter's place to question her, so his golden eyes roam away from her. into the open, where the trees thin upon the slope and grow sparse. down below, the rolling of plains, the open stretch of the taiga's ferocity. in the distance:
rivals.
if they were not allies, then they were enemies. this was his thinking, and he kept it close by; but his teeth would not be the first to raise. he picks his way after her slowing strides, finally, a hum present in his throat which turns into words. peace, he says, if not for you, then for the children.
lorcan's thoughts turn to his own. a year ago, if you told him he would soon be a father, would have settled upon the peak with a wife, he would have laughed. today, it was reality; and he faced conflicting feelings. they were ignored, in the light of something more. it was something more.
if blows should come, i will fight. it is his vow, marked by the dip of his head. not only for mine, but for yours as well.
a gesture of camaraderie that he hoped to last for the coming days.

His unvoiced thoughts resound like twin thunder within the breast of the huntress. The tranquil tribes of Big Sky had once received visitors with amity and it had cost them everything. By the time Ashēer armed their soldiers, it was too late. Ayovi would sooner grow the mountain’s numbers and lead raids to keep their barbaric neighbors from power…
If it were not for Skorpa, and this life they were cultivating in the ice. She wanted it.
“For the children,” Ayovi agrees, lips lifting to a true smile. “Your wife is a lucky woman, Lorcan,” for the man wore devotion plainly. “Your brood will be safe here.” And if the shadow hunter had coaxed the northman's trust, he won Ayovi’s too.

lorcan only smiles, a slow, knowing thing. there is little to be said that has not already been spoken. she was a smart woman, he could see it in the flicker of thought that crossed her eyes.
then we are of the same mind, he murmurs. his eyes lift to the mountain, to where his wife lay nestled, safe for now.
he exhales: let’s keep it that way.

fade? <3