Hoshor Plains the remembering

for @Fjall <3!

the afternoon brings with it a small rise in the temperatures, and though the first day of spring had come, winter still hung on with a white knuckled vengeance. arktos had even sworn that he'd seen soft snow flurries earlier that'd morning.

he takes a break from the arduous task of border markings — though finished with the initial marking there was the slightly easier task of just refreshing whilst on patrols — in the hopes of catching something small to fill his belly.

he's fortunate in that he happens across a plump groundhog that offers a nice reprieve from the sinewy rabbits he mostly caught. he can't help the small nagging thoughts of wondering what one of the bison might taste like and how full the meat and bones of one of those great beasts would leave him.

still, he is content to keep attempting to build that bridge of trust with the herd and feast on smaller plains creatures.

with his prize hanging limply from betwixt his jaws arktos gravitates closer to the borders so he does not have to go far to resume his patrol.

thank you, mi amor!

Mind hopelessly spinning, Fjall padded away from the glacier and the wind-mountain above it to venture further south. He sought clarity on this walk, thinking of Moonwoman and his siblings and their children and Bronte and the coalshadow on the glacier and Ariadne and his mother and and and—

He tried to clear his thoughts.

It was warmer this day than it had been, but at least his pale complexion made sure that he did not suffer. The rushing echoes of the gorge were dying down behind him, and the rocky ground began turning to brittle grass underfoot. Ahead of him was a figure wreathed in sunlight, everything but its wolfish outline obscured in such a way that he could not tell who it was at first.

A churning of clouds dimmed the halo, revealing the goldmaned Arktos in the distance. Fjall’s heart leapt up into his throat, and he struggled to call out. I-Is that you, Arktos? But of course he knew who it was. He’d only thought of him about a thousand times since meeting him.

Fjall had not quite reached the border yet, but he was soon to discover why the intimidating man ranged these plains.

<3!

as arktos begins to dig into his meal, he considers the herd and the season again, wondering how many cows would calf. calfs would make the herd likely a bit more aggressive, if he had to hazard an assumption. with more bodies to help with the borders, he could keep a closer eye on the herd. arktos finds himself fascinated by them, wanting to learn how they work: the broad beasts that would, in time feed the wolves of yellowstone and give them bedding and furs to trade.

the groundhog offers a mess, greasy fats mixed with blood and carrion dribble down his chin, a macabre staining of the fur there. a voice calls out to him and his salmon pink tongue drawls across his bloodied jowls ... in a pale and quickened effort to clean up.

fjall, greets arktos in return, recognizing the voice and raising to his paws; meal temporarily abandoned. he crosses the distance to meet fjall half way, wondering what had drawn the young man all the way out here but finding himself happy to see him either way. what brings you out this way? arktos lets his curiosity give voice to his thoughts, never much of a filter there to begin with.

Fjall’s tailtip wriggled as the strong man approached, meeting him upon the new border. He smiled as he studied the wolf’s proud features, including a dark chin that glistened red in the light, evidence of a meal eaten only seconds before. He could smell the blood of a ground rodent over the man’s plainswept cologne. I was just on a walk, he explained, somehow feeling both irreversibly awkward and anxiously elated. The further I walk, the quieter my thoughts.

He craned his muzzle downward to give the grasses between them a cursory sniff, scenting where Arktos had passed less than two days ago. A wolfish snort of approval soon followed. I see you have decided on your village – pack, he corrected himself. His ears angled forward suddenly, and he peered off into the distance.

There was a faint rumbling – the slow, grazing, milling about of many large animals. What in the Maker’s name is that sound?

The herd was near but not yet in sight.

fjall answers and arktos is quiet, throwing in a soft noise of understanding. i get that, though in some ways arktos was blessed as a man with no past: there wasn't much to think about aside from the here and now ... and his future.

there's some groundhog left, if you're hungry, arktos offers what was left of his meal with a small gesture of his muzzle in the direction he'd came from. it was a plump little bastard. a lotta fat and hardly no gristle. he offers as a sales pitch, but not overly worried about it either way. if fjall declined, arktos was sure someone else would eat it, when tucked into a food cache.

the sounds of the herd are a constant for arktos, letting them wash over him like a country lullaby in the thick of night and his reassurance that all was quiet on the homefront during the day.

