Nova Peak keep the rage tender

Most of Drageda is on high alert, preparing for the upcoming departure. Thuringwethil doesn’t have the crew to bring along with her as she’d liked. Eske has chosen to stay back and protect their claim in their absence and Hux has long since left for Trigeda before the worst of winter hits them. Étoille is already on the battlefield, so to speak, and she’s left with a small handful of wolves that aren’t her children to go. The promise she’d try to make with Wildfire restricts though it is tempting to do as she should. It’s their fight, too. And it makes sense without her mate telling her otherwise.

A restless ache pulls Thuringwethil from the borders this day, leading northeast around the tangle and by nightfall she finds the base of Nova Peak. It has been a long time since she’s been this way but the need for distraction before their next big trip has been weighing heavily on her mind. If she is to do what she needs, she has to find some way to sort and the quietness of the past commanders is disturbing. In an attempt to make up for her time devoted to the past, she makes her way up the incline of the mountain, sorting her way through snow and hidden debris.

Nothing is familiar anymore as it has gone through an entire year of changes since her last visit but it is peaceful. Clouds block most of the sky and before long it is snowing a light flurry, barely dusting the ground. A sound disrupts to her left and she snaps her attention over her shoulder but the darkness offers no help and she does not notice the coyote on the opposite side of her attention.

The day had only just begun when his journey was continued, the yearling having turned from a mound in the snow to a burly wolf. He’d lost track of the time passed since his departure from the summit, knowing only that he’d yet to find any traces of his sister. Even after returning to the last place he’d seen her, too much time had gone by, her scent barely there; it had cut in and out, leaving him unable to pinpoint an exact location of departure. He’d decided that he was only wasting time by remaining there, possibly allowing for an even greater amount of space to grow between his wayward sibling and himself, and so the area was abandoned. Continuing through the snow, determination fueled his weary limbs and eventually carried him right back into the same lands he’d left so many months ago.

Guided by nothing but a gut feeling, the boy’s ascent of the mountain began just as the world began to enter darkness. Oftentimes he stopped, sniffing the air and earth—anything, really—in search of something that resembled his sister, only to come up empty every time. Unfazed by the lack of findings, he trudged through the snow without any further halts. When he stopped again, it was due to the presence of a coyote, its scent having been growing stronger with each step he took. Huffing, he silently prepared himself for the encounter, hoping that they’d do nothing more than pass one another by; he did not fear the lesser canines, viewing them as more of a nuisance than a threat. Yet, as he continued, something else stood out: a wolf. The scent, previously masked by the coyote’s odour, was vaguely familiar, but not enough for him to get excited or really even acknowledge the familiarity. With newly cautious steps, Hvitserk crept closer, rounding a disturbance in the path and seeing at last what he’d been smelling.

Against the blanket of snow stood a darkened mass, the way it interrupted the white noticeable even under the gloom of the night. From afar, he couldn’t recognise the other, nor did he make any attempt at getting a closer look, instead scanning the area for a smaller creature. Pointing his nose up into the oncoming breeze, he found the odour to be waning. Deciding that the presence of two wolves must have frightened the creature, he lowered his muzzle back to its original place and began moving again, letting out a low wuff as he ventured nearer to the dark mass. Lacking the intention of going around the other, he figured he would at least let his presence be known, giving her the option to do what he would not.

Nothing else happens where the sound comes from. The tree don’t offer much sight through as they grow thicker. Thuringwethil doesn’t linger longer than a few seconds, anyway, turning back to see the tail end of a coyote disappearing through the foliage. Her brows knit together, wondering how long it had been there or if it had just attempted to pass through. She’d been too distracted—something she is not usually prone to doing—to really notice the approach. The sound from a moment ago had most of her attention but she shakes it all loose and does not pursue the now-absent canine.

