Ankyra Sound Didn't have a dime but I always had a vision

Since challenging another and winning, Aningan strutted around the territory with a newly discovered air of confidence. As a child, he’d never had the chance to really explore the various aspects of life, he’d simply been cast into the world to live alone. Sure, his siblings had almost always been present—and he’d developed an attachment to them for the sole fact that they acknowledged his existence—but it hadn’t been entirely fulfilling. That didn’t make him like them any less, however—maybe it was what made him miss them even more. It’d been a long time since he’d last given himself enough of time to think about and wonder what life was like for them but, as he relaxed in the sand, they were all he could think about. So much so, that he could have sworn he could smell them; the scents were vague, a mere trick of the mind, he knew.

 

Heaving a heavy sigh, Aningan plopped onto his side and sunned himself, trying his best to think of something else. Something like… how the waves crashed against the shoreline or how the birds cried overhead—or even how the clouds drifted lazily across the morning sky. Anything would do, he figured, and so he cast his mind into a void of internal stimuli.

Tunerk had come to the same mindset as her very own brother. Curious how now and then the familiar scent would grow stronger, only to wane; she supposed it coincided with how much she thought of Aningan and Sos, only for her mind to drift to her desire to hunt and hunt well. She wanted to get food for Caiaphas, and for others, too—she had heard that there might be easy fare just laying there on the sands that the tide brought in.

That would be nice. She could collect edible things and contribute that way.

As she moved, she thought again about her brothers. The thought of them did bring about that peculiar scent, and she never minded it; it made Rusalka feel all the more like home, in a way, though it did make her yearning to see their faces all the stronger. But she could not stop; she kept them with her this way. Could they hunt? Or did they resort to beachcombing, as she must...?

Her luck was fortuituous this day. For the tide had brought in something quite massive... perhaps the night before, as it seemed dry from this distance. Here, the way the other lay, it looked more bear than wolf—she had heard stories of great white beasts in the North, and her steps hastened. Any other colors were lost in the haze of her still wild imagination; what sort of sign was this?

...What if it was alive? Could it be? She was taught caution, too, as a cub. Her tail waved left and right but stilled as she paused, testing: Nanuq?

As the visions danced behind his eyes and his ears swiveled this way and that to better pick up on the sounds around him, he may have dozed off—just briefly, hardly even a full minute. How could he not? With thoughts so comforting and the sun so bright, anyone might find it difficult to keep their eyes open. Aningan was no exception to this and easily fell victim to the serenity of the place he’d put himself in. But to dwell within the realm of such things made him an easy target, which he realised only after a voice stirred him from his light napping.

 

Nanuq?

 

The boy blinked once as his ears turned back, listening closer. He wanted to confirm that it was just his imagination running a bit too wild, as he’d yet to hear a single other wolf speak the same language as himself. Yet, as he listened, he could hear the gentle push of the wind as her tail wagged, denying him the truth that he wanted; someone actually was there, he hadn’t made it up.

 

In a matter of seconds, Aningan was on his feet and shaking the sand from his coat. Her previous inquiry had gone unacknowledged—he’d recognised the word as belonging to his family but hadn’t actually processed it fully—as he turned to stare at her. Silently, he took a few steps towards her whilst taking in several deep breaths, which caused his brows to scrunch together with confusion. Something was familiar about her scent, though her appearance didn’t quite match anyone that he could recall having already met.

 

Did he know her?

 

His eyes suddenly widened and his tail began to wag, as he asked, “Najak?” It had to be her. Who else could carry the same scent, if not Tunerk? “MitsiKâppuven?” he had to ask, uncertain. She seemed real but… it was so long ago since they’d last seen one another, why would she only suddenly appear now?

Tunerk withdrew swiftly as the bear stirred; it was good that she had asked before sticking her nose along the still-leaving beast who might have retaliated. In seconds, her wild imagination cleared; this was not a bear as she had thought, but a wolf. He, too, in physique and appearance was unfamiliar to her—and so the beginnings of an apology formed on her lips before he spoke and she was effectively silenced.

It took seconds for her to translate, and her ears pricked forward as her expression mirrored his own. Sister. Not in the common tongue, but the tongue that they shared. Had she misheard...? Surely her mind was playing tricks with her this day! Bears, spiritually, what did they represent? What sort of sign was this? His next words seemed almost a trick, and she was still very still as her eyes covered every inch of him.
 
Was this real? She had to wonder. ...Brother?

It would be cruel, if it were not, but still, I am real, she rejoined in their common tongue, speculating—Are you? Or are you a spirit, playing a mean trick? Could spirits lie? They could shapeshift, certainly—but there had to be a way to know for certain! Well, there was, wasn't there? She took a tentative step toward him, daring to let herself hope once again.

