Wapun Meadow tusk

garait knew the words his brother spoke in silent tones. he sat to gaze at the mountain, and in it he saw the greatness that they shared between them. here was rebirth, reawakening, stone dawn. the man shook out his ruff, ran salmon tongue along his jaws, lifted his nares to scent the air. even beneath the snowfall, shot through with veins of ice, garait knew the peak housed fecund life, a quiet druid among her rocky bedfellows. venextos had chosen well, though garait chose not to comment on that, nor the possibility of prosperity the mountain held.
instead, in the tongue shared only by the pair of them, the gaul gave the dry mutter it is not very beautiful, is it? he sought to tease venextos in their own way, his ability to joke severely compromised by the very nature of his being.