Duskfire Glacier nothing in comparison

northern lights @ polaris icefield.

though the day was uneventful — spent stretching all-but healed leg upon the borders and tending to food caches — and dull by most of wintersbane's standards the heralding of dusk that bled into nighttime brought with it a gem. it is upon the icefield as the tundrian marches his way over chilled land untouched by the warming breath of spring the navy ichor of the skyline glows with the dance of the aurora borealis. it casts a weaving green spell upon the ice, upon the rocks. steps moving with purpose prior pause and wintersbane allows himself to enjoy the simple beauty of it.

She roused that night to find the sky alight with a gift. The most brilliant of greens shimmered and danced across the sky, reflecting beautifully over the hardened sheet of ice expanse. She looked up, letting her eyes linger there. It was a common phenomenon of nature, but she liked to hope that maybe this year, there was a little more to it than that. A sign of a good omen, perhaps.

Tzila was feeling more sprightly than usual. A sure sign that her season was not far off. She couldn't help the way she moved, when she spotted her packmate and leader, Wintersbane, alone out on the icefield. With a soft bounce in her step and a tail carried high in a mixture of confidence and amicability, she called out to him softly. Approaching him at a clipped trot, she reeled herself in, reminding herself not to come off as too playful, despite her spirits. "It is for times like this, that I have always especially loved the night." She hummed quietly, referring to the Aurora Borealis, eyes still fixed on the dancing lights. More conversationally, she turned her head more towards him. "How have you been healing?"

wintersbane, admittedly, has never been romanced by the stars or the night sky. it did not call to him as he supposes it may call to others. sure, it was beautiful but he did not take the time he perhaps should have to admire it. usually, there was too much on his plate; always something to do and not enough time to enjoy mother nature in all of her untamed glory. a fault, he thinks; a blindness to the simple pleasures in life he has always denied himself for some reason or another. i must admit i do not take as much time as i should to enjoy it. the tundrian admits with a soft shrug of his scarred shoulders. but this sight is beautiful.

the conversation then switches to him and his healing and he peers at his healing leg. nicely. it is scarring but it should be fully healed in a week or so. as far as the scarring is concerned: it would not be his first scar and it wouldn't be the last, he knows.

Settling in to walk comfortably beside him, Tzila felt much more at home out on these open icefields as compared to the coast. She sucked in a breath. She had tried for that lifestyle. Tried to settle and make something for herself there. But it had all been washed away. Astaroth and her son. And here she stood now, on a literal blank slate. "I find something peaceful about it." She tacked on her last comment.

Drawn away from the northern lights, she listened, glancing back to see for herself, that his leg was indeed, healing well. "I am pleased to hear that." She fell into silence, but let her eyes trace deliberately over each and every scar on his face and body. There was even a glint of admiration there too. Who couldn't help but stare one second too long at such a handsome man? "Some say every scar has a story behind it." She hummed quietly, but with depth in her voice. "Would you share yours?" She pressed with interest, but not obnoxiously so. This was the first step, she hoped, in getting to know the sort of man Wintersbane was.

how long, wintersbane cannot help but wonder, until he forgot the details of the scars he's earned? the years kept ticking on and he kept collecting more as if they were merit badges engraved upon his flesh. could he say that he remembered most of them, anymore? already, the details of them were fuzzy though he does not think he is near enough to forget ...perhaps, he considers, he just as too many and has suffered too much trauma that his mind blocks it out after a bit; greying those memories until the only reminders were the marks upon his flesh.

ironically, once upon a time ( and perhaps he still does ) he'd thought they were ugly; too vain to want them marring his handsome face.

almost all of them were won in fights ...though i did not win all of said fights. two of them had nearly taken his life and if not for the diligent care of strangers surely would've. most of the time it was my own arrogance that awarded them to me. unsurprising, that.

these, he draws in a soft breath and shifts so that his wedmarks were in view of the moonlight and green glow of the northern lights as they continued their dance upon the glacier. were given to me by my wife on the day we became mates. andraste's mark upon him even a year into her death. i'm a widow, now, he adds softly. have been for over a year.

Listening, her eyes drifted over each of the scars he spoke of. But they lingered more on those he dubbed as wedmarks. A look of soft puzzlement drifted across her face. "To be symbolic of your union?" She tried, taking her best guess. Before she could wonder too long on where his said wife was, he answered that question. He was a widower. His wife passed on. Her eyes fell, ears dropping. "I'm...terribly sorry for that." She said simply, but genuinely, for she didn't know what else there was to be said.

