Moonspear words are weapons

<3 @Floki and @Charon edited to accommodate for shadow posting. ;p

Tevinter was not kept waiting long, which was something that he valued habitually. Besides of figuratively dying of boredom while he was forced to wait on someone in a pack to answer his call, Tevinter found it to be disgraceful (and rude, but you know). Keeping anyone, stranger or no, waiting at one's borders gave Tevinter an impression that the pack was weak and thus spread too thin, or that their wardens were lazy fothermuckers to care (this was when the idea to infiltrate and raid often came to his mind when he played such scenarios out in his mind). This towering mount's wolves had diligence and that automatically garnered some points of respect from Kjalarr. There was movement, easily discerned by the shadows of the night as the lighter figure stepped from them, lit by the touch of the moon's sweet beams.

An sense of familiarity washed over him, his search to place why in vain; for the moment. Eyes of caribbean blue with silver around his pupils studied his fellow youth for those moments of silence. He was graced with a coat of platinum silver such as Tevinter himself, even with the stockings of which the true color of warm sand was leeched into a smoke gray to the color blind outrider. Jorunn. A sense of alarm washed over Tevinter then, confusion partnered with a sense of disorientation. How? How did this other youth know his name? It was not the right name, but it was the name that Tevinter had been given at birth. 

He had chosen a new one, because Jorunn had died. He had drowned in the trauma of what he had endured, withering away until he was no more. No. He wasn't Jorunn anymore. There was nothing of Jorunn left; and Tevinter had chosen a name that felt as it fit him because Jorunn had ceased to hold meaning for him. It was just something to call him, but like the word 'boy' it held nothing personal. No meaning besides being an noun and there had been no sense to hold onto it. He knew this youth. Of course he did, he realized. It was the memory of Floki that Tevinter had held onto for the longest, his other half. Their's was a bond ...or rather a spiritual connection that could not be broken. “Floki,” The name was breathless, as if it got caught in his throat. 

Yet, despite the relief at seeing his twin alive, Tevinter took a step back. “I...I am not Jorunn. Not anymore. I'm...not the same brother you knew.” He had been raised by a different family, and ...and he'd forgotten them. Almost all of them. It was not an honorable thing, but as he had as a young child, he did not wish to lie to his twin. Tevinter's muzzle parted to say something else, though the words were lost when another approached, a few feet away, calling him Floki and beginning to ask if the trail off of words were of any indication, what happened to his muzzle (the question Tevinter was dreading answering when he got back home, admittedly). As the older male joined him and his twin, Tevinter fell into an awkward sort of silence, staring between the two, wondering if his twin would convene to the other (whom apparently knew him but Tevinter was having trouble placing a name to the vaguely familiar face) the truth. That he wasn't the same.