Qeya River hunger consuming

blackfell moved along the river’s edge, silent as the ice that crusted its banks.

his breath curled in the cold as he went. the sound of his paws muted thuds against snow and ice. he was silent; the only thing to disturb his bubble of peace the sounds of the river and the steady thrum of his own heart in his ears.

his mind was a turbulent thing these past few days. tensions unseen ran high. it was difficult to manage: the invisible web he had unknowingly weaved. veksar whispered malicious words into cuffed ears, planting seeds that dug to be sowed in his black heart. morwenna—because he would never consider her star eater—served only as painful reminder of what now was. gjalla, who compelled his heart, ushered him into a future he was unsure he even wanted.

he thought his mind might split in two.

he knew only one thing: he did not trust these wolves, did not trust their customs or their chieftain. he had come for gjalla, vowed to learn their ways for gjalla, but now found himself remaining complacent for more than just her.

for now, he walked among them. for now, he hunted their land, patrolled their borders. for now, until the fraying rope snapped and gave way to impending conflict. if they were lucky, it would remain just that: frayed, but not snapped.

A wolf follows purposefully behind, the pawsteps of another serving as her guide. Chieftain's clan is stationary, for the moment, while his women grew round with pups - something the Tartok woman uses to her advantage to explore the taiga.

But today sees her mapping his riverhome on the trail of the familiar. "You want company?" a gruff greeting breaks the silence as dark man comes into view. He appears lost in thought, and Nagruk knows the routine of patrol is good for relaxing the mind. Sometimes, it is best shared with another.

blackfell did not stop. his stride did not slow.

do what you want. it was not a question, not the way he uttered it. words came low, rough, exhaled into the cold all the while he did not look at her.

but he listened, because he had no choice. she had invaded his silence.

she was bold. bold once before, bold now. blackfell loathed her arrogance—which he would never admit he, too, was plagued by—whereas the chieftain seemed to become giddy by it. his lip curls.

His words draw a breathy snort from her, pale paws spurring her forwards until she is in-line with his pacing. It amuses her, his disdain, his grudge. "Better stay then. Make sure no more wolves steal caribou." Sarcastic, probing, gnawing on what hurts while she flaunts her favour with Chieftain as if it is a prize to be shown.

The high from their first meeting still surges within her. Leg cocking, she marks a nearby tree as they move, a wordless remark that Nagruk is here to stay.

his teeth clicked.

she needled him. picking at old wounds, probing where the blood still ran hot. she was untrustworthy, this one, with her smirks and taunts, and wearing a cloak of falsehood to spray her scent.

blackfell’s gaze flicked to her then, and found the sight of her hiking her leg laughable. he decided then it was better to let jabs roll off his back rather than they strike true.

stay as long as you like. a murmur from a cage of teeth. almost indifferent. almost. truly? he wished this was the last he’d see of her—yet knew that was a fantasy.

he jerks his head, clearly annoyed, clearly bothered, and his ears swivel to attune with the sounds of the river. it was furious today, sloshing with a fervor. blocks of ice riding the churning currents. blackbird grunts a quiet complaint as his footfalls remain muted thuds, before spraying an arc of piss himself, painting tree and dead brush.

The loyal dog of Saatsine; truly, Nagruk admires his fealty knowing it is what any soldier would do for their leader. What anyone would do for her, soon enough. Dark man is simply an easy target, someone she can get under the skin of.

But her bite falls short, or so it appears. She studies his face, his mannerisms as fierce as the river itself. "As long as dark man tolerates." Eyes scan then across the river, to the borderlands of Chieftain's strong claim. The man besides her is strong too; they may be good for each other yet.

"Chieftain claims big land. You know it all?"

blackfell listens, but does not look at her.

i know enough. comes his flat, uninterested response. he wished for her to just go. to leave him be. blackfell turned a slow, appraising eye on her, weighing his options. he could maim. he could kill. he did not think she would willingly stop otherwise.

but the thought fell short, dissipating like breath in the cold.

his patience is thin, stretched taut over simmering irritation. he does not like this game she plays. she wants something from him, that much is clear.

you like to talk. a beat. then, flatly, asking, what do you want?

