Larksong Grotto ☾ tléix'

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When the moondancer had arrived to these new lands, hailing from north, she appeared to blend seamlessly into her surroundings. Pale fur lined her body, her stature carrying tall, though her steps moved quickly, with the lightweight grace of a performer. There was a placid smile upon her face as she moved, chin tilted upright and tail flagging high behind her, as if it were a banner announcing a kingdoms arrival.
It was here, now, within a grotto of gorgeous greens, that she would take her rest. Dísa had been moving for several moons, travelling southwards in pursuit of a place to carry the spirit of her people. Somewhere that she may share their culture, their lifeblood, their brood. Dísa carried what felt, to her, the weight of future generations upon her frosted shoulders, and by no means did she seem to crumble from it.
See, the moondancer wore this weight with pride. Would share her stories, would tell those of the lands she had seen, where she had come from, would bring more snowhunters into the world. And it was this pride that lit her ocean-dark gaze with fire. An ember that flickered deep within. Powering her; keeping her alive.
But, that was not all that she needed to survive. Hunger grew deep within her belly, and without the help of a pack, she had been surviving on hares and deer-calf over the past several moons. Thinness tore at her towering figure, having burnt away all her stores from her swift travels and limited food supply...
Now that she was here, however, the moondancer figured that there must certainly be something for her to eat. So, drinking in the scents of the grotto, she continued to head southwards, letting her senses guide her.

he came again with hate in his heart; upon this same snowstep. where he had met the white icicle of ayovi, battled with belligerent skorpa, and found companionship in his tikigak.

his tartok.

he'd gone away with her; but as all companionships faded over time, this one'd been doomed. he returned to the summit he once pissed and claimed as his own to find it barren, lonesome, and terribly frigid. but the brute of him remained. bulk. strong. scarred.

when he saw her, pale and tall and walking like a banner in the wind, he stopped.

perhaps out of awe- was it her? ayovi?

she carried herself like she owned the land. she did not.

his tail lifted a fraction, enough to mark his place here. broad shoulders squared. scars caught the light. the tartok man stood solid in the mouth of the greenery, blocking part of the path she followed.

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It was not long before the moondancer had found company. Company that, in fact, did not seem to hold her presence in positive, even less in neutral regard. He was a boulder, or, a mountain in her path, jutting out from the greenery like a crag from cave-mouth. Guarding this land. Claiming it as his own. He did not seem the type to go peacefully.
And the woman was no fool. He had fire in his eyes; embers that danced like rage and fury and hatred. He was large, scarred, and built like a warrior. No less, a mercenary. Berserker, should she not be careful. So she spoke, light and careful: I have no quarrels with you, in her northern tongue. Please, let me pass and I will not return. Not begging, but rather, asking.
The snowhunter was not a dainty thing. Perhaps only two inches shorter than the man before her, and though she was not quite as bulky, as muscles hid rather than rippled, she was not weak. Skinny in her stomach, her face and her legs, but still, there laid a quiet power. An inheritance from many generations of taking down beasts of great proportions. Of fighting for land that was their own. Her eyes glimmered, now, ferocious in intensity.
But still, the smile that she wore was gentle, and kind. Her feet planted upon the ground as if she were ready to charge. Her tail wagging behind her, as if he were someone that she trusted. Her benevolence was no front, but rather, her whole and honest truth. Her defense was not forced, but, again, she balanced both upon her shoulders. Ever the kind warrior.

she is the color of frost and snowflakes. dappled upon her nape they come down in flurries, where the blizzard settles upon the saddle of her back. he is awestruck for what feels like a millennia, albeit only a few moments, and closes his mouth before he can speak.
she has rendered him utterly speechless in her likeness to the frostmaven. but they weren't exact; she was more heavenly. like an angel. a snowangel.
but it is not her words he can understand: it is the cadence of her delicate voice. she is something to be held, not startled. he'd been through countless battles in recent months. fighting for his carcasses. places to rest. such kindness was foreign to him.
snowangel was skinny too. he huffed great steam through his nostrils and relaxed. he cocked his head to the side.
hungry? he'd ask, voice cracking from lack of use. hoarse and nasally. he remembers how this played out with frostmaven: she'd run from him, claiming she'd kidnap him. faust went as far as taking a step back from her, not crowding.
he wouldn't let his past define him.

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But he does not fight. Does not charge, nor attack, nor even move. His voice does not rise to a shout, but cracks from disuse. He steps back to give her room, even, and the moondancer raises her brows.
Yes, she answered carefully. ...Hungry, she copies the way he says it, knowing the meaning, but not entirely confident in the way in which she speaks it. Tail flicks behind her. Uncertain, now, at this sudden kindness, but not ungrateful. She took a single step closer, letting her gaze filter over him. Unabashed. Unashamed. The moondancer regarded him with careful study.
Ultimately, her eyes softened with approval, and she allowed herself to close a portion of the space between them. Still, she ensured that he, too, was accepting of such approach. Would not grow too close, lest he snap. She saw the potential of such within him. A danger that intrigued her, in some way.
In lilting melody, she spoke again: You have... kill? Giving him her own tilt of her head. Eyes fell, once more, upon his scars. There was no judgement in her eyes, but rather, a clear curiosity.

she had accepted his offer. it'd been the first one he'd given in months, a kindness. maybe it was the loneliness that carved deep within him.
he swallowed. she struggled with common tongue. that was just fine, he could do without words for the time being. snowangel even had the grace to take a pawstep closer to him. he'd been sheltered for too long, isolated like a rabid animal, that the warmth of her body sent chills up his rigid spine.
another step. snowangel was brave! the heartbeat of his breast was hoarse, hot breaths of air that came across to inspect her. snout reaching to sniff the lapels at her shoulders, a sweet floral perfume that had his jowls water.
he pulled away once she spoke. nodded his head.
he pointed his snout to the right. this way, and began his trek. slowly, along the rocky outcrops of the grotto. a place he'd known like the pack of his own very paw.