Moving along by his side, with the subject heavy on her mind, she exhaled a sigh, resigned. "I also have my share of scars. But these run deep. They cannot be felt or visualized." Tzila kept her eyes firmly in front of her, afraid of showing any hint of weakness or emotion should she meet his blue ones. "My relationship with loss is one I know all too well." Her dark paws thudded harder against the cold ground, as if stamping her pain down into the earth below in release. "First my crush..." She made it a point not to use the term mate. "...then my son. Vanished..."

i suppose so, wintersbane murmurs with a lofty shrug of broad, scarred shoulders. it was her tradition, not mine. then again, andraste was of the possessive sort so in that vein it makes sense to him. it ...has happened twice now. i've accepted the fact that i am not destined to be a husband. at least, not now. maybe not ever — but life was known for tossing curveballs and who was he to say that it would remain so?

i'm sorry to hear that, wintersbane says genuinely. that is a hard thing. he, too knows how that feels as well but does not say it. they are all adults and thus all no strangers to pain — physical or otherwise.

She huffed softly. A sound of dry, incomplete humor and reflection. "I know the feeling." She began. "Early on, I learned...and accepted the fact that he had stronger feelings for another." She referred to Astaroth and the time he rejected her as a committed partner. At the time she did not hold his feelings against him. For between them, they still had their own strong feelings. "Makes me wonder if I am even cut out for relationships." She said, with a pointed lack of emotion in her voice, with walls up.

Swallowing a small lump of emotion in her throat, she nodded. "Thank you." She uttered quietly in response to his simple, but genuine condolences. "But...I have since moved on. At least when it comes to him." Her chest heaved, heart beating quietly. "But my son...that is different. I can only hold onto the hope that he is alive and thriving, somewhere..." Trying to put this emotional topic behind her, she glanced to him, curious. "What of you? Do you have any children?"

they were a pair; the tundrian king who was widowed twice and the shadow queen who had her heart spurned by the man she'd hoped to build her future with and, in part, by her child. wintersbane cannot help but wonder how young the cub was when he'd left — thinking of how he'd felt when quellcrist had parted ways with him. he'd accepted it ...because she was a woman grown and he could no more tell her to do than he could tell a storm to cease brewing; and, in truth, she was plenty like him ( for better or worse ).

but then, what condolences could he offer? when he, too, was once that son? kidnapped brazenly from the borders of teaglaigh and dragged halfway across the teekon wilds with the childish belief that he was being taken home — to the nightingale queen whom had birthed him. and when he had finally returned home? he'd found her grave and his father and siblings gone; the blame of which cast upon his shoulders by his estranged eldest sister.

i do, wintersbane replies. there is my eldest daughter, quellcrist, and my youngest daughter miwa of whom has crossed my paths a few times but never stayed. i suspect i have sired more than those two but i have never met them. he draws in a breath and lets it out in a soft exhale. that was the driving reason behind duskfire glacier, for me. a place where i could raise a family. i'd like to be a true father to my children. for while he had no issues siring to those who sought him out he also desired to help raise them. so that they might know him as dad and not as a 'stranger who looked like them'.

As he revealed that he had indeed, sired some children, Tzila let her interest show. Two daughters, one older and one younger. There were likely more he didn't know about. Hearing such made her feel relieved on some level that she had only born Sotiris, as she felt she had fallen short in the parenting department.

Her curiosity intensified when he explained that here, finally in Duskfire Glacier, that he hoped to sire children again. But this time, as a true father. Her heart beat a little more erratically for a split second. She swallowed maybe a little too obviously. "That is quite a goal." She fought the awkwardness out of her voice, but didn't entirely succeed. "But, with who? You are not married, so how would your...chosen partners own feelings be considered? I think it has hardly been long enough for any of us to know one another well enough to get into something serious." She expressed, honestly but tactfully. She had hope, that of the likes she couldn't deny. A tiny flame flickering in her heart.

it sounded very callous — even to himself — to admit that he hadn't thought that far. but then again, when had he ever? any of his past dalliances the women had went along their merry way and he'd never seen them again ...at least not 3 months pregnant, ready to give birth on his doorstep, at any rate. not that he might've minded that given the strong desires over the past year(s) to be a father and more than just a 'donor'. nevertheless, it remains the truth.

well, preferably they'd be okay with my wishes to not be married, given my status of widower and my hesitance at broaching that path once more. then again, was that fair of him? he wasn't so sure. perhaps his ( current ) stonewall approach to mateship would cost him the future of fatherhood, in the end.

The answer her Tundrian companion offered did not leave her much time to question the reasoning behind it. She didn't have to. For, in a sense, they were much the same. He had suffered too much loss and she had been burned too badly in the past. They desired such happiness, as far as to ask for a family. But not at the risk of further scarring upon their hearts. The best compromise seemed to keep their options open, but their hearts locked. Deep down, she knew she wanted more. True happiness. She just hadn't the courage to pursue it.

"I don't believe that is un-reasonable." She agreed. "From what I have been through, I would feel the same. It is like we have been...conditioned, after too much of a bad thing. But to still want some joy in the form of a family, it's healthy." She tipped her chin, smiling faintly. "New, diverse blood will only strengthen the pack. Give reason for celebration." She affirmed, sticking to her thoughts. Tzila did not want to consider now if she could be among the chosen. Falling back into a comfortable silence, she walked with him until the northern lights faded.