His indifference is noted, but the hint is ignored. How long before he snaps? Here in far reaches of Chieftain's riverhome, she is confident enough in her ability to take him, if it comes to that. "Talking is how we make friends. Or enemies," matter-of-factly, fixing him with a glacial stare once he has the manners to look at her.

One-eye had made that choice; she had been less convinced about Dark man. But what she wants from him is not friendship, not hatred, but a strange between. "Show me his land." It was less of a command, and more a request, tail waving in high expectation.

he feeds into her complex. fixating a singular red eye on her, letting it fall upon the dark mug she wears. seeing for the first time glacial eyes, seeing the ambition that burns in them. blackfell knows it. knows that kind of need.

but she will find no power here. not in saatsine. the totem is unmovable, the climb impossible. blackfell has learned little of sun eater, but knows enough: the man only cares for himself. by extension, what he deems his. his wife, his kids. his relatives.

he lives, breathes, lanzadoii.

so he snorts, rather bluntly, in her face, all while continuing their languid walk. now it grows faster, strong legs etching a path onwards, curling around the territory he has come to both loathe for what it is and desire for himself all the same. you will only ever be neither. a cruel grin then, one nagruk is lucky to have earned. this woman is not one he would ever call a friend—and she would never come close enough to being a threat that he might consider her an enemy.

but perhaps he is thawing—if only to make this interaction less miserable. what more is there to see? his voice is a bored rasp. it is just ice, water, trees. what you see is what saatsine roams.

Dark man wishes to be neither? "Good," she laughs then, a great stag's bellow, picking up the pace so she may keep level with his patrol. 

Nagruk is still new to this clan, still new to the Landazoii ways. It is this newness, ignorance, that possesses her to learn all she can about Chieftain so she may use it for herself someday. But Dark man does not deliver. "You seem unimpressed." With her, and with the land. Or, perhaps, with who roams it. She marks another bush as she thinks.

it’s because i am.

his voice a blade left unsheathed, waiting. he does not care for the pomp of words, for the posturing of wolves who think themselves grander than they are. saatsine is just a clan of hunters, living off the land, moving as the seasons command. no roots. no walls. no legacy. nothing to stand against time.

nothing to claim.

his breath escapes in a sharp huff, curling into the cold. he grunts: a place is only as remarkable as the ones who rule it.

crimson eyes flick to her now, pinning her beneath his gaze, though he does not stop walking. a scoff. a flash of teeth, the curve of something that is almost a grin, but not quite. what do you think waits for you here?

Her speculations are proven true; the man before her is unhappy here. As much as he pretends to fit in, Nagruk can only imagine how long it will take for him to tire of Chieftain's clan completely. Perhaps, if she is lucky, the Tartok woman will be the one to deal with him then.

"Seems we share thoughts." Currently, One-eye holds some respect, though whether he proves to be a remarkable leader is yet to be seen. "I rule alongside once. Tartok stronghold in far north." Already she likens herself as capable, if not moreso than her mother. "Power waits. War Chief. More, maybe." She meets his gaze again as if to ask the same thing of him.

he turns then, strongly, snapping teeth. he speaks lowly and it is a growl: you will find no ally in me.

it is the only time he will say it. let it be known: they were not the same. as far as he is concerned, he has made clear what stands between he and this woman—and it is only coldness projected by him.

he is not one she can manipulate. she will know this if she is wise. he speaks only in battle tongue. crimson eyes scan her with a birthed loathing that grows fast. he says: if sun eater thinks with more than his groin, he will see you for the vermin you are and cut you down swiftly. and it is not blackfell’s place to do, even if he itches so. her arrogance sickens him.

he grins then but it comes not from joy; and makes to brutally stalk off, his anger so palpable it might bring steam to sizzle from his onyx hide in smoke.

exit blackfell !

She balks at his teeth, certain that she had been making headway with him. A fool. This was not her clan, not her men to control; Nagruk knew this. And yet to be told that face to face sparks a simmering resentment held taught by a throaty snarl.

Blackfell has made an enemy of her today, let that be known.

Growing grumpier still as he drones on, she cuts across his path. "He can try." And he will not succeed. The dig at Chieftain's choice of women only fuels her flame and it is the last thing she says before she watches him go, gaze boring an icy fire in his wake.

ty for thread !