Raven's Watch Dangling feet from window frame

Tagging: @Antha @Frost @Valmúaa @Eleuthera @Kigipigak @D'Artagnan @Rökkvii @Synin @Meadow

This might be my only post in this thread, but I'll wait to see if anyone responds before deciding that!

Dawn birthed a cold ray of light upon the spire of the Watch. It was there that the two brothers sat, watching the clouds roll in with the first whispers of Skaði's cold, frozen breath. There was a melody most ominous threaded into the notes of the wind as it howled across their mountain, whipping through fur both gold and black.

It was a melody he knew well, one that thrummed deep in his bones, calling to his heart in a way that only their hringja could. In some ways, the Northerner had expected this, having felt the waning of whatever had drawn them here in the first place. The weeks that had passed had sung him a different song than the song that had stationed the brother's here upon this peak and so, in some ways, this ominous tune was one that was welcomed.

And yet, a grimace twisted its way across his face as he looked to his brother. There were wolves that followed them, that relied on them for... for what? Strength. Guidance. Care. Some of them were weak; such wolves would remain, he was sure, though some would attempt to follow. Would they make it? Perhaps. No matter their choice, the pair would inform them all the same. Two voices rose above the wind and the snow, ahead of the coming freeze as he and @Solpallur called to the wolves of the Watch, to the ones who would decide then if they would stay or follow.

The Call beckons. We leave to answer before night falls, before the snows grow deep. Stay or follow. The choice is yours.

They would wait then, wait for their brother and sister to join them, wait for the valkyrja and the young vikingr, and wait to see who would remain here in the Wilds. He felt the weight of his feathered friend settle on his shoulder moments later, crooning a low note as he accepted the comraderie of the pale raven. The first joined them, it seemed.

Stay or follow. The choice is yours. The twin voices rang out across the range.

Kigipigak sat up to listen. His expression was a mixture of gravid concern and no small amount of confusion; he did not immediately know what to do. The wolf had been doing his best to patrol, drive out unwanted wolves, and keep himself in the good graces of Stjornuati after their falling out — and now there was a choice to be made.

All he could do was frown up at the sky. The bands of thick clouds fraying at the edges. Snow was falling in some spots further away—some particles of ice had begun over his own head, lost across his pale coat. The ravens were silent—although Kigipigak turned when he saw a pale shape moving up the mountain, and in a blink D'Art had vanished among the shadows of the wood.

Kigipigak lifted his chin and answered, I choose to stay. And as his response faded against the whispering of the wind between the pine branches, he added another message: I will be here if you return.

Though they had released her from her chains to the Watch, the fire sister knew that something was up. She didn't know how. She didn't know why. She had never believed that the fullness of the moon had anything to do with things, but the starlight spoke wonders. The language of the sky was not something she understood. Solpallur had long kept himself at bay with the study, but his sister served largely to distract him from it.
The air was cold when the call rang out. Immediately, anger pooled in her red heart. It burned. She hated her brothers. They had tied her to this place, yet they untethered as though she was nothing, leaving with their sacred call. They were leaving together. Valmúa had been forced to follow the call on her own from the great north. Jealousy. Anger. Frustration. Inept fucking assholes to leave her there on her own. Now she would need to follow them or fend for herself. Kigipigak would be of no help. He called to be one with them, and at the sound she spat, missing his delightful company while simultaneously hating him.
The fire sister started to turn away. Then, angry, she spoke back. Howling sharp and short, yapping like a coyote. "Fuck you."

Frost had barely begun to feel hope again when it was stolen from him, quick as the breath that fleed his lungs when he heard the brothers call. His mind raced with questions, the loudest of all being why? It wasn't a question he would ever ask to anyone. It was a question that would reside only in his own mind, for he knew such questions were often pointless. When decisions were made, they were often unwavering. Frost knew it was better to simply accept what transpired, and so he did.

There was little question in the young boy's mind about what he would do. Without Stjornuati, he saw little future for himself in the Wilds. He thought of Antha, wondered what path she would take. They both had saved him, both had brought him back to life. In the end, it wasn't really a question of logic, but of feeling. Stjor's path simply felt like the right one, so Frost would go.

Frost tilted his head back and offered his own soft voice to the wind to let them all know his decision. Then, he slipped off into the trees to seek the brothers whom he would follow, all the while pondering how fate was clearly a fickle creature when it came to drawing his destiny.

When his brothers' call rose to greet the new dawn that day, Rökkvi turned toward it at once. Raven ears high atop his crown, he listened quietly to the message it carried: the call had come for them once more to summon them away.

The hringja had not reached for him, however, at least not recently, but many months ago it had shown him where his loyalty should lie. A change of scenery would not alter his destiny.

Rökkvi picked his way patiently down the mountainside, through the evergreen foliage where ravens bickered among themselves over some small morsel that one had found. He took in the sights as he went, thinking how it was a shame that the watch had not been meant to serve as a permanent settlement for he and his siblings.

He'd grown rather fond it it in those few weeks, after all.

Other voices rose from elsewhere to answer: the palefur Kigipigak, who seemed to regard this announcement as an opportunity to seek his own freedom; fiery Valmúa, whose insult would not be forgotten. Rökkvi gritted his fangs and rumbled his frustration, but it was short-lived as he arrived at the gathering spot to flit champagne eyes knowingly between each of his brothers.

He did not speak. There was no need. While bitter that his bond with Stjörnuàti and Solpallur could never compare to the one forged between the two of them, they were both of his blood and he hoped they could understand his silent promise of undying loyalty.