Silver Moraine multieyed raven

@Tvar : backdated one week

the silver moraine stretched before him, a barren sprawl of rocky mountain runoff, scattered stones glinting under the pale light. faust moved through it without purpose, without destination, the crunch of loose gravel beneath his paws the only sound that followed him.
he did not know what he sought here. peace? quiet? neither had ever been a companion to him. silence had never meant rest. it had meant waiting, it had meant watching—before the next battle, before the next hunt, before something else came to rip him from what little stillness he could find.
but here, among the forgotten stones and the slow trickle of water cutting through the moraine, there was nothing to anticipate. no looming threats, no eyes watching his every move. just the sky, the earth, the cold bite of the wind.
he exhaled, breath curling into the thin mountain air. perhaps that was enough. perhaps it would have to be.

tvar’s path winds upward, his steps sure on the uneven terrain. the moraine stretches before him, silver and barren, a stark contrast to the thick woods and valleys he’s grown used to. he is far from bearclaw now; driven by the urge to venture out before he was rooted down by the birth of his children.

at first, his paws had carried him eastbound with no true aim. wandering, sight-seeing, leading himself up the length of the mountains and further inward. but for the past few hours, he’s been tracking a familiar scent, something from a past that feels distant but never quite gone.

then, he sees him. a lone bastard against the vast sprawl of stone and wind. he sees faust's silhouette, and rather than feeling any sort of shock or bewilderment, there is only a sense of peace that befalls the twilight titan. a warm smile coming to grace his dark mask of harsh cut features.

hello, brother.

for a moment, faust doesn’t believe his own eyes. the wind carries a scent he hasn’t felt brush his senses in seasons, in years, and when he lifts his head from the silver stones, it's as if the mountain has conjured the ghost itself.
but no—no ghost could hold such weight, could wear that same familiar face, worn by time but still cut from the same stone.
brother! faust bellows, his voice rolling down the slope like thunder. before thought can root him still, he’s surging forward, heavy limbs pounding against the earth until he crashes into vahaelarr with all the force of youth reborn. a tackle, rough and without care, laughter chasing the sound. not a man who laughs often, but now it breaks free like a dam undone.
he shoves his head against the other's shoulder, breath warm and ragged from the rush.
what in all the frozen hells are you doing here? he rumbles, pulling back just enough to look him over, as if making sure he's real. thought i'd never see you again.

there comes joy first and then deep, unbeholdened laughter. rising from his barrel chest and into his throat, fluttery as it leaves the cage of his teeth where it echoed. faust runs to him, bounding like a young boy and tvar meets him halfway. snow churning in the wake of the grown men, two titans crashing in what is the colliding of universes.

bodies chiseled by the same stonemason, hide burning the same color as one another—different phases of the night, still aglow with the north star. tvar's laughter is warm, hot, mighty; he butts his head into faust's next when the man shoulders him, foreheads rubbing together aggressively, their breaths mingling in visible plumes.

it has been so long. too long. there is many thoughts, but one most prevalent: his brother is here. gods, the time they must catch up on! tvar reaches with a strong foreleg for the man, rubbing his paw furiously across his ears bitten by frost and time, looking upon his brother with eyes sore with lost time. look at you, you bastard! he exclaims. a man grown.

"what in all the frozen hells are you doing here?"

tvar seems to consider the question before parting his lips, exhaling a breath of trembling joy and humor. fuck if i know. is all he can say, gesturing with a wide paw to what all lay around them—as if something is unseen. then he pulls the man into half a bear hug, a foreleg hiked about the man's gold ruff. i've got a wife, aye. and pups coming in just a handful of days. but you! a wide grin. why are you here, brother?

faust can barely get the words out, laughter rumbling from deep in his chest as they collide, as if the weight of all the years gone has been shrugged off in an instant. seven hells, he breathes, shaking his head with a grin that feels strange on his face, too wide, too easy. i can't believe it. you here. after all this time.
he pulls back just enough to look vahaelarr over, as if checking that he’s real, not some spirit pulled from the snow. and gods, he's here. flesh and bone and loud as ever. faust snorts, shoulder bumping into his brother’s with rough affection before he turns, gesturing with his chin toward the vast sprawl of the glacier that looms behind them, silver and endless beneath the sky.
that’s home, he says, voice thick with pride. darukaal. i lead there now. there's something almost incredulous in his tone, like he’s still not sure how it came to pass. the blood talon. it's ours.
he glances back at vahaelarr, brow raised. and now you show up, just in time to see it for yourself.

