Redsand Canyon I’m dying to let you know

Setting: Evening — 17:39
Weather: 88F — slightly windy, sunny
Location: Healer’s Pass
Tags: @Simran

Kyn hasn’t gotten a chance to speak to his most recent addition to the pack: the Mandalorian. So, after just coming from the territory north of the Canyon he settles in Healer’s pass next to a nearby stream to relax his frayed nerves and aching muscles. He’s been looking for Alduin all day and — still — nothing has shown. He’s becoming restless. All he hopes is that the boy is in good hands if he’s been found. But out of all the wolves here, Kyn knows that there’s evil in the world and he’s afraid it will sink it’s claws into his eldest son. 

So Kyn would tilts his head back from his lying down position in the shallow stream, calling for his newest executioner. The water would lap at his elbows, sides, and hips as he lies in the shallow end of the riverbank. A purple tongue falling out to pant the heat away. When she sees him he’ll look tired and worn. After all, he has a lot on his plate right about now.

Simran has become accustomed to the canyon since their merger with the Saints. Their gait sounds like the thunder of a herd of horses as they train their body to again become ori'ramikad. Pride and joy. Simran embodies their principals, wears them like armor.

That is how Kynareth’s call finds them, winding through the twisting canyon walls at a quick lope, as fast as they could push themselves without overheating. The buzz of stretched muscles is starting to become the painful burn of those overworked, so they slow to their workhorse plod, tail bobbing, head held level with their shoulders as they power on their way to join with the Grandmaster’s position.

Alor Their voice is more a guttural gravel, breath coming in harsh, quick pants, slowly beginning to quiet as they cool, pace crawling to a halt at the stream’s edge.

You have need of me?

Kyn hears his executioner before he sees them. Though they're quite a strong, well built, and large specimen of the canid type, he’s sure they could be just as silent when they intend to. His auds shift towards them before his massive head does. Slurping his panting tongue back into his maw he offers an easy going smile to them as well as a nod of his head in greetings.

“I was thinking we could go on a hunt together. Then perhaps go looking around for my son — if you’d be so willing.” 

The brute stands from his spot in the stream as water pours from a thick pelt. He doesn’t shake himself off as he moves to stand next to them, awaiting their answer.

They’ve been out of the loop. It’s apparent to them immediately, when Kynareth rises from the stream, drenched from the elbows down, and mentions hunting down his son. Their brows twist inward, panting mouth closing to grind their back teeth together.

An ad is missing? Their voice is even lower now, more akin to the distant rumble of thunder across rolling plains, an ever increasing noise wrapped in a half growl. To a Mandalorian, the most grievous of sins is to harm a child, and that ingrained cultural need to protect rears its head back and roars in their soul like the mythosaur itself.

Simran runs their tongue across their teeth.

Is foul play suspected?

Those who would hurt children were dar’manda. Screw that, they were demagolka, they would find their soul in haran and Simran would drink their blood like it was the finest liquor.

The ad is missing? 

He nods slowly as if he wanted to deny it, but the fact is deathly true. 

He would watch several emotions play through their interest eyes and only then does he catch their gaze hardening. He knows not what goes through their mind, but he might have a few ideas. Until their tongue teases their teeth tersely do they reply once more. The question makes Kyn’s hackles almost rise, not at her of course, but just the idea of someone nabbing his child makes him thirsty for blood. 

“I’m not sure.” He answers then truthfully. “Everyone has been searching but we’ve come up with nothing. No scents, no signs of an attack— nothing.” Kyn begins walking, silently motioning for her to follow so he can scout for prey as well as speak. “I want to say the little bastard just ran off on his own and either god lost, or ran into some type of trouble.” 

Simran follows, ever duty bound. After a moment’s thought, an idea strikes them, an idea they would smack themself for never considering before if they didn’t have self control to not. They whistle a long note, and receive an answering whistle in reply, as Burc’ya joins the conversation, swooping from above to rest on their shoulders.

I can teach you Burc’ya’s commands. They offer, tail bobbing as they jerk their head to indicate the kestrel.

I can’t believe I didn’t think about it before. He’s a scout, he can look for any sign. They say, voice low and pointed, but at themself. Because, duh, Simran, you have a bird for a reason.

They’re eyes seem to light up, at first he’s got no reason as to why. Until they let out a long whistle and their feathered companion swoops down to meet them. Kyn would catch the birds eye, then shift to meet the former mercenaries own as she exclaims having not thought about it before. He tilts his head, a question clear on his face.

“Oh, that would be quite the idea now wouldn’t it?” He guns with an easy smile blooming over dark lips. “Would they even listen to me? Can you describe my son it them and have them obey?” He wonders aloud. He knows nothing of this bird, perhaps it’s stingy, maybe it would refuse to take orders from anyone but it’s master. 

What he does do is nod encouragingly. “If they comply, I’m willing to try anything to find my little mongrel of a son.” His eyes become a tad more sullen at that, but his smile remains, albeit dulling some.

Simran nodded, the curve of their tail starting to sweep lightly back and forth. Burc’ya took interest, hopping across their shoulders and back to pluck a few loose hairs. The beroya winced, tipping their head around to peer at the offending bird, who just raised his wings and took off again.

In theory, he would listen. It would be an endeavor, because the language he and I speak to communicate is..imperfect to say the least. But I do believe Burc’ya could assist you in finding your son. Their face softened at the mention of the lost ad.

We’ll bring him home, alor. I promise, on my honor as a Mandalorian.