Storm Front

Thanks for starting this! <3 Also, if you'd rather him not smell Seb on her let me know and I'll change it! c:

For once it was not Týrr that was followed, but rather he that implored the tactic that his garrison had been doing to him for ...weeks? Months? He couldn't remember, and in truth, it did not matter. They were apart of him, something  that he knew deep in his bones without knowing how he had the knowledge. It was as if he were a small pup once more. Unlike his younger self,  Týrr's current situation was quite different and he did not bring these tidbits of knowledge to question. The answers would reveal themselves in time, or they would not reveal themselves at all. The arrival of Xiuhcoatl — apparently his blood aunt — had Týrr ...weary. Weary that his garrison would turn on him the moment she twitched her nose at him. Not even Manauia (whom the Rekkr had come to trust over the months) had been so against him. She had argued, sure, but she had not persisted and had not threatened his very life because it meant something to her. Despite being Xiuhcoatl's blood Týrr got the very distinct impression that he meant nothing to her. He was a born slave risen to something far beyond his natural station in their hierarchy. He didn't trust her not to rip his jugular out while he slept and that had him on edge. He should not have had to worry about the loyalty of his fledgling pack but he did and it could not so easily be ignored.

But Tuwawi's arrival was a godsend. He had hoped for her return but had not expected it; and yet she was there. He had a chance to prove himself to her, that he was a worthy friend, leader, and maybe if the Gods (that he didn't believe in) were truly feeling generous enough something more. He had kept his affection for her muted in Duskfire, worrying that it was too soon, or that he would be rejected; but there was courage where doubt had been months before — perhaps it was a boon from Tezcacoatl; or perhaps it simply meant he'd grown into his own.

Caught up in his thoughts as he'd been Týrr had nearly lost Nochtli as the shadow amazon moved through the territory unfamiliar to him. Like every one in the Taiga he'd seen so far, it was beautiful. A feral beauty to be sure, but the cold never bothered him anyway was not bothersome to him, likely from living in Odinn's Cove for however long he'd been there as their captive. He had noticed an unfamiliar scent upon her, male and of a different pack — and not one that he readily recognized. It was enough to give him concern if only because he did not want other packs to seek him out, nor did he desire to seek the other's out. He did not fear Stavanger Bay's retaliation for killing their Jarl for who was there to retaliate except Thistle and her son and few others? Though he would not hesitate to kill them — all of them if it came to it — he would rather not. Just because he was a “savage” did not mean that he had to seek out death and carnage. He did not know the circumstances of Nochtli's new friend but it perplexed him and though she did not have to tell him because he really didn't have to know, he figured it never hurt to ask.

“Nochtli!” He called to her, quickening his pace to close the distance he had maintained between them to keep low key. “Making friends?” He inquired, subtly referencing the unfamiliar scent she faintly carried, and wondering if she realized that it might bring her serious trouble with Xiuhcoatl — if his golden virago aunt was not already aware of it.