Frostfire Ridge i mean create again this place

tags for reference ♥

as the early morning sun crests the horizon, illuminating the ice in illusionary fire, gleipnir rises from @Sakhmet's side, communicating with her in his rough and broken common that he will not be far before departing her side. he trusts that the evergreens, stone and ice and snows will keep her hidden while she slumbers, veiling her from the eyes of the unwanted and that when she does rise if she does not immediately join him that her wit will keep her safe.

it is the search of game that drives him to the evergreens and thriving forest of frostfire ridge, trudging thru deep snows and along patches of icy stone, the light snowfall adding to what is already recent. snowflakes catch in his whiskers, in his lashes, melting where they fall upon his nose and catching in the wispier parts of his guard hairs. and yet, though it lacks the salty tang of saltwater this area — the glacier and the ridge — speaks to the harshest parts of his soul, reaching out with merciless hands and claiming him. of the few places he and sakhmet have travelled this area appeals to him the most. though he is not sure if it is a good thing considering how devoid of packlife it is.

the game, however, is good. without other wolves to hunt it thrives here; untouched. he follows a mountain goat trail, tell-tale by the scent and the unique hoofprints it leaves thru the winding forest, relying on scent when the snows thin to bracken covered earth littered with dried pine needles.

Tuya had began to travel just a bit southward after meeting Kiwi. Her one purpose for the time being would be to find recruits for the forming claim she had just joined as well as help the leader secure the borders of the new territory at Nova Peak. Now, Enkhtuya had only been trained as a warrior primarily- due to this, she doubted her own recruitment skills. She feared that she did not have the social ability necessary to convince wolves to follow Kiwi- especially, if Kiwi was not with her. 

She trudged along the Ridge, searching for some forms of life. "ээж минь, намайг олоход нь туслаач..." She utters to herself as silvery eyes curtained by frost scan the landscape. It is then, that a figure up ahead catches her eyes- looming and white and scarred and if she had not been in the Wilds, she would of thought him one of her own kin from back in Tokhura'ut. Of course she knew better, but still, eyes watch him with interest as he follows some path that she cannot see from here- likely a scent trail. For now she does not announce herself, but only watches him in curiosity, wondering if he would come to notice her too. 

i'm so sorry for the wait on this. ;-;

gleipnir ponders the plausibility of being able to take down a mountain goat on his own. he thinks he should be able to do it, not yet suffering from the famine that plagues these wilds; has not been here long enough for it to yet gnaw at him and whittle him down. a small pile of feces is found — narrowly, the berserker avoids stepping in it. it is fresh, still warm; he is close. excitement and anticipation at the thrill of the hunt resounds thru him like the vibration of a church bell. he would take it down and bring it back to sakhmet and together they would dine upon it. to allow her to eat like a queen ( at least a queen of a small kingdom ), to impress her; both.

the sound of footfalls approaching to somewhere of the left of him cause ears to swivel, shoulders to tense and body to haunch down, guard hairs bristling as he processes the steps as wolven and the scent as unfamiliar. upper lip curls back from his teeth, exposing the pearly gleam of ivory fang; head whipping around as his hunt is interrupted. instantly, thoughts flee like birds in flight to sakhmet and ponder her safety.

but the stranger is here ...providing she is alone and hasn't been stalking him and the valkyrie of whom he is wardog. without her presence to reassure him that not everything needs to be hostile and untethered aggression gleipnir's head whips in the pale stranger's direction, glacial eyes locking upon her.

hver ertu? he asks sharply. hver ertu! he repeats more demanding than the last; forgetting to use the few common sentences sakhmet has managed to enforce in his vernacular as they exchange native tongues.