With the wind still against her favor, she only turns when she hears the chuff from behind her, head turning around—this time slower—to see the wolf in the distance. Most of him stands out against the snowy backdrop but she can appreciate his size, though lacking in the loner-before-winter fashion. She wonders, briefly, if he is part of Larksong, though she can’t remember the last time she’d seen one and it has been some time she has often pondered if they are there at all. She chooses against engaging, standing stoic though her gaze remains hardened on the stranger.

In spite of his silent offer, the wolf stayed where she was, moving neither forward nor away. He half expected her to say something—most did when approached—but was greeted by silence. Inwardly shrugging it off, he continued towards her, intending to glide right on by without interruption. Except, as he got nearer, he was overcome by a sense of déjà vu. Confused, he tried to push the feeling away, only for it to intensify instead and essentially take over. Slowing to a stop, his brows scrunched up whilst he looked over the wolf, not finding anything that really stood out to him. Taking several more steps forward, his eyes trained on the woman, he found himself once again stopping as something did stand out: a mask.

“Heda?” he croaked out, voice hoarse from months of scarce usage. Had he found his way back to them somehow? It seemed unlikely, but the similarities between the woman and his past leader made him consider the possibility. He had been traveling for a long time now, so it wasn’t totally unbelievable that he’d ended up back in the Wilds but… if he was there, then that meant that he must have been searching in the wrong direction all along.

As the other continues the approach with no viable invite, Thuringwethil does not take her eyes off him. The pattern and coat color don’t stand out to her anymore than another but his features begin to focus and come to light. At first, a name is fleeting, and she assumes it has been a long time but he has a youthfulness that makes her wonder. But as he slows to a stop, close enough to better view him, she’s certain there is something about him. She doesn’t speak up for if she recognizes someone, then they would recognize her—she is not one to forget—and when he speaks her title, he confirms it.

His voice is hoarse and offers no more familiarity, it’s hard to deny it is one of Gyda’s children. It has been been a full sweep of a year since she has seen him and he isn’t even one she’s allowed her thoughts to visit. Usually the disappointment of Freyja comes around but the quiet boy was often overlooked.

”Sha,” she answers a beat later without giving up recognition.

What to expect, he wasn’t sure, whether it be anger or joy. When he’d left, he hadn’t shared any goodbyes, he’d simply disappeared after Freyja; out of them all, she had been the one to always be there for him. He’d grown so attached, so dependent, back then that the option of not following her had never crossed his mind. Controlled by impulse, he’d abandoned the only home that he had ever known—he began to expect anger. Yet, there seemed to be an unforeseeable third option: being unrecognised. At least, he assumed that to be the case when all that came out of her mouth was a single-worded response.

“I—” his voice died with a sharp crack, unaccustomed to being used. Closing his mouth, he cleared his throat, trying to get his vocal cords working again. “Ai moba,” was the first thing to leave his mouth thereafter, quiet but audible. Both for leaving and returning, though he made no verbal clarification that those were his reasons. It was all he could think to say, fully unprepared for the encounter and, deep down, fearing the outcome.

He makes a sound that doesn’t resemble anything in particular but cuts himself off. Thuringwethil stares and watches him clear his throat to try again. For a while, she thought they’d gone the wrong direction or misunderstood the howl. She hadn’t gone looking for those that didn’t come along when she’d have every intention to. But they were smart children, even if they’re young. Her own are smart as they near a similar age since she’d last seen Hvitserk.

Part of her, deep where Heda is rooted, wishes to lash out and take his life from him. When he’d abandoned Drageda in their time of need and revival, he hadn’t been there. The unknown, despite lengthy time between their last encounter, keeps her rooted in her spot. Perhaps the commanders are telling her something, forcing her out into the cold and unknown to run into a ghost from Sleeping Dragon.

”Gon chit,” she says, more of a command for an answer than a simple question though her voice doesn’t raise anymore than her calm, collected nature.

Cameo. Feel free to notice.