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The moondancer did not turn away from the man in front of her. Allowed him to commit her scent to memory. Felt her cheeks grow warm in an albeit girlish manner at the closeness, whether it be from his presence, or rather, the loneliness she had found on her journey southwards. Something she had yet to know was shared between them. He moved, and she followed.
Pawsteps fell in pace with the man. Moving with a crystalline grace beside him. Though hunger plagued her body, she did not act as such. Where one may go rabid for sustenance, or aggressively protect their land, their kill, she acted much simpler. Peace radiated from her in waves. Still, she wore a placid smile. Shared closeness with her first friend of these lands. And it was then that she spoke again. Call-name? She said simply.
Snowangel looked to him for a moment. I am Dísal'eix̲. You call it, Moondancer, and it was now that she would look away, seemingly finished with her words, before the rest came in melodic tongue.
You call me... Dísa. Moon.

her pace beside him almost felt natural. the way she kept step upon the slopes was an ease he had missed. it was the presence he missed. of a woman at his side.
her voice broke the peace, causing his head to swivel and ears perked forward. call-name. name. his.
when his voice was lost upon him, she filled the silence with her own. dísal'eix̲— brushed against him like a feathered thing. delicate. moonlit. foreign to the hard-cut consonants of tartok.
moondancer. not snowangel. he found himself cold with disappointment.
he accepted it all the same.
uktark, he answered, the word a low grind of glacier and chest. tartok.
green eyes that once shone bright, now dim with the tragedy of loss. of the burden of being sangilak.
calloused foot met ground where the caribou carcass lay ripped open. streaks of heat plumed in the air. he flicked his muzzle, tail splayed straight in dominance (or pride).

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The moondancer would not say anything in response to his name, aside from a light nod and a hum as she let the title engrave itself upon her memory, blazed within her mind in a bright light of remembrance. It was quickly that they came upon caribou carcass, and all so suddenly she realised just how much she truly hungered. Still, she wore calmness upon her figure.
Dísal'eix̲ looked to Uktark, eyes seeking permission from his stone face before turning her head to the carcass and dipping down, down, downwards so that she may consume. Gracious bites, she took, betraying the starvation that wrought her. Tail tucked low, relaxed, as if to appease the dominance that he held, but rather, in truth, a sign of the exhaustion that she felt. Travel had all but extracted her spirit, but it had also strengthened her resolve. Fortified her will for survival. She knew that, despite it all, she would continue to live.
So when she rose, she would seek his face once more, flicking her tongue to her lips and moving closer towards him. Drinking in the scents that he wore on his coat. He had known others, long ago. Others that were faint on his pelt. Others that she was ever curious of, though did not ask to know. Did not need to know. Rather, she turned away from him, flicking her tail across his own pelt and scenting the air. All was green within the grotto. She wondered what the outside looked like. Keen to know, to explore, to venture once more.
It was clear in the way she stood: moondancer was soon to leave, but if he so wished, she would not stop Uktark from following. A single sway of her tail served as a silent invitation, as clear as the moon at its' fullest.

with how her ribs gouged like sunlight upon dawn, she took bites that were polite. he raised a brow at this. a genteel nature that he'd long forgotten, though born with, to become tartok. for tikigak he had done it. but she was long gone, now.
sangilak chooses not to be plagued by the memories, no matter how much they stain his heart.
moondancer's body language read of submission; this much pleased him so. yet: the terror in him wished to seek the relentlessness. what would she do for cubs? if their life was at risk? uktark was yet to become father. with the loss of his mate came the loss of his bloodline. 'twas a mar he'd never heal from.
he allowed this exchange of scents. a natural, necessary, proximity that he felt heat rose from. moondancer peered from over his shoulder to the great beyond of the grotto. she wished to see more. and he wished to see the land that he used to covet.
when tail met his flank he nipped, catching threads of fur between wet mouth, and soon enough: pawsteps behind moondancer, following her out of the grotto.

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A nip upon the furs that swept upon him, a nip that sparked something deep within the woman. Pawsteps that rung throughout the grotto, heavy, commanding, treading towards her on a clear, moonlit trail. Once he was beside her, she would move to touch her nose to his, eyes blinking slow, long, searching his face for something that she could not quite name. There was no desperation in her body. No need for the man that stood beside her. But rather, a choice, clear and true. A courtship that she would not deny.
The moondancer moved forwards, paws carrying her through a light, steady gait. Graceful as snow falling upon pale earth. Blizzard-like in her beauty. A quiet strength upon a kind body. A warmth, new and accepted. She did not speak as she angled southwards, heading for the gap in the treeline. Moonlight filtered through the canopy and kissed at their feet as they went, a royalty once accustomed to, but now, felt an inappropriate level of flattery. Rather, she sought travel. Trust. Family. She longed to teach, and she was sure, now, that Uktark was to be the first of these lands to hear all she had to say—something of which he was to accept rather quickly, for the snowhunter, while ever pacifistic, was not quiet about her opinions, nor her beliefs.
Dísal'eix̲ would be gentle to her chosen man. To her family. To those who showed her kindness and earned it in return. But she was not a gentle woman by nature. There was a fire, held deep within shadowed, sapphire-blue eyes. A fierce protectiveness that she would not abstain from. The same danger that drew her to Uktark lingered within, waiting for the perfect moment.
Such gentle jaws were not unknowing of violence.

But, in this quiet moment, she led both herself and the man beside her from outwards of the grotto, letting her tail mingle with his own, should he be so accepting. An easy silence passed between them.
He would soon come to know the strength she carried.

another thread for these two soon ? (eyes) <3