Nova Peak burn butcher burn

@Skorpa or @Ayovi (or both)

wide splayed feet hasten the man across the wilderness of the taiga. he has left his wife settled in a safe den, where she may rest; exhausted from their travels from the tuktu to the snowforest. he has promised her—soon—they will settle.

even though it pulls into question everything he stands for. the bastard was no idle man, and he never had been. from birth, he moved. hunted with his people, slew those who threatened their ways.

now he settles with a woman at his side, her belly growing plumper by the day with his children. but she is feeble, all the same. she thins. it is difficult for lorcan to keep her fed, plentifully, on his own. driven by desperation, he follows after the first scent of other wolves he finds.

guard hairs furious as they stand-upright, hackles pin-pointed with unease. the scent of these two is thick over this territory he cautiously begins to walk, lorcan's head raising high to appraise the peak.

---

others had come, dotting the plains below the mountain. skorpa did not care for it. even though ayovi's firelight had faded some time ago, he wanted to enjoy this time with her alone on their star-touched mountain.

he was reluctant then, to leave her warmth that morning, to sweep the musky bearskin around his shoulders and leave their den.

and that day he found a man, a wolf of black gradient. and he was not so indirect in his approach, hailing the stranger with a shout and hunched shoulders as he descended the snowline and came to stand close.

his eyes proclaimed this land as belonging to himself, but skorpa did not act in force.

---

lorcan watches this man come with golden eyes that burn quietly. a simmer beyond himself, a firelight against shadow of night. the man does not approach gently—driven by a claimance on this peak. his scent is one of those he had been tracking.

lorcan, so tempted to fall into his habit of provocation, does not. and it is hard to bite his tongue, to remain... docile. ears twitch quietly, his nares flaring as he inhales a thick gust of this male's scent—and is immediately repulsed by what he finds.

but strangely intrigued. this draws a knowing smirk to glimmer upon his dark mask, as he sashays several feet away, maintaining the distance between the both of them. appraising eye cruel on the man of dark, blazing dawn sky.

---

not quite a challenge. not quite submission. the last time he had faced a man like this, they had battled.

wind caught at skorpa's nape; snow smoothed along his jawline. he lifted a heavy arm at last, motioning to the mountain.

he tapped his chest.

mine.

and then again. "skorpa." the umber eyes were watchful, observant of any change in breath, in movement, in aim. bearman was still. what did the stranger seek?

---

the stranger man waits for something—most assuredly some sort of break in their standstill. lorcan only further sets smoldering eyes to him, taking quiet steps over icy rock.

he jabs to the mountain. then to his own chest. cementing a belief that it belonged to him. this is what breaks the stiff in lorcan’s lip—drawing cunning smile over a dark mask.

lorcan has no interest in being a challenger. he has no interest in being a leader. he could’ve struck his own claim long ago—he did not. his tail is relaxed behind him, no attempt at curving into some loathsome, dominant arc.

his name is skorpa. lorcan raises eyes from him, to the peak, and then back to him. he exhales a cold breath and lowers his head between dark shoulders, teeth pale against his black serpent’s face. lorcan.

then, a moment later:

skorpa needs men. a observation, and he is the one to gesture to himself this time. mimicking the man’s body language; a sharp tap on his chest, paw brushing against his own scruffy chin. i fight very well. i can hunt well enough. he makes his next astute observation, inhaling another gust of the man’s scent. you have a woman. i have a woman. they can be friends. 

a knowing smile.

---

the man of darkness bartered. skorpa caught some words, and the gist was clear: the stranger, lorcan, wanted to trade. but what? woman arose in language, and he did know this. was he trading a woman? for what?

it occurred to skorpa that the newcomer was regarding him in some sort of respect. the mountain at his back limned this confidence for the bearman, and he straightened. those few halting words he had gathered were not for lorcan to hear, embarrassing as they were; easier to say nothing than be seen a fool.

woman. he became protective at once. "hvis du vil jage eller slå lejr, er du velkommen," the bearwolf grunted, though he punctuated his own words with gestures of paw. they directed lorcan to the vastness of the green-carpeted foothills, and skorpa nodded in a friendly way.

friendly unless the man should invade the upper reaches where ayovi had found peace in their warm den and the snowlit stream above.

woman. a twitch of his own nostrils brought the scent of a second from the coat of this new wolf, and now he understand. "husbondi?" he asked of lorcan, raising an eye. he was husband to a wife? was that what he had meant?

---

this was not the first time he'd encountered a language barrier! and the tongue this man spoke, it sounded quite familiar—though not familiar enough for lorcan to recognize any of what he said. lorcan's eyes scatter his face in mild confusion as he seeks to interpret his body language instead.

an invitation to stay, excellent. lorcan offers a courteous dip of his head, though his eyes visibly shift over the man, once more observing him. if things were to turn sour at any point in this residence, he would need to know this man's weaknesses.

let them hope it did not come to that, because lorcan had all the intentions of being a contributing member of this soon-to-flourish society.

he turns to pick his way towards the area offered to him, to investigate before going to fetch elowen, but his movement was stilled by once more speech. lorcan turns a head over his shoulder, ears twitching finally in recognition. this word was easier to translate, and the man laughs softly, nodding his head. yes. a swift response. he turns and points to the far distance, the valley settled beneath the peak, and says: there. then, he presses a paw to his own stomach, before carving it in a circular arc. with child.

---

skorpa followed, ready to be turned away if lorcan seemed as if he wished to be alone. the sum of their language did not mean the end of communication, and the guardian felt himself brighten in understanding.

so fierce that desire to be alone with ayovi; skorpa had not considered that she might need other women. he was certainly unskilled to whelp or to help with the herbs that could be important.

but neither did he want a stranger to know that she carried their children! it was not his place to say. and so skorpa only nodded with an amiable look, a man's encouragement for another man and another father.

she was not far, this woman. the mountainbear nodded, gesticulating to the forest once more. lorcan should seek and hunt and bring his woman. skorpa would not stare at him through all this progress, for their star peak was more than vast enough to support two couples and their coming progeny.

---

there is an understanding between them now. skorpa gestures, an invitation to hunt, to settle, to bring his woman. lorcan exhales slow, breath curling in the cold air.

it is good enough. for now.

i will return, he tells the man, finding it well to inform him—even if he might not understand what was said. dark man turns, setting off down the mountain with a hunter’s pace, eager to retrieve elowen.

fade <3 thread again soon? maybe they can hunt :D