Sawtooth Spire fernweh

the diasporian leader approaches him, and melkor gives a small, respectful dip of his head in greeting. whatever happened between this man and his late wife was their's and melkor holds no ill will on either side. the past was the past and there was nothing anyone could do to change it. the snows shift around melkor's paws as he shifts his weight, ears cupping forth at the other man's question. ❝we're about as well as we can be,❞ melkor responds, a bit more grimly than he means. ❝i thought we might settle hushed willows but —❞ but it was clear even as he trails off that he no longer thinks that. ❝they've been patient with me and with this. i'm grateful to them.❞ in ways that words could never fully express.

❝how is diaspora faring?❞ he asks then, figuring it is fair to inquire after their ally.