Broken Antler Fen this is not the sound of a new man

There had not been many changes to the Great Bear territory in the time that he had been away. The same stretch of mountains stood tall, proud, running toward the sea. Once, those mountains had been a hearth. Further north, he knew, but he had hunted along the rocky slopes for much of his early life.

Peculiar as it was, the jutting rock did not feel as much like home as it once had.

The inkjet beast trudged on with purpose in his step. The gold glint from his gaze shifted between stone and lush wetland. The sun was high above with little cloud coverage to conceal the blackhound shape that moved across the fen. Atlas did not pull his sights from the mountains running north. In the distance, he was certain that he could see the peaks where Moonspear had once resided. His brows furrowed with uncertainty.

It had been so long since he had seen his home.

she fluttered about without purpose, sticking near the lake that tavina had picked.

nala had much to consider. like her sudden unspoken absence from the saints. would anybody notice? would anybody care? she was not one of the soldiers and not even a medic. she was a bard. one who did not feel any music in her heart in the strath anymore.

but here in the fen, she could tangle with life. feel something in her soul for a few moments. if she busied herself long enough with thoughts of the sesh, that music returned. then she wondered if she had hallucinated the doctor.

a black beast in the corner of her eye, larger than her — although that was an easy feat — moved through the fen. a glimpse was all she had been afforded. she stirred to life suddenly, heart pounded as she called out —

tavina?!

she did not consider that the dark coloration of fur had been the only semblance between the two wolves.

’Tavina?!’

The cry filled the air and drew the inkjet beast to a pause. Atlas frowned, turning his sunset stare to the figure of a young female – mixed. She did not look like anyone he had met; smaller, oddly colored, odder in shape. That she spoke to him with such familiarity slacked his jaw and drew his brows into a creased expression of wonder. Tavina was not his name.

No.

The rough edges of his voice were sharper than intended when they struck the open air. The inkjet titan did not shift his expression. Atlas loomed there, staring at the stranger with perplexity and impatience. Moonspear was so close. He did not wish to stop for things like this, for strangers who called false names into the wind.

I am not Tavina.

he was a giant.

she was not sure she had ever seen anyone this tall. cut of muscle with a thickness. his eyes a sharp hawkgaze and she felt herself nearly quiver under it.

this wasn't tavina at all. not even close to it.

even his voice felt as heavy and piercing as his gaze. he would be a good saint, she thought. the difference in them proved as much. she swallowed the panic in her throat, politely took a few steps back. her tail sought refuge between her legs even.

no. no you're not. she agreed solemnly.

sorry. i — you looked so much like —

she was fumbling over her words, and her steps.

’Sorry. I – you looked so much like –‘

Like Tavina, yes.

Atlas had gathered as much from their brief exchange. The inky beast lifted his head, turning his gaze over his shoulder to search the backdrop for a sign of another approaching wolf, anyone who might have carried the same darkness within their fur. There was no one there but the two of them.

The dark hunter did not wish to admit it aloud, but the stranger’s tentative nature reminded him of his youth. He had not been sure on his feet. He had watched while his brother became something mighty, and he continued to shrink into the shadows to hide. It was curious to look back on that and to realize that he was nothing like the Atlas who had departed the Teekon wilderness. Hardship had shaped him into something more.

Who are you? Do you live here? Both questions were delivered directly. Atlas wished to know if this girl had been around in the time of Moonspear.

truthfully, he could have whispered as meek as a mouse and nala was certain she'd still find fear in her heart. such a giant beast and all she could think of when she looked at him was of the saints.

his questions like boulders against her brain, heavy and thudding. she blinked some sense of consciousness back into her brain.

nala. she started with. no. just...visiting.

do you?

The she-wolf appeared nervous of him. The inkjet male could see the apprehension on her face, clear as a blue sky. Atlas did not know that it was his size that inspired such a response. Once upon a time, he might have cared more about frightening strangers on the slopes of a mountain. The time away from Moonspear had changed him. The swarthy titan did not care for the feelings of others. Such consideration had only ever shown him disappointment. Atlas could not live his life with the feelings of others guiding his way.

My name is Atlas, so please do not address me as Tavina.

The inkjet wolf offered her a small nod.

I do not live here. My home is in the mountain range there, his nose was drawn to point toward Moonspear, nestled in the far reaches of the stone spine that jutted from the ground. I will reclaim it. There was no other purpose for his return. Moonspear belonged to the Ostregas.

she nodded feverishly in understanding. right, not tavina. don't call him tavina. don't think about tavina looking at him. tavina —

atlas.

this hulking, scary beast of a man could never be compared to tavina for anything longer than a glance. she still thought of the woman. she simply wished she was here — or that she could perhaps seem as formal and composed as the doctor. how nice it would be to have a backbone in the face of this strong man.

then he spoke of claiming a mountain. she could very much picture him as a saint.

what kind of home will it be?

The she-wolf asked what kind of home he might create. Atlas wondered why she cared. There were mingled scents of others on her pelt. Her frame was small, meek, in ways that were not like the wolves that the inkjet titan had lived with. With a litheness like that, she belonged racing across the flatlands in pursuit of quick-footed prey. His chest tightened as he thought of his hunting trips with his brother.

It will be a home. A place for strength. It will be known in the lands as an indomitable place. Moonspear had been strong before and it could return to such strength. Atlas did not think that he would fail in this task. The weight of it had been worn upon his shoulders since he had left. The day of his brother’s death had been the catalyst.

Do you seek a place like that? Or was the small she-wolf only looking for Tavina?