ours? tvar echoes his brother, though his voice is grim rather than any sort of proud.

tvar’s ears twitch, but his gaze stays locked on the glacier. something shifts in him, something old and buried, unearthed by the sight of it—by faust standing before him, calling him back to something he thought he had left behind.

his jaw tightens. i have responsibilities, he says, clipped. firm. a life built elsewhere, a mate, children soon to be born. but the words don’t land the way they should. they feel hollow in his mouth, as if saying them aloud makes them less certain.

he moves a few feet ahead, drawn by the allure of it: darukaal. was it not where he’d always belonged? he had found kinship with cole, and a budding friendship with the rex, but that would never hold flame to what was his brotherhood with faust. they had been raised in two different worlds, but it never changed the truth: they were mirrors of one another. soul-mates.

tvar exhales a visible breath. he feels faust move behind him.

i am proud of you, faust.

faust’s brow knits as he watches his brother, the weight of that glacier settling heavier on his back than it had moments before. pride was a good thing. but pride didn’t keep a man beside you. didn’t fill the empty spaces where loyalty ought to live.
he exhales slow, the breath fogging in front of him.
i see.
simple. flat. the words scrape the back of his throat, carrying more disappointment than he bothers to mask. he'd thought... well, he isn't sure what he'd thought. that blood would always circle back home. that brothers were something you could hold onto.
he looks past tvar to the ice fields beyond, the wind curling sharp around them both.
lot of responsibility there, faust mutters, almost to himself. and here.
he lets the silence sit between them for a beat, heavy and cold.
you’re still welcome. always.
but the way his eyes linger on the horizon, it's clear he’s already bracing for the goodbye.

he senses the disappointment in faust and had readied himself for it. but when it comes, it feels worse than he could have expected it to. tvar turns, slowly circling to look at his brother, seeing the knit in his brows. the way they lower above his eyes.

tvar heaves a heavy sigh. but i wish to come. it is as if he tosses his hands up into the air then, an expression of frustration. he had not craved a family, and then he had come to know towhee jr. then, she and their pups—soon to come—filled that void.

now, it has lashed back out for him. hands outstretched for his throat. he wants more! it is his wish to fight alongside his brother again, it is his wish for his brother to meet his wife, his brother to meet his children, and for his children to grow up alongside his brother's. tvar looks to the glacier one more time—and then he faces a fork in the road.

i cannot come now, brother. he brings a paw to touch his shoulder. but when your nephews and nieces are old enough to walk, we will come. in two moons time. he is firm in this—and hopes towhee jr will support him in this decision. it is a big ask. our blood is thick and we must be thicker for it.

hope stirs like a coal fanned to life, glowing under the cold wind that had nearly snuffed it. for all his disappointment, he finds himself nodding, steady and sure, because this—this was something worth waiting for.
two moons, faust repeats, voice low but warmer now, like the promise means something real. his brother’s paw on his shoulder anchors him, and faust leans into it, solid and certain. i’ll hold you to that.
his gaze drifts to the glacier, then back to tvar, and a rare, crooked smile edges across his face. bring the whole lot of ’em. your wife, your pups. there’ll be room. darukaal’s strong. they’ll grow up knowing what it means to have a name worth keeping.
he exhales slow, the frost curling between them.
blood’s thicker than ice.
and in that, faust feels something loosen in his chest. something like belonging. something like home.

he clasps a hand over his brother's shoulder, settling a stern, emotional gawk upon the man. looking him over, once more. seeing in him painful memories of the past, and ones comforting all the same. tvar—vahaelarr—had never known their mother. but he remembered her eyes, in distant dreams. he heard her voice, heard the songs she would sing.

faust had her eyes, as did tvar. faust wore her gold crest, as did tvar. but the both of them were haunted with their father's harsh face, his onyx fur. tvar swallowed stiffly, ignoring the urge to weep. he instead speaks. don't just stand there, bastard. the northerner laughs, moving suddenly.

crunching over snow and ice in the direction of the glacier. show me this darukaal.