i don't have a name for 'em, arktos admits; words of his lack of a past, of memories before ground zero festering behind his teeth. so far, only nephele knew and in truth, that was only because arktos thought it important that she know about the man she called husband, that maybe he was haunted by a lot of ghosts despite that he couldn't remember them. and perhaps one of the few wranglers more familiar with both territory and beasts had told it to him but in what he called the bison appeared to be stuck in his mind as a habit all the same. collectively, i call them the herd. individually, i separate them into bulls, cows, and calves.

a wily grin is given. wanna see 'em? arktos invites, beckoning fjall into yellowstone's borders so that he might get to see the herd that it's wolves have integrated into their pack structure, if he wanted to.

i stared at the word 'calf' for so long it's now registering as gibberish in my brain, lol.

His stomach squealed at the mere thought of something to eat. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was! I am apparently starving, he admitted with a laugh, tail wagging gratefully until it was stilled by the distant noises.

Arktos was unable to put a name to the unseen beasts, though he had other terms, marking their denominations. The Herd, Fjall chewed over. Well, this herd certainly didn’t sound like any form of deer or sheep he’d ever heard, and that was without any mention of the smell he was now noticing on the shifting winds…

He was so perplexed that he nearly missed the man’s foxish grin – a flash of amusement from what had previously been a stone mask of intelligent stoicism. (When he would think back on it later, this moment would remind Fjall of the flare of sentimentality Arktos had given at the end of their first encounter; and another page of the book was turned; another layer became exposed.)

Meal forgotten for now, he nodded mutely to the invitation, gulping as he padded wide-eyed alongside Arktos. What on his Maker’s great realm was he about to see?

LOL hate that! happens to me all the time when i'm making grocery lists xD

from the sounds of it, arktos was left to assume that fjall hadn't eaten in a while. tsh, arktos gives a shake of his head, the action and soft noise flirting with the line of teasing. playful, perhaps. you didn't even feed yourself on your walk? c'mon. lets get some still warm food in your belly. he turns and leads the way back to where he'd left his groundhog.

his ears twitch as the lazy footfalls of the herd moving nearer and he lifts his head. sounds like they're comin' to us. arktos murmurs. keep still, eat your meal. they don't seem too bothered by me and my wife and the others. still, don't want them to get spooked and start stampeding. but then again, arktos went specifically out of his way to assimilate himself with the herd: so that they would not be easily spooked.

he gestures over the tall heathers to the nearest; the largest bull of the herd a few feet from them, his head bowing to graze at the grasses underhoof. i think that big bastard there's the leader. the herd appears to follow him but maybe that's just me tryin' to make 'em like us.

i am thankful that this pack has driven me down the bison research rabbit hole

Fjall gave a nervous sort of chuckle at the coltish chiding, but he wasn’t too attentive to Arktos at that time. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve been hyper-focused on the man, basking in every scrap of attention thrown his way, but all of his senses were trained towards The Herd now. Anxious to see that which his imagination could not conjure.

It’d barely registered to him that they now stood over the half-eaten groundhog before Arktos had commanded him to eat and keep still. Dry-mouthed, the wallflower obeyed. He scarfed down the supple leftovers, tasting little of it as he peered about owlishly in anticipation. Giving his jaws a quick lick, his head snapped towards the closest sound yet, and his pulse quickened until—

O Fearsome One, he breathed, heart stopping for several long beats as he took in the tall, broad colossus that ambled into view. It was mud-colored and hunchbacked, with thick woolly fur, a boulder of a skull, and a pair of stubby horns nearly hidden on its tufted head. More followed, plodding along and picking through the grasses, until he had lost count.

Fjall could barely contain his enthusiasm. These must be bison! Though he spoke excitedly, he seemed to remember to keep his voice down, lest he spook the creatures. Despite this caution, he could not stop the fast waving of his tail. I-I-I’ve only heard stories, he effused, breathless. They’re incredible! His entire body quivered, fear evaporated as he now stood practically face to face with a creature he’d thought of as near mythical.

