Noctisardor Bypass i will destroy

tags for reference! ♥

fresh snowfall blankets the earth, though the light sleet casts the world in a the soft grey icefall. the small icicles pelt at him, caught in the towering boughs of evergreens as he makes his way, carefully, just east of the grove. he lets @Sakhmet know in broken common, gesturing in the direction he intended to go and trying to communicate that he'd return soon. as it was, he had no intentions of straying too far from his companion. gleipnir finds it unbeneficial to wander too far away for the simple reasons of losing his way too easily in these strange lands, and being unable to communicate with them. though he remembers some common his grasp on the language he assumes is spoken here is stunted by his unwillingness to learn it as a child.

it would be a while before he had enough to grasp on it to communicate it well enough that others might understand him beyond repetition of their words and single to two or three worded sentences.

but the path he takes, leads him to the outskirts of a territory protected by short, narrow mountains. though the glimmering creek in the distance and snow topped trees of woodland beckons him to explore it further he lingers on the outskirts, reluctant to travel further without sakhmet at his side.

Hours since seeing to Courtfall's then-newest novice, Undómiel charted eastnorth — for why ever not? However sunknived, however Andraste or Aurëwen, she was frostborn, and so had much resolve in that she would return to her realm as due a time as any. A fluting, then, to her dwellers, of where she be and when she would be back again; then, she had departed; putting the willowy reachings to such familiar use. Strider, once more;
eventually, eventually, the fée flits now within the yawning arms of stout mountains; passes beneath an eidolic fissure within the rooted stone of the earth. A wonderland, this — and one that the may queen wends through the snows that have yet to gobble up to her elbows. High-stepping, all the same; and for now unknowing the great and lumbersome other in her studious enchantment of this revelation of new vale.

the sound of featherlight footfalls draws gleipnir from his reverie; though he does not turn glacial gaze from the rising stone and ice tipped archway; a gate straight from the tales of the frosthome. wrongfully, he assumes the footfalls belong to his ruddied companion and upon this assumption he nearly croons sakh..., beckoning her to his side. he wants to point out about this place, how it reminds him ( something ) of his homeland. though, how he intended to communicate that in broken common was not something he'd thought to plan so far ahead.

yet, when she does not join him he turns to find that the featherfleet steps do not belong to sakhmet. instead, a pale and marred woman stands before across the distance from him. instinctively, the berserker bristles, despite the physical warning being entirely unwarranted. where is sakhmet? he yearns to demand of her; as if she has stolen the young woman from him instead of him choosing to temporarily part with her on his own to poke around. still, he had expected her to be not too far behind him; maybe she was on her way of following his tracks — he didn't, couldn't know. if she wasn't he would retrace his steps back to where he'd left her like the ever obedient wardog he was.

not sakh. he rumbles, though not issued as an apology and not truly meant as one he offers it more as an explanation. what the pale sylph chose to do with it was up to her.

Yet she was beckoned, if not by the first rumble of her name then perhpas the second. Her paws step into the large prints he has left in his wake, the snow and muck distrubed by his large presence along the paths. It is almost a game to trail after him in such a meticulous way. For a moment in time she felt like the child she was. Not burdened by things abandoned in her days long ago. There is only hope and excitement that she might find him at the end of this. Pride that she could do this so well.

Except she is not greeted by just her glacial beast. There was a heaven struck figure close enough for her to paint the woman out against the earth. Marred even more than her wardog. It threatens to push her heart against her breastbone, amplify the pounding of her heart. Stop. She is not sure who the order that slipped from her is for. To stop him from going towards the strange woman or to stop the strange woman from closing in on them.

Regardless she draws close to Gleipnir's side, lingering close enough to be touched should he need usher her off.

Not Sakh—
and whether such is kith or some manner of material that this male seems to be rooting about for, the fée does not know. At the present, she remains where she currently rests; and even when the ruddy she-strider commands of her  (both?)  of something-or-other as to stopping. Younger than, it seems, the two ivorykept souls and yet the sticken only studies the sharp and contrasted pair with nothing short of muted curiosity;
yet without her crowning within the gemvale, she herself is all but another mere wanderer, and it is not anything laborious to meander back into such a role; one that might always remain half-shrugged upon thin shoulders. For now, all she may offer is a reticent dip of shorn brow and a murmuring of:

"Andraste."
Not a Sakh, at all.

glacial gaze lifts from not sakh only when the sound of snow crunching under foot grows louder with the soft footfalls that give way to the materialization of sakhmet herself. stop; she commands though for who it is meant — for both, he thinks — is unclear. it does not matter, gleipnir thinks. he heeds sahkmet's command and his gaze cuts to the marred fey before them expecting her to do the same.

andraste, she offers.

a name? or another one of their words? it is unfamiliar and given the context in which it is spoken to them — for sakhmet has slid to her rightful place at the berserker's side — he leans towards it being a name. but like sakhmet it is long and sounds like it would be too complicated for him to currently attempt to parrot; thus, the berserker grows ever quiet only speaking up to offer his introduction, gleipnir. and with a gesture of his muzzle in her direction: sakh.

They both seemed to heed her order, filled her with confidence that she could control this situation. A steady hand over the both of their wills. She listened to the trio of names passed around. Or well, she assumed trio. The woman's uttered word appeared to be a name.

An..Andraste? She tested it slowly, wondering if Gleipnir might attempt to test the name too with her slow rendition of it. It was difficult even for her! Where are you from?

