Dawnlark Plains le'awtu

aw! would love for him to meet some new faces!

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Winter here is fiercer than on the coast. Nipping and treacherous, and for a boy born on the seaside, dreadful. Tsu spent every morning with a chill in his bones, still on the search for his lost brother. Fighting the northern bluster with a shiver and sniffles that never soothed. Seäe’s whisper of a scent was growing ever fainter, ever harder to catch on the harsh wind. His hope dwindles alongside the temperature.

Wherever his brother is, Tsu prayed that Great Mother would hear a lost child's cries and soothe them to quiet. Seäe had always been far too bold for his own good...

Tsu'tseya awoke at the peak of the eclipse to watch a caribou herd stretch across the endless sea of white. Creatures he hasn't seen before, mighty and calm. They pay him no mind; a smudge of rust against white who remained sat to watch their march. He found himself wondering if Seäe would join their steps, should he be where he belongs at Tsu's side.

uktark had driven the herd this far—snow flung from their hooves, breath steaming in great plumes as he guided their line with calculated pressure, flanking their edges, pushing them toward the lower basin where he and his @Moondancer could make clean work of the old cow limping at the rear.
his focus was narrowed, a predator’s intent sharpened to a single edge.
until something moved beneath him.
a small shape—rust-colored, thin, half-buried in the drifts.
uktark’s forepaw struck ice instead of flesh as he halted mid-stride. instinct had his teeth snapping down, a warning break of jaws meant for coyote hide—
but the scent hit him a heartbeat too late.
not carrion-thief.
not foe.
a boy.
uktark jerked his head back before contact could be made, snow spraying from the sudden shift in weight. his breath came rough, plume curling through the frigid air as he loomed over the child—massive, dark, a shadow cleaved from the herd’s thunder.
the caribou surged past behind him, parting around the frozen tableau.
the boy was shaking. starving. hunting nothing at all except hope.
uktark’s ears tipped forward, breath lowering to a slow thrum as he stood sentinel above him, blocking wind, blocking death, blocking anything that might take advantage of something this small and alone.
as his glacierbright eyes narrowed, reading the shape of the boy’s desperation and wondering what kind of god would scatter children across a winter like this.

Lost in a daydream where he and Seäe chased the caribou across the taiga, Tsu startled far later than he should've. Ticked guard hairs along his bowed spine rise, his ears press flush against his skull to defeat the thunder of the march and the click of the man's throat. 

He'd hardly the time to roll onto his back, tail curved against his thigh, before the man carved of slate was upon him.

His whale-eyed flinch is born from fear, submission—a distant memory of the ire of his father and the cut of those yellowed teeth. The many times he had to take the brunt of that spite so Seäe remained untouched.

Tsu coiled tight into his snowbed. In a different time, he might have fought. But he is weak now. It's what grants him mercy, in the end. 

"No fight." He exhaled. A shiver, averted eyes. "Not trouble." A pause to search for the right word in alien tongue. "Searching. Alone."

uktark held over him like a felled tree, breath harsh, chest still tight with the reflex of the snap he hadn’t meant to aim at a child. the snow began to settle around them—flakes drifting onto the boy’s narrow ribs, his splayed paws, the tremor that rippled through him in waves.
only when the last caribou cleared did uktark step back.
one heavy stride.
then another.
winter-wind exhaled from his nostrils as he lowered his head to scent the boy properly, reading the story etched in salt, hunger, and long miles.
slowly, he straightened, the darkness of him rising tall against the pallid sky. for a moment, he simply looked—taking in the jut of bone beneath thin fur, the cold bitten into the child’s limbs, the stubborn thread of life clinging on anyway.
his voice came low, roughened by cold and grief both.
searching for who?
few words.
all that were needed.
for to become tartok, to become sangilak, was to lose everything—kin, home, softness—and walk the winters alone until you survived or didn’t.this boy walked that edge already. and uktark, carved by loss, recognized it.

my fav boys

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The moondancer had not noticed Uktark's pause until she had heard the sound of his rough, hardly-used voice, speaking with a boy—a boy she knew, she realised. Quickly, she moved back through the snow, breath churning through her lungs with the swift rage of a bull protecting his herd.
I know this boy, she spoke once she approached. There was a warmth, an empathy that lingered within her body language as she moved. The woman gave him a warm nod of her head, situating herself closer to the boy than Uktark was. A friendly figure. To be trusted, as her shadowman had seemed not to make the best introduction. She looked to him carefully, casting a gaze that read 'we help him, too?' before turning back to the younger one.
You look for your brother, she hummed. Her tail flicked, so that it may gently brush against the man behind her. This, turned to him, now. Is Uktark Tartok, my man, a proud smile rose to her face. He quiet, but, very kind. You trust him as you trust me, if he trusted either of them at all. But, she extended kindness to this boy, nonetheless.
Not an obligation, but rather, a want.