Duskfire Glacier Sun is shining, it's over

set after this thread early morning. @Akavir @Silvertongue

morning settled over the land in a hush, the sky still bruised with the last remnants of night as faust approached.
this time, he did not come empty-pawed.
dried meats hung from his jaws, cured against the frost, rich with the scent of preservation and patience. he found them easily—akavir, ever-watchful, dark-eyed and composed, and silvertongue, draped in furs as if she'd always belonged to them. he let the bundle drop before them with a quiet thud, the promise of sustenance thick in the morning air.
you look better rested, he murmured, voice rough with the weight of his own wakefulness. he flicked a glance toward akavir, measuring, then to silvertongue, searching for signs of how the night had treated them.
his own had been restless. too much still to do, too many pieces shifting on the board. darukaal was young yet, but it would be strong. and perhaps, with the right hands, it would endure.
break your fast, faust said simply, nudging the dried meat toward them. tell me more of your pack?

faust was a man used to being obeyed. in this way he called to the innate culturing of the fellahin she had always been. unbeknownst now to be one of the last. perhaps the only. silvertongue had not slept easily in the night beyond that first nap; she was smeared softly with sleep when she rose in the dark and chose instead to watch the sun rise. faust arrived beneath the purpled light, bearing gifts of food. half-turning, she watched him set the meal close, and smiled. "we will be carrying news of darukaal's hospitality when we return," she assured with an authority she did not possess, but felt, and turned her glassblue eyes toward akavir with a demure light. he would speak on what he wished as leader. and silvertongue would not eat until the swiftcurrent man felt it safe. faust would understand if he had meant to be a fortress.

Sleep had not come easily—nor without interruption. His dreams were darkened with nightmares, but now far so far removed from his memory that they remained mere shadows that haunted him. It was strange to awake each time, witnessing Silvertongue not so far away—cast within the bedding of fur that she had once more become accustom to in her time within the walls of the desert palace. Guilt clung to him—upheaving her emotional turmoil and encouraging her to leave the comfort of…

… Luxury, he assumed. She was now used to luxury.

Faust greeted them—the scent of the meat that he offered prepared in a way that was perhaps more to her taste once more.

When her blue eyes swept over him, assessing, what was it that she saw?

He rolled forward, surging up to his paws and allowing the stretch of muscle push away the flood of his current thoughts. Thinner—much worse for wear. Never before had he felt more aged than this past journey of failures.

Shoulders rolling back, he swallowed a yawn—pale champagne eyes more openly studying the man who had brought them here in the heart of a storm. Large—scarred. Powerful.

Better a friend than an enemy, surely.

“We lay claim to territory South of here in the valley—Swiftcurrent Creek. Sizeable enough—our goal was to maintain the existence of the valley as a safer haven for packs and families.” He paused, a twitch of mirth pulling at the corner of his lips. “Turns out that’s harder than it sounds.”

faust gave a low grunt that might've been a laugh. might've just been agreement.
ain’t that the truth, he muttered, settling beside the food with that easy weight of his. a mountain when still, an avalanche when not. his eyes flicked between the two southerners—one silent and poised, the other frayed at the edges. worn, but standing. still standing.
that counted for something.
we could use some friends in the south, he said after a moment, voice lower, but not without warmth. darukaal’s strength holds here. but strength don’t mean much if it’s alone.
his gaze lingered on akavir, then to silvertongue, the faintest tilt of his head betraying interest. caution, too, but the kind born of wariness—not mistrust. his tail swept once along the snow.
could send you back with ox hides, he went on. even a bear hide. clean kill, kept it whole. you take it to the valley, they’ll know we keep our word.
a pause. he glanced toward the horizon—where the snow line began to melt into promise.
and how about we have a summer feast? the idea came slow, like stone rolling over ice. swiftcurrent. darukaal. those willing to stand and speak and trade. you said haven, he added, eyes back to akavir. maybe it starts with fire and meat.
and perhaps peace. but that part, faust didn’t say aloud. not yet.