faust’s grin is slow, weathered, a thing earned over time. it lingers, bittersweet and fond, as he squeezes his brother’s shoulder and gives him one last look—a silent thing, an unspoken bond reforged after years apart. aye, he mutters, voice rough as gravel, dragging his gaze up toward the looming spires of ice and stone beyond. come on, then.
they fall into step, shoulder to shoulder, the snow shifting beneath their weight. faust begins to speak low, gesturing ahead toward the glacier’s reach. this is the moraine. silver moraine, some call it. runoff from the peaks. we hunt here… and there. his chin tilts toward the distant ridges where caribou trails thread through the powder. good game. strong stock. feeds us well.
the wind cuts through, ruffling the gold of his scruff. that path leads to the heart. caves run deep. old places. safer than they look. he glances aside at vahaelarr, gauging him, pride stitched into the tight pull of his mouth. strong enough for us. strong enough for you.
and on they go, his voice carrying in fragments over the frost, breaking now and again on the rise of the wind, swallowed by the vastness of the land as he guides his brother home.

vahaelarr follows closely, silence worn like armor, yet his gaze is sharp—watchful, absorbing every word. the glacier rises cold and proud around them, a fortress of ancient ice, glittering like glass under the pale northern sun.
his breath comes slow, fogging the bitter air, and his eyes trace caribou trails etched in the snow, imagining hunts yet to come. it’s rough country. harsh. unforgiving.
perfect.
good, he murmurs, a faint approval coloring the edge of his voice. his shoulder bumps lightly against faust’s, a quiet affirmation.
ahead, the caves yawn dark, promising shelter, strength, secrecy. vahaelarr nods, a subtle tilt of his chin, expression fierce yet calm. towhee will enjoy it here. he says. he thinks. swallowing stiffly then. i try to do what is right by her. he looks to faust. she is young, and i foolishly got her pregnant. it felt like my duty to marry her. to stand by her.
but he wonders, often. what could have been. thoughts drifting briefly to @Rala. a marriage of love.

that is the difference between you and i, brother, faust murmurs, his breath curling into the frozen air. his stride does not slow, but his eyes flick to vahaelarr, sharp and discerning.
wildlings have no obligation to marry our women.
his voice is even, but there is something unyielding beneath it—a quiet certainty, a belief carved from the unforgiving ice they tread upon. darukaal is not winterhelm. the old ways did not bind them here. a woman’s loyalty was not owed; it was earned, just as a man’s was.
but vahaelarr speaks of duty, of doing right, and faust does not dismiss it outright. his brother had made his choice. a heavy one.
she is young, he acknowledges, glancing at the caves that loom ahead. good land, strong land. land that will serve them well. but she is yours. and she carries your blood.
there is something in his voice—respect, perhaps. or maybe a warning. so you do what you must.
yet he sees the flicker of something else in vahaelarr’s gaze, the unspoken what if that lingers between brothers. faust does not pry. he does not have to. the glacier answers for him, its silence vast and absolute.

they move through frost-bound terrain. he meets faust’s gaze briefly, eyes darkened, shadowed with thought.
maybe that’s why i envy you, he murmurs, voice rough-edged with honesty. a rare confession, heavy with quiet envy, heavier still with yearning. you have been free your whole life. i do not complain, of course, tvar's eyes seem to grow misty as he looks into the distance, i was a prince. the future of the north. men cowed at my feet the whole of my adolescence. me! a boy of one year. his laugh is hearty at the thought, because it was ridiculous. then, serious again: but i did not realize how sorely i stood out amongst our father's trueborn children until the day i found out i was not like them. tvar laughs.
but his eyes are cold. i wish he had not taken me, that day.
his eyes return to the caves ahead—safe havens carved into ice and stone, offering shelter, strength. a fortress built from resilience, rather than duty.
but you’re right. she carries my blood, he acknowledges quietly, solemn now, resigned but unafraid. that is all that matters.
a pause, breathing slow, purposeful.
we each choose our battles, faust.

and yet here we are, faust echoes, his voice low, weathered by the wind and the weight of their past.
he does not envy vahaelarr, his crown, nor the war-bred burden of being their father’s chosen. faust has always belonged to the wild, to the ice and stone, to the wolves who carve their own kingdoms rather than inherit them. but he knows the pain of being shaped by another’s will, of being forced to bear something never meant to be his.
we were all taken in some way, he muses, watching the way vahaelarr's eyes shift, distant yet sharp. some stolen, some left behind.
he doesn’t resent him. never has. but he understands.
we choose them, faust agrees, stepping forward, the glacier stretching vast before them. but no matter what you choose, brother, you will not fight alone.
a pause, breath curling in the cold air.
not this time.

vahaelarr’s gaze cuts sharply toward faust, breath hitching in his chest, words catching briefly in his throat. something tightens in his expression—a fleeting glimpse of emotion long buried, long denied.
i know, he murmurs at last, voice strained but certain, a quiet heaviness lingering between the words.