There was a disquieted edge to the great bird's flight pattern as it soared through the clouds. Dark eyes scanned the barren earth below, and eventually, spotted an equally dark figure that seemed to capture its attention. There was nowhere to land - no trees to hide in - so the bird simply circled above its quarry, winging down as low as it dared to better hear the conversation.

Shifting his weight, he peered down towards the earth underfoot, waiting for something. He didn’t have the energy to fight in any sense of the word, travel-worn and exhausted by the reminder of the past. He didn’t want to look at her anymore, scared of what he might see—or wouldn’t see, actually. Yet, when she spoke, he couldn’t help but drag his gaze back up towards her own. For a brief second, he even looked into her eyes, before casting his stare down to her muzzle. “Gon ste bants op…” he answered, trailing off at the end. “Gon ste kom daun op…” For choosing one wolf over the pack, really, though he couldn’t find it within his heart to regret wanting to be with his sister.

Again, he stole a glance at her eyes, only this time his eyes returned to the ground immediately after, rather than staying on her. The bird that circled overhead went by not unnoticed—the sound of its wings forbid that—but unacknowledged.

It is weird to see a wolf so large uncertain of himself. Even those that submit to her hold themselves better. He apologizes though. For leaving, he says, for returning. She is still his Heda, even in his mistakes.

Thuringwethil lifts her nose a little, straightens her shoulders, and curves her tail upward. She’s gotten used to slipping into a neutral stance, even close to her home, but they have war on the horizon. Straighten up, is at the forefront of her mind and she’s not so sure it’s her own thought. One ear flicks back at the sound overhead but she pays no mind to it.

”Nao chit?” she asks, and takes a step closer. ”Houm?”

“Nao chit?”

Faintly, his shoulders rose and then dipped back down. Used to following the cues of others—until recently, he’d always had some sort of leading figure in his life—he couldn’t provide an answer to her question. In part, it was also due to his uncertainty of the entire encounter. Should he ask about going with her, or continue his search for Freyja? His immediate answer was to search for his sister, so used to being with her and not knowing what exactly to do without her. Yet, when he took the time to actually think about it, wouldn’t it be better to stay? Freyja has Seff now, she doesn't need her brother hanging around constantly. So, despite how desperately he wanted to, he soon realised that he couldn’t continue his search for her. He couldn't keep following her around like a lost puppy; it wouldn’t be good for either of them.

As she took a step, Hvitserk looked back up, surprised by her suggestion. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Closing it, he settled for giving a slow nod.

The fur around her nape bristles when his mouth opens, staring hard at him even though he doesn’t look up for long. She searches what she can of his expression for something but the chants in the back of her mind are loud and clear. She once trusted him, as she would anyone else in Drageda, but his absence has driven a wedge. Like Arrille, he’ll have to work harder than the rest as she stripes him of any birth right. He left it behind on Sleeping Dragon and he has no blood in Sangeda, unlike his younger siblings.

His nod of acceptance doesn’t grant him easy access to what they’ve built on the coast. Thuringwethil gives in to the flame in her belly, the urge in her mind, and lashes out for his snout. She uses enough force to hold him still and angle his head down. There’s no growl of warning either as she offers a little bit of a squeeze without piercing any tender flesh, eventually letting go when she feels she’s made her point. Next time, your head.

As silence draws between them for a few seconds, her need for Nova Peak no longer matters. She pivots around him, making a sound of contempt and a swish of her nose for invite, and leads the way back home.

The sudden strike pulls a sharp yelp of surprise from his throat. He pulled his ears back, laying them flat against his head, but made no move to resist her. Even after being released, he kept his head down, tail slack between his thighs. Resisting the urge to look back up, he waited, silent and still, until she made a sound. Whilst his head stayed low, his eyes turned upwards just in time to catch her invitation. For the first few steps taken, he made no move to follow, hesitating. Eventually pushing through it, he started trailing after her just the same as when he was younger, albeit with a noticeable amount of distance between them this time.