Phoenix Maplewood I tripped off long ago

Pala had chosen to move south, hoping to find the warmer lands Dutch promised. The cold bit at her torn face, a discomfort nearly unavoidable unless she outright ran from it.

The valley ahead was welcoming. It was not familiar like her previous mountain homes, but quiet and open. She could do without more corners for danger to hide around.

She couldn't see or smell much signs of life, so maybe it was pure curiosity that had her sending a howl up into the wind. A plea that someone, anyone, was out there waiting.

She couldn't help chuffing at the irony.

Traces of a familiar scent drew him from the snowscape in fervent pursuit, convinced it was only hope which tempted him. Surely his sister was not here—they had been separated months ago—and yet her scent trailed further south. He almost chose denial.

With nowhere to claim as home, he had nothing to go back to; no herds claimed to his blood, nothing to speak of for wealth in their world's tongue, no wife, no family save for this wayward sister. The chance to reunite was paramount.

As Yataghan entered the woods and began to wind his way through buried paths of snow, he thought he saw the familiar shape of—Pala? Sister—!

Upon rounding upon this figure he came around to see their face, and was struck by the ugly bare skin of her wound. The shock of her appearance made any sound catch in his throat.

She did not catch his scent, it was the call that made her heart drop.

Yataghan.

After they had been seperated for so long, after she returned home and he was missing there too, Pala had thought he was dead.

Her head whipped to catch sight of him, but he rounded to her front first. Her eye was wide, tears gathering in each and prickling painfully at her swollen socket. She hadn't cried since they were pups, but the mix of relief, embarassment, and anger made it unavoidable. ..Brother.

The world they hailed from was one of isolation, hard work, and mindfulness. A place where the mountain was unforgiving—but the bounty great, if one knew how to work the land. To have found her so far from such a place, and without any sign of a herd to tend or a man to mind, flew in the face of Yataghan's traditional values. To find her at all was a blessing of course! To be near his blood, a boon. Yet he looked now upon his sister, incredulous, and suddenly full of rage—as much for her state of body as for her solitude, and for himself, as he had not been there to protect her.

What—how? Your face! He rounded her again, staring at her. The juxtaposition of her fine, familiar features and the bald scar across the opposite side was jarring, and infuriating; he looked around as if the culprit would be there with them. Who did this? I will hunt them down, skin them! He imagined it would be like tracking down an elderly goat upon the range. It would be as satisfying to take that hide, similarly to how a man retrieves their first ram horns.

I cannot believe it is you. He does not crumble before her, but Yataghan looks as close to emotive as he's ever been.