The Heartwood I'm at One With The Silence

Morning drew over the land of death. The sun casting long shadows of the trees and rocks around him. For a man who does not sleep, the morning light means nothing to him but another mark of a new day. Not only that, but he’s repulsed by it. Hates the way his eyes burn when it shines into them — painting them a beautiful, bright, cherry red.

So today is another day. Though what’s different is that he has been frequenting the mossy paradise beyond the frigid underwater tunnel. He stays here to meditate. He stays here to speak with Banesteppe. He stays here merely to exist. That is if he is not patrolling the borders and greedily marking his scent throughout the charred forest. 

But in the night, when Banesteppe raked alien like hands through his fur, he had mentioned someone— or rather something. Something that would help him in his quest to immortality. Something that would make him stronger. 

A rock. But not just any.

A sleek, beautiful, dark wolf came to mind then. Hunger strikes his belly along with the thought of them.

Banesteppe’s words are savage — bloody and disorderly — Alduin knows not if he can accomplish something such as that. 

But does Banesteppe ever give him a choice? Of course not.

So he wades through the neon colored cave, tiptoeing along the edge of the watery tunnel before diving in. A soaked pelt is worth traveling back and forth to his mossy dwelling — he finds solace there. 

And on he goes, in the morning light, squinting bloody eyes and walking with his head hung low. Somehow thinking it will help him avoid the light better. It doesn’t. Obviously. Yet, it does not stop him from searching for his Harbinger. He must speak with him of such goals — of such personal trivial things such as immortality.

Fucking insane. He’s insane. Does it matter?

So when he follows the freshest scent he can find, he sticks to it, and eventually his effort bare fruit. He finds the chocolate furred man stretching out in the morning sun, tail thumping softly at his hocks. The light bounces off red orbs — Alduin stares for a moment before approaching. 

Heavy footfalls are heard, crunching over twigs and shrubs. The hellhounds maw is parted, black-purple tongue falling over daggers for teeth. His dark, double coat is already soaking up the heat as saliva falls from dangerous jaws. And despite his fur remaining spiked up and damp from his escapade through the water, the heat still bothers him so.

So when he moves to saunter up to his companion, he hums out a “Soaking up the morning sun?” It’s meant to sound friendly, but his own shitty mood regarding the light in the sky seeps through in a rumbling tone.