Is this the male herd, then? he asked with fanatic enthusiasm, addressing the fact that Arktos had called the biggest one “him”. I hear the female herds are even bigger in numbers, is that true? Are they nearby? He could hardly quiet down long enough to hear the answers.

fjall gives them a word: bison. mossgreen gaze takes in the ambling beast, content to ignore the two wolves nearby him. fjall offers him tidbits of information that arktos hadn't been aware of and he tucks away that information: that the male and females separated. he'd assumed they were one herd but he doesn't realize that they only mingled during mating season.

arktos lets out a pensive grunt. i didn't realize they separated, arktos admits with a low laugh; quieted in the presence of the great beasts. they didn't appear to care but arktos was not confident in their presence enough to believe that without any doubt.

can't say for sure. maybe. they're minglin' right now. because he knows he's seen cows mixed among the bulls. arktos mulls on this for a bit before his gaze flickers back to fjall where it rests. you know a lot about these bison for thinking they were mythological creatures. arktos invites fjall to elaborate if he wished to.

Were they mingling? Fjall found it hard to tell. Some of the bison were slightly smaller than others, but there was no clear division or sexual dimorphism that he could tell. He wondered if what he heard was even true at all. They are rare, he went on when prompted. Rarer than any other grazer. He stared at them in awe. I could not picture such a beast! It is hard to think something exists when it has only been described to you, Fjall explained, smiling now.

I know the story of Prima, the bison’s first queen. She was the mightiest of her people, gifted by Bos, god of all cattle, and she split the Great Roaming into two: one of women and one of men. The separation brought peace to all bison – erm, outside of the rut, of course. She would call the men back to the women when the time of green ended and leaf-fall begins. They dance to have their children, and then the men were always sent away again before the great snows, taking with them the boys who were now also men. And it is said the bison have kept this tradition in honor of their beloved leader…

He sighed, as if in fond remembrance of a far away time. There is more, of course. The dissenters to Prima, the reasons for the splitting, but it is only a story. They are described exactly as they appear to me now, though if they mingle, then I am sure the tale is not rooted in truth. He certainly didn’t feel beholden to it, but it would’ve been immeasurably grand to see such a tale appear in real life. Or perhaps this is an odd herd! Maybe they have forgotten their ways, or they mingle to spite Prima, he laughed.

Fjall didn’t even realize how comfortable he’d become under the guard of Arktos. He felt as if no harm would come to him, even in the presence of such titans.

fjall weaves a fine tale, with a historical reverence and depth that arktos struggles to put to the herd. though he has decreed they were central to yellowstone, a symbiotic relationship between predator and prey he regards them as a cowboy should: protect them from other predators and help them by culling their herd of sick and old and lame to fill the bellies of his own kith and kin.

hell, i dunno, fjall, arktos says with a hearty chuckle. maybe they're the sons waiting for the men to come back and claim 'em when they come together for matin' season. arktos was still, clearly, fumbling around with learning about the bison ( and butchering it ).

where'd you learn that story? arktos' question is not cruel or cold. it is full of soft curiosity, peering at fjall out of the corner of his eye.

he is quiet for a while, giving fjall time to answer. you seem pretty knowledge about 'em. yellowstone could use that. could use you. this time, the warbear fixes fjall in his mossgreen gaze, gauging the younger man's reaction to the offer.

It could be! Fjall grinned. We will have to watch them and find out, he commented without realizing the implication behind his words.

As for where he had learned the tale: I met a man and his wife when I was very young. Me and my mother stayed with them for a time, and I heard many stories from them. Their children had gone away, so I think it comforted them to tell me these things. He thought of the time and felt a distant longing that faded quickly, quicker than it ever had before. As a child, I enjoyed them very much. I know stories about why the eagles take our children, and how the beavers came to cut their wood. Once or twice, I have found such tales to seem true, but most are impossible to know for certain if they are history or not.

A comfortable silence stretched between them, with Fjall eyeing between the legs of one bison in an attempt to confirm its sex. He looked up sharply as Arktos’ words registered, surprised that it had been proposed he could be of use to the man’s pack. He was quiet for a moment, stunned at first and then genuinely considering. He looked towards the bison.

It would mean he got to observe them up close. It would mean he got to stay with…

I would like to stay, he said. He hardly had to think twice about it. This was the first time since Moonsong that he felt useful. Your pack is called Yellowstone?

fade here for another??

absolutely! <3

arktos doesn't admit that he is leery about going near them when their breeding season starts at all, not sure how those tank-built beasts were when hormones were running high.

yes, arktos affirms. we claim this plain and the herd as they seem content to stick to it.

c'mon. eat your meal and i'll give you the tour. introduce you to @Nephele.