dreamers of the day are dangerous men

Her spitting retort, sharp with the edge of razor wire, told Týrr told him everything he needed to know of her. She was another Amazon, another ghost of Tezcacoatl's past come back to haunt him. Whether to wrangle him into returning to Coatl's Rise, or to jog Tezcacoatl's slow coming memories (or both) he wasn't sure and didn't care. The greeting of this one was not the same as his garrison — for even Manuaia hadn't been so commanding, so resolute. She was definitely a woman of power, and if he had to guess more likely one of the overzealous keepers of their tradition. It was a suspicion he had born of the steady trickle of memory, subconscious so that he did not immediately recognize it as as a memory; nor as Tezcacoatl's warning. For now, Týrr thought it as nothing more than perception, a guess given by her stance and her spitting words. “It is not the circumstance of my birth, but the fact that Quetzalcoatl decided to keep me.” Týrr had garnered enough from the other women to make this assumption with absolute confidence. Would he have been made a slave, given to Five to be trained as a Gladiator as he should have been, likely the women would have not harbored so much dislike for him and what he symbolized. He was a threat to their traditions, made possible by their reigning Queen, Quetzalcoatl, whom for whatever reason had not been able to let him go despite that surely, Týrr assumed she knew she should have. That it was their way. 

The woman gave him his name, and then spoke that she was Quetzalcoatl's sister. Týrr did not remember what his mother looked like, knowing only that he was a carbon, male copy of her, and going off of his own appearance, fur of rich chocolate, and the unique silver markings under each crystalline blue eye he didn't see much of a resemblance in her, except for the pale line under each of her eyes. Not as stark against her golden tones as his was against his darker coloration, but there, nevertheless. So he his family tree had grown. He had an aunt. “A rightful place that I cannot remember?” No, he would not go. He would not lead a culture that would never fully see him as their leader, nor would he do it ignorant of everything that made him an Amazon. Why was that so hard for them to understand, he wondered. Instead of being joyful that he did not want to mess up what traditions and culture they had carefully preserved for generations upon generations they became angrier with him.

Týrr held his ground before her. He was not a small child, and in these lands her rule meant nothing to him. She was on his territory, and the game would be played his way. His home was here, and they were free to return, though none of them would. Not without him. It worked out for him, in selfish ways, but he knew so long as he and they stayed they would never let up in their deign to get him back to Coatl's Rise. “Why? So I can ruin generations of carefully preserved culture and traditions that I don't remember? You and the other women will never recognize me as the true leader of your Rise, so what is the point? I will not be the death of it. Quetzalcoatl can have more children, daughters to take my place as heir. My place is here, and if you insist on taking me back it will be as a corpse.” Those were the stakes, and brazenly he would stare death in the face. He had no intentions of dying this day, or any day soon: he had too much to do, too much life to live and the God of Death would not see him for many years to come (at least this is what Victoria hopes, aha).