She was real—

—or so she claimed.

No longer could he count the days since he’d left the glacier, how long it’d been since he’d last seen either of his siblings. He wanted to believe that his dear little sister truly stood before him but it was no easy feat. Everything told him that it could not possibly be her. Surely he must have fallen asleep, and would soon wake up to see that it had all been a dream. A long, lucid dream—but a dream that he felt compelled to continue.

Though she spoke, he could focus only on her movements. He held his breath as she took a step towards him, waiting for something, but nothing came. Watching her closely, his own legs began to move, gradually lessening the distance between them, until…

Without warning, he reached out to press his muzzle against her cheek as he uttered a soft, “MitsiKâppuk.”

He closed the distance between them, and Tunerk sucked in a breath.

The scene was familiar to her. Mother, brother, aunt, or uncle—it was always somebody. She prepared for the inevitable; the moment when she would blink, and she would open her eyes and rouse from her dream. Always now, too, before she could really feel them. He came closer (don't blink, don't blink, don't blink) and Tunerk, wide-eyed, did not move to prevent this at all. No defenses were set, and she found her neck stretching toward him, too...

She felt him! Now she started some, but did not move away. Her tail picked up its pace, a good dream, don't blink!, but her eyes hurt, and she needed to soon.

Blink.

He was still there. Brother? she dared ask now, unwilling to take a single step away, even to get a better look at him. Her tone held all the hope in the world, now, and was lacking in doubt. She believed. She trusted. Real.

She did not vanish, not from his sight nor his touch. She stayed—she was real.

A whine, the result of mixing his joy and disbelief together, escaped him. Tunerk, his sister, was truly there with him. She was not a ghost nor the encounter a dream—she was really, truly there. He had his sister back at his side.

“Patjalotik,” he choked out, now inching even closer; he wanted to press his face against her neck, to hide within her fur. He still could not believe that she was there, that, somehow, they’d managed to find their ways to one another. “How—How are you here? How did you find this place?” he asked, though the answers didn’t matter. All the mattered was that she was there, and he was there, and they were together again. And as the realisation set in fully, his tail started swinging back and forth and he let out another joyful whine, not wanting to let her go ever again.

It seemed the two of them had the same goal; as he moved nearer, so too did she. She repeated the sentiment to him verbally; she had missed him, too—she had dared never say such things aloud before, a quiet and persistent refusal to admitting that he had ever been gone. That she had ever been gone. The storm had whisked her away, but she knew now she had not been the only one.

Her words were somewhat muffled, interrupted by his thick furs; she refused to step away even still, pressed against him in their familiar familial embrace. There was a storm... I could not find my way home. I found this place, and then when the weather cleared, I asked to return to find everyone... but no one was there, she explained, and her heart was made sore by the memory. The pain was brief as she recalled whose embrace she was in, and if it were at all possible she would shuffle even closer to him. He was here! So I came back here—and... and you are here, too! How did you come to be here? ...What of Sos? And the rest of our family? Tunerk seemed to breathe this all at once, the words rushed and... dare she admit it?... hopeful. She had thought she had abandoned hope, the cruel thing, but she felt it crawling to the fore, and she was powerless to stop it.

She was real.

She was actually real.

Aningan rested his head against her, faced pressed into her scruff; he had missed his dear little sister, one of the few that had ever accepted him. He wanted to remain as close to her as possible, he didn’t want to ever let her go—not again, not when they were together again, in spite of the odds. “I missed you so much,” he said again, voice strained. For so long they had been separated, he hadn’t been able to see her grow or wrestle and explore with her. He hadn’t been able to grow alongside her, not truly.

With finding her, however, came news that he, otherwise, would never have heard of. “They were gone?” he repeated, though with the hint of a question. Where had they gone? Rather… did he actually even want to know? No one had searched for him—no one had even acknowledged him when he was there and present, he’d simply become the son that wasn’t meant to be. Taken away to the north and then distanced from the lot of them, as if he wasn’t one of them—but, perhaps, he wasn’t. Maybe he had never been.

“I haven’t seen Sos,” he answered honestly, focusing back on her. “Or any of them. When I left… even before I left, I had not seen any of them for a long time.” Being away from the others was something that he’d gotten used to, though he did miss his brother. “You’re the only one… the only one I’ve found and met again.” He closed his eyes as he pressed his face further into her fur. “I’m happy to have found you.” And he didn’t want to leave her again. Not ever.

Aningan stayed like that, there with her, for as long as time allowed. And when it came time to part ways, to complete the tasks that each must do there on the coast, he was loath to leave her. It was with reluctance that he finally did part ways, leaving with her the promise that they would be together again come the next morning.