luxury, yes, and it was a lie to say that silvertongue had not considered it. draped with silken furs, offered the sumptuous, rugged fare of this glacier; she felt a sense of belonging that she was not sure the creek would be able to recreate for her. it was a mean thought, one full of vanity. but neither did silvertongue veil the sheen of glassblue eyes as faust spoke of sending them with tribute, with furs and goodwill. she did not want akavir to deny this, but did not make her request ostentatious. faust was clearly in need of allies, offering an immediate peace in the north that her tactician-taught mind did not want to ignore. many a notion had been learned in the bed of a pharaoh. or a king. "a haven, with warriors in display at its peace," she sighed at the image made, a pretty sound intended to draw both their eyes. "who could deny that it was a place of harmony then?"

Between them both—Faust and Silvertongue—it was an interesting and tempting picture they made. How many alliances and Swiftcurrent Creek forged now, and how many still stood in strength with them?

None.

Riverclan had fallen. Kvarsheim had attacked them and laid the blame on them as well. No others had been confirmed as a true alliance—shaky agreements and understandings at best.

Still—one did not punch a gift horse in the mouth. A dip of his muzzle in understanding was given—his eyes sweeping to where Silvertongue was, the pretty sigh from her lips sending an alarming sense of nostalgia upon him. Still, stoical mask was maintained as he looked back to Faust, the beginnings of a wry grin pressing to his lips.

“I can’t in good conscience forge an alliance without a meeting between my other leaders with you and yours. But the promise of a summer feast and celebration is certainly something we would look forward to with friends.“

A pause then, considering. “We’ll take at least one of the hides,” he began, knowing already that it would be placed in a den of Silvertongue’s choosing, if only to give her comfort. He could never deny her—“We can send something worth trade in a few weeks time, if you wish, for it.”

A pause… then: “The Creek’s goal is a safe haven for family’s—but what is it Darukaal stands for?”

faust listened, the flicker of a grin ghosting his solemn face. akavir spoke with a diplomat’s tongue—but faust knew the weight behind such words. he nodded slowly, green eyes narrowing in thought as he cast a glance toward silvertongue, and then to the horizon beyond. there was no need to mask satisfaction.
you speak well, he said simply, voice a low thunder. darukaal does not seek war. not conquest. not land we did not bleed for. his eyes locked to akavir’s now, and there was no bravado in his tone—only truth. we stand for what the north taught us. we protect our own. we fight when we must. but we do not raise our teeth first.
he shifted, the fur on his shoulders catching in the alpine wind. our warriors are not made to conquer. they are made to endure. to guard the hearth. to bury the old ways that sought to burn every bridge and every cradle.
a pause, heavy.
if your creek seeks peace, you will find it in darukaal. if you seek safety, we will give it. if you bring war, we will meet you in kind. his words, though hard-edged, were not cruel. just honest.
then, a tilt of his head. we’ll accept your trade. send what you wish. the hide is yours. a nod, toward silvertongue. let her choose where it rests.
another silence, then the barest softening of his jaw.
a summer feast, then. a flicker of warmth in his eye. let it be the first of many.

my other leaders. silvertongue wondered if akavir spoke in message or in honesty. both. allowing faust to know he had a council of power in the valley was a noteworthy warning. he maneuvered swiftcurrent out of being beholden with the exchange of any hides, while reducing what he would take, and thus the debt. faust referred to silvertongue as if she were an idol, but she was not offended. standing silent in the company of powerful men had always been to her tastes, and she was skilled at the unsaid games beneath allyship talk. did the kaan evaluate akavir now, wondering if he moved in political gain? darukaal was a place of warriors who held but did not expand, something silvertongue found keenly interesting. what sated a fighter if there was no blood to be shed? faust dismissed the debt, graciously placing himself above, and silvertongue watched. again faust moved, establishing darukaal for the feast. all this while she had been silent, offering only a pleasant look between. she did not dislike the idea of being seen as an idol, a statue draped in furs; something to be treasured.