Sawtooth Spire i do not love the bright sword for its sharpness

hoping for a wild @Astraeus but absolutely no obligation! set for sometime before her trip to search for thade. ♥

the morning sky is clear, painted with the strokes of a master in brilliant colors of orange, red, pink and blues of sunrise. the view of the sun cresting the horizon in the distance from her watching spot from an outcropping of rock on the spire, a short climb up from the heart of their claim is breathtaking. praimfaya can appreciate the beauty of life and the uncertainty of the future even though she wishes she had a better grasp upon it. she is confident though, her wounds healed and the spirits of the commanders a miasma of energy within her, as if her near-death experience breathed new life into their guidance. or perhaps it was only now that she was listening.

she shifts her weight, forming a sphinx-like position upon the cool rock. her back to the towering spire still brings with it a sense of discomfort; a fear ingrained in her after watching her mother's gruesome death. she does her best to stare it face to face as she admires the view, knowing that soon she will have to rise to patrol.

so sorry for the late reply guhhh ;-;

Real adventurists did not sit and politely hum too outdated elevator tunes for a noteworthy tale to come and heed them; they steel themselves to traverse unknowns and seize it. No matter how elusive, or intangible. Astraeus resolved rather then sleeping all day while his stomach rumbled, he would scavenge for something plump and preferably already dead. Instead, he found a mountain beast eyeing the sunrise as if it were prey. The prince of the stars could not let this hellhound lick the flames of the star that blanketed the horizon with life and vigor. He pounces — !

praimfaya does not expect to be pounced upon. at first, all of her instincts kick in and she pushes herself to her paws, hackles bristled and upper lip curled back from her teeth as she spins to face the guilty. frostbound gaze touch upon the boy and for a second she blinks, owlishly, confused; mistaking him for thade. but no. he couldn't be. he smelled too much like sagtannet and thade, even if by some miracle he had returned, would smell too much like the outside world. her hackles smooth back down to along her spine, surveying the boy as her posture shifts to one that is more relaxed: for he is still a kid. what's your name, goufa? she asks him, and then offers a, that was a good pounce.

Goufa. Did the sphinx call him a goofy? the woman then jumped to complimenting his pounce, which overshadowed the imp's distrustfulness. "wuggghhh ... ass ... tree .. us. astraeus! " he blinked with fervor as his handle rumbled off his amateur tongue. The young one's dilemma was being so unsocial with his peers and superiors, resulting in a slower learning rate when it came to his language and perusal of basic body cues. Though aware of Mahler and Wylla's social status in their box full o' knives, Astraeus was his own boss. Therefore, for good measure the star prince decreed: "in charge! ... what your name? what is goufa?"

The pup cooed as in slinked around the seasoned warrior, accounting for her pine-like and mountain rugged scent. She must have resided with the other throng of wolves in the spires, he'd seen some before but reserved most of his hours alone, except when fare was involved, he needed to eat plenty after all. He was a growing ruler. Without taking note of the woman's availability, Astraeus kneaded his paws on her side, head cocked, perplexed. The pulsing, bunched batch of muscles stretched and wrought over the years of fighting were a new feeling. He still had a soft face and stature! Dreamily, Astraeus wanted to find some too — though he didn't know how to worked.

"are you strong? you look biiiggg!" onslaught and onslaughts of curious. young inquires...

he sounds out his name for her: astraeus and declares in the few moments that follow that he's in charge. mmm, praimfaya rumbles. i see. with a grim nod, playing along with what she assumes is the child's imagination. praimfaya. my name is praimfaya, she introduces herself to him, tail wagging invitingly against the rock she rests upon. goufa, she repeats, means 'child', in my people's language. at least, it was one of the few ways to say it.

praimfaya is startled when she feels him begin to knead at her side. for the barest of moments, her muscles tense at the unfamiliar sensation only to relax in the following heartbeats. frostbound gaze locks upon him, watching the strange action the goufa makes and wonders if it is something he would've done to his mother. the thought comes to her from some deeply ingrained, severely dormant maternal instinct that sparks to life like a tiny lightbulb on a strand of thousands. not quite lone but far from casting a cozy atmosphere.

i like to think so, praimfaya murmurs in answer to his first question. being strong isn't always about being big, praimfaya tells him matter-of-factly; for she wasn't the biggest nor the baddest ( probably to her dismay ). are you going to be a warrior when you grow up astraeus? she asks him, taking advantage of the perhaps brief lapse in questions.

Lost in translation, lost in language;
the marred yet stoic virago kindly educating the young skarp on her mother tongue. Wedged in the needle-like foyer in his mind did memories surface one by one, like sodden corpses of overboard stowaways in an ocean of sun-filled remembrance!
the chicken-scratch blur film whirred like clockwork ... his pillar, his mater, his nurse, murmuring an open-air serenade not from under the window of her lover — but to the warbling cowbird greedily hugging her teet. It wasn't Praimfaya's language, but it was theirs. A mismatched melody of teary cries, maternal whispers ...

But she had left them, letting their language die out forever unknown in the history texts. 

Summoning himself to present day Praimfaya, Astraeus cocks his head quizzically. Maybe a liddle bid ..., he thought despite what he was told. So when prompted about his chosen trades, Astraeus took it like an order. If it meant being flashy and strong (what a prince should be, of course!) then it was for him. 

The star-imp vigourously nodded his bobble-head far to great for his leggy body. "can i haf dese when i do da warrior?" he skidded downwards of the greater's shoulders, motioning his small peets considerately on the right. Four marks that writ a saga greater than he could understand. 

the boy bobs his head in what praimfaya assumes to be excitement at her question; a yes, as she takes it to mean. of course, there was nothing that said that he had to be a warrior; she only asks because of his apparent interest in her strength. she makes the connection only because she's never wanted to be anything else: a warrior, a commander. they were things found in the very stardust of her bones; wholly apart of her. praimfaya regards him with a soft smile when he asks if he, too, can have kill marks like her's.

it is a future that she has no right to shape for him; a culture that she has no right to impose. her frostbound gaze shifts from him to what she can see of her shoulder before it rests back upon the eager boy once more. though her kill marks are badges of great pride for her, they are also a solemn and grounding reminder of the lives she had to take to become heda.

perhaps, praimfaya replies enigmatically. but they are not easily earned. she warns gravelly, having no intention of telling the truth of how she got them.

maybe they can fade w/ praim just chatting a bit more abt the trade?

The milk-leeching parasite only cocks his head. Astraeus has no recall worthy comprehension of easy or hard yet; so they forewarning slips into one ear and out the other in blind disregard. It's something he will weigh upon in his later moons.
a cheeky,
unwitting,
"ok!"

sure! i'll archive with my post!! <3

praimfaya suspects the boy doesn't fully understand what she said; evidenced by his 'ok!'. a small chuckle that rumbles in her chest but doesn't quite breach her lips. he's cute, she thinks, in the way that all inquisitive children are cute. ok, she echoes and launches into some more details of the trade while making an effort to keep it simple so he might understand. a feat that was more complicated than praimfaya would've initially thought.

Astraeus leans intently into the death-commander's teachings, nodding to every sentence even though the more simple bits and pieces clutch to the back of his mind for later. Eventually he takes his leave to enjoy the rest of the day and perhaps antagonize his of milk-kin.