Moonsong Glacier torn butterfly wings

Riddles!

The bard was alight with pleasure at the very thought. Even his eyes appeared to glimmer, wondering what was in store for him.

Well, surely any good explorer would call himself the Taggerung.

A hearty chuckle sounded from his throat. The wolf swung his tail and nodded to the devil. It was all he had ever been called, after all, hypothetical or not.

And now what would they call the man who carries the spirit of the bear?

the taggerung.
not a name, a title, and yet it fit. the syllables of it were melodic. it felt a word from a language the bearwolf had not heard before.
his own, asked after in that same entertaining way.
"what do you think?" merrick invited, cheating his way to another opening. his single eye danced with the open daring of it, the understanding between them.

Ah, so this was the game that they would be playing.

Well, if the Taggerung was to offer a suitable name to the one-eyed devil of the wilds, he thought it only right that he draw from one of the classic tales.

You seem to me a man fitting of the name Cluny the Scourge, the bard answered, recalling the tale of the one-eyed scoundrel and the disaster that followed in his wake. Oh, but what would Cluny have thought of the man who carried a bear’s spirit? The alluring one-eyed devil.

"cluny the scourge." it brought to mind a pestilence, or perhaps saltwater, licking slowly upon far-flung shores. "you've found me out. it's cluny," merrick admitted, rolling his remaining eye skyward. "i forgot!"
a titter. he had stopped to look at the sky, and to shiver beneath the harsh bite of the glacier.
"it's not the best sort of place for me."

Oh, you always were the clever sort, Cluny.

The bard hummed with a chuckle.

Of course, if this was the true Cluny the Scourge, the Taggerung knew what sort of trouble would be carried anywhere he went. The Scourge was a devil too, one who was capable of terrible things. What a marvelous discovery, if this was true. A marvelous discovery, indeed.

Over there, see, the Taggerung exclaimed. The bard pointed his dark nose toward a slight mound upon the earth, a shimmer of white that had flickered atop it.

cluny cluny cluny the scourge. where had that come from? had this taggerung simply whisked it from the tip of his tongue? merrick was fascinated. perhaps more names might come during their time together.
a heap of loam. a pale dusting. he approached with a purl to investigate, lifting his attention back to the taggerung. "is this our deceased?"

The Taggerung scarcely knew where he was going, let alone what he was doing in the world. The flicker of pale light could have been anything, a trick of the eye, a flush of sunlight that had broken through cloud. It did not matter. Tagg was far more interested in what the cyclops might say next, what he might share.

It could very well be, the bard remarked with a small nod. He bent his neck to sniff at the mound and then lifted his head.

Saw that glimmering pale light here and I couldn’t help but wonder, the Taggerung remarked rather wistfully. He searched the nearby areas with his gaze for any other signs of it.

"you are a seeker." merrick looked to the taggerung now. "what sort of man do you think he was?" he asked casually, though his single eye churned with the black scaling of the inner serpent.
"what if he was a very good man?"
"what if he was a collector?"
merrick smiled, ash floating from the scene of a wildfire.
"what do you collect, o taggerung?"

Oh, the man beneath them could have been a good fellow. He could have done wonderful things for those he cared for. Or she could have been a savage ruler who dominated any who questioned her judgment. The Taggerung had very few stories of the dead, and those that did dwell in his mind were of men and women so bold and dastardly that their stories must be told.

So what if he was? Collectors very rarely get to take what they cherish to the next life, the bard commented with a sly grin to the cyclops.

Cluny’s next query was rather a strange one. He wished to know what it was that the Taggerung collected. The bard frowned thoughtfully, looking to the clouded sky with a curious expression. He knew the answer, but he did not know if he wished to share it with the Scourge.

Why, Cluny, you old devil. The Taggerung collects stories, of course. And I’ve a feeling you have many of them worth telling.

"flattery. flattery is so crude and so elegant at the same time. i know what you're doing. you know what i am doing. look at us, dancing."
the single pupil expanded, drank in the taggerung as toes flexed against the frozen earth.
"what if i wanted to collect you home, tell you stories there?"

Dancing, indeed! The Taggerung laughed aloud at the devil’s proclamation. He had not had quite this much fun in a long time. Hung on the edge of something dangerous and tantalizing, there really was no comparison.

Well, then I should let you take me. For a time anyway. For as long as you can fill me with tales, Cluny.

The bard grinned cheekily to the one-eyed Scourge.

It was the second offer, but Kynareth had not made it nearly as fun as Cluny had. There had been no playful banter, no eloquent tango that built to the ask.

:D! shall i start another thread in silvertip?

merrick let out his breath in a column of steam. "let us leave this cold place. the ghosts will be here for us to seek again."
a grin; he turned, glancing to his shoulder to see that the taggerung was honoured with a place beside him.

Please! *w*

Whether danger would follow in its wake, the decision had been made. The Taggerung swayed after the devil happily, away from thoughts of ghosts and spirits, away from the cold of that territory.

The bard was happy to follow, honored at the side of the Scourge as though he truly had a place there. Tagg would cling to that for as long as he would be allowed.