Gleipnir; Sakh. Guard; girl;
the silver rests eyes upon the duet of them; and only gives a mere nod of affirmation as the burnished youngster sounds the name out upon her own tongue  —  and tilts marred crown, then, at the enquiry of where-ever she herself hails from. There must be no harm in this, the telling, no?—  "Courtfall. My lands within ze Sunspires, far and away from whence I came."  The pair seem stout enough to brave the winters, and, yet ... no, no. Not yet; not when the trio has not truly gleaned anything of the other, at present.

Tucking such invitations away, she again looks upon each; and though she wishes not to assume what settlement they might have parted from as of late, or which terrain they might be headed, it is all Andraste can do in asking the same of themselves:  "How has ze cold been to your travels? I ... it has been very long since I have been to ze Taiga."

glacial gaze flickers from the pale sylph before them to sakhmet as she struggles with the presumed name given to them. a frown tugs the corners of the berserker's lips down and his gaze moves from his ruddied companion to the moon woman. if sakhmet struggles to pronounce the moontouched's name then gleipnir sure as hel would rise to collect the dead, wasn't going to attempt it. then comes the question that everyone is always to curious to know: where the other comes from.

prior to meeting sakhmet, gleipnir cannot claim that he ever cared to know where anyone else hailed from. they were either 'friend' or enemy ...where origin plays no part of that decision. so many packs his milkmother had sent him to raze to the ground, to soak the earth with spilled blood, sometimes to take captives. he hadn't thought about those wolves as wolves. they were another target, another bounty. obstacles that got in his way or wolves who crossed the jarl. even now ...the chained cannot feel remorse. it was simply their way.

now, however, he finds a muted curiosity of the wolves that make up these wilds. or, perhaps, it is just sakhmet that piques his curiosity ...her and her god, peryite.

she speaks in an accent — were heavy accents common in these wilds? — that leaves the chained struggling to understand her. courtfall, sunspire — far away, something, came. an ear swivels back as he ponders what in hel's name was a 'court fall' and a 'sun spire'? why did their words have to be so complicated, gleipnir ponders with a low huff. he tries to temper the worst of his frustration but he feels it tensing the muscles of his shoulders all the same.

why couldn't they just speak 'northern' as he did? wouldn't that be so much simpler? why must he be forced to learn their language when he doubts their willingness to learn his?

gleipnir looks to sakhmet then, hoping that at least one of them understands this andraste. a lot of common is still lost to him, the wires of translation not yet connecting in his brain. but he knows 'cold' and coupled with her tone makes it sound like a question; gleipnir isn't entirely sure what was asked but he is smart and can piece it together well enough. not cold ...fo— for me. he attempts to piece together a response, not knowing any other way to communicate that the cold doesn't bother him. he was born of ice and snow and stone. this is nothing to him.

A land within ze Sunspires was Courtfall. She knew not that that was the name of the mountain range she had meandered through too many times already. So she perhaps she was as clueless as to where that might be as her wardog was. Although he responded to her question in a way that drew a smile from the ruddy girl. She wondered just how cold it may have been where he had come from.

There was the thought that perhaps without his presence in the coldest of hours she might freeze out here. The thought drew forth her heart, a wild fluttering beat in her chest. To freeze is to become Sobek and she could not. She must live on for her twin and for her pale ghost, Anansi.

Travels are good. She tacked on to help ignore the flutter of her heartbeat. The Taiga...what is there? Free lands? Her head tilted as she wondered just how much the woman might share with the rogue-bound trio.

Not cold; it was, finally, something that could be remotely agreed upon ... as far as the two northborn were concerned. She wondered, then, at the ruddy snowsprite that kept so devotedly to Glepinir's flank; but, before she herself could give some insight on how to keep one's warmth, a question was proffered to the alquë  —  one which she ruminated over with a press of thin, tissuey lips. Then:
"Free, yes, as far as my paltry mem'ry is able to recall. There is ze ... maplewood, of course, should you wish for a treat,"  humming, pale and pensive,  "and a great glacier, should you wish a place to winter. Though, I have only been to ze maplewood once, and have only seen ze glacier from afar; there is much to be known, in both."  And, speaking of ...
argent eyes fell, now, to the younger of the two; a tilt of consideration to her marred head:  "If it is warmth you also seek, I suggest you skin a hare, gnaw away what gristle there be, and wear it upon your shoulders."  How off had she seen Kukutux in such drapery?  "It will not be an entire warming, but ..."  There must be some use to it, at least.

[ooc][ooc/I hope you don't mind my joining?, didn't think it'd hurt!\ooc]

Nyra wasn't too far off, though the weather potentially masked her scent from the distance she was at. 
Steadily, the vague figures of three other wolves could be seen. 
"Who goes there?" The moon-cast woman called out as she drew closer to them. 
One scent, familar. 
Two others foreign.
Nyra turned her gaze to the wolf whose scent must've been that of... 
"Andraste, a pleasure to greet you again." Nyra dipped her head some to the stricken one before turning her head with a curious gaze of fire-gold to Gleipnr and Sakhmet. 
These two didn't have the scent of Easthollow on them. 
Then again, Easthollow's borders were a ways off by now. [/ooc]
"To who do I owe the pleasure?" The mammoth she-wolf inquired, looking from the male to his presumed companion, who stayed clsoe at his flank.