Big Salmon Lake open up your skull, i'll be there

Weeks of doing nothing had rotted him. He could feel the fat, the metaphorical gangrene, the atrophy. 
One day, it all got to be too much. One day, he decided that he was going to find his sister, track her down, and have her throat between his teeth. She had destroyed him. This was karma. This was an eye for an eye. Before he starts out on his journey, he walks to a remote part of the forest to a particularly reddish tree next to a lake. Closing his eyes, he could imagine it was Tzila.
Ruining my life and then leaving, huh. His voice is soft and unsteady. Then he screams. RUINING MY LIFE AND THEN FUCKING LEAVING? He sees himself punching that wall, over and over again, then he sees himself punching her, her face caving in like plaster. 
After a long time, when he's done, he slides down against that wretched reddish tree. He's tired, and he's shaking, and he thinks he might have another migraine coming on. In the reflection of the pond, he looks like shit. The goddamn scars, he thinks. I'll never get used to them. But he will.
And he does.
During nights like these, when he can't sleep, he always finds himself composing letters to her. Filled with hate, filled with love, filled with anthrax. Dear Tzila, he always starts off with that. Every time I take down a hare or a fox I imagine it's you, and then for a few seconds it's like I can live with myself again. I love you. I'll be there soon. Urias.

praimfaya is struck with a wave of nostalgia as she makes her way to big salmon lake. once upon a time, while she waited for the return of the herds, it had been her haunt as much as roangeda. now, it is filled with memories of a little girl trying to be a commander and struggling as child leaders do. the fall of roangeda was inevitable; it'd only been a matter of time and if it hadn't fallen someone would've usurped her, as how history did with almost all child leaders. she sees this now, though whether it is because she is older or because of the wisdom of the spirits of the commanders she can't exactly be sure.

it is the screams, the course language used, that breaks the commander out of her thoughts and pulls taunt her muscles. ears taper back, tail swaying with caution and apprehension as she comes to terms that the owner of the screamed words is close. in fact, her frostbound gaze finds him easily enough, slumping against a tree.

part of her urges her to keep going; the warrior. do not stop for strangers, it warns her. she hears it ...but the diplomat, the compassionate side of her tells her to pause, to check in with him. he could be the wolfeater ...but so could anyone she meets outside of moonspear's borders. it wasn't as if she would know just by looking at them.

praimfaya does not approach but she looses a chuff to grab his attention and then asks, are ...you ok?

Before a migraine, there is usually an aura.
As the pale woman approaches, he blinks feverishly, but the aura refuses to leave him, clings stubbornly onto his vision like a cockroach in a nuclear blast, just a black cigarette burn blur. 
She asks, are you ok, and Urias would've laughed, he would've stood up and bared all his teeth and really laughed, but a wave of vertigo rolls over him and under him and all around him. He closes his eyes until he's back on the ground again.
He scrubs his hands through his hair, composes himself, scoops the anger into a plastic bag and chucks it into an incinerator. He pinches the bridge of his nose like air is leaking from it. I'm lost. From 100 to 0, just like that. Only his hair, all askew, suggested that he had been through any distress.
Even in the face of a psychosomatic explosion in his head, he strives for politeness first.

i'm lost.

lost; she repeats the word in her mind as her frostbound gaze assess him, tries to determine his condition just from appearance alone though she is no medic. she is weary; naturally. there are wolfeaters lurking about, after all and she is not so arrogant as to assume that she is entirely safe. nevertheless, his admittance strikes her as genuine and though the tension in the junction of her shoulders — instinctual — does not lessen, concern softens the corners of her lips all the same.

i could help you. the commander offers her hand as if it were an olive branch. sometimes it was ...and sometimes it was a sword. i know my way around this wilderness well. the words are genuine as they leave her lips. she has spent much time combing the wilderness for recruits, for herds during her roangeda's regime. if he seeks a place she could find it.

Olive branch or sword, it didn't make much difference to Urias. He looks at her offer like someone who has tried to grab a sword in the past but had done so from the wrong side.
I'm sorry, I'm not looking for a place exactly, he explains, infinitely patient. The aura persists and he's mostly glad that the migraine hadn't hit yet. Her face shimmers and smears. I'm looking for a job.
He laces and unlaces his fingers together, combs back his hair, looks to the white woman expectantly. She seemed immensely competent; someone, who in any other context, he would've regarded as a threat. But as wary of the aura as he was, he finds that keeping background thoughts to a minimum helped magnitudes in ignoring the agony in his head. See, he'd rather it hit him like a punch than a ten-ton truck.

the stranger corrects her, clarifying that it is not a place he seeks but a job. praimfaya considers this for a moment, frostbound gaze studious as it touches upon him closer than the quick assessment initially given. not a place but a job. thus, the commander knows he does not seek a territory and assumes in that line of thought that it is not a pack he seeks either. a job. she considers the phrasing again, wondering if he is some kind of baunhonta — a bounty hunter. or perhaps he is a mercenary and would rather pledge his skills and avoid the messy complications of pack life.

what kind of job do you seek? the commander inquires with unbidden curiosity, figuring it is better to inquire than leave herself to her assumptions.

ah jeez sorry for the delay
also trying out lowercase and its really streamlining the process lol

a job interview— he'd aced that masterclass. he smiles through the disorienting blur. it's growing tendrils now. he'd never had the same aura twice in his life.
i'm good with anything, he starts off, hunting, fighting, a little bit of everything. not so good with people, but other than that... he holds his hands up, grins guiltily as if to say, hey, it's not my fault i don't mesh well.
rubbing his chin, he asks, d'you happen to know a place? or do you manage some yourself? whoever has a hold of the pressure valve in his head kicks it up a turn or two. he's already thinking a few steps ahead of himself. once he'd settled down, once he'd got that picket fence down, the next thing on his list would be finding tzila. and after that— well, he loved working. he'd come out of the womb with a wallet full of permits and business cards. maybe this woman even knew his sister. wouldn't that be funny.