Duskfire Glacier embracing the starlit fate

It had been some time since Týrr had last visited Duskfire Glacier, and while it was not a literal pile of rubble and smoking ruins it held the same feeling of devastation within him that the literal sense of ruins would. He had taken what was left of their caches that the Sound wolves had not stolen before the war and stored them in Frostfire Glacier's caches though that food was long gone by now. Fresh meat replaced the soured meat if it was left to get to that point. Checking the caches was something that the Amazon Prince did daily, just as he routinely patrolled though there were no borders to mark his territory. He supposed he should not remain so eager to protect what was not yet his, but it was an instinct that he could not turn off. Besides, he took the liberty to invite lone wolves into what would become the heart of the territory in the hopes of cajoling them into pledging themselves to him. He had a strong core behind him, Manuia, Citali and Nochtli. Though he did not know the latter two as well as he knew Manauia he trusted them at their word. He had very little memories to go off of that could confirm that they were actually upon his side but he afforded them the benefit of doubt, nevertheless.

There was great sorrow in the set of his strong, broad shoulders as he stood and simply stared, taking in the lands he had helped to lay claim to, land that he had considered home. The pain had begun to ebb as his new path unfolded before him, but he found that he still missed Tuwawi, though he had long since given up on the hope that she might return. So long as she was happy where ever it was she had went, then Týrr supposed that was all that mattered. He could never forget about his wildfire queen, but Frostfire Ridge and it's conception — and the collection of Amazon women he was gathering — proved to be adequate distractions from his lost affection. 

Still, there was a part of the soon-to-be King that wished that things hadn't changed, that they had remained as they had been, if only because he had no choice but to drawn what little comfort he could from what he knew, his life too centered around what he couldn't remember, what was lost to him. Killing Ragnar had been the start, but few memories had made themselves present and once again Týrr found himself in limbo, stuck between Tezcacoatl's instincts and Týrr's (some-what false) memories.