Ouroboros Spine piviuttaktuk ⩸

pp'ing an awkward kivaluk looming in the distance.

rhaegal's fur damp but clean from the doe's blood that had christened it upon his arrival at their borders, neck decorated with kukutux's garland of redleaves. golden gaze travels along his doewife, breath catching in his throat for a moment, struck by her moonbeam beauty despite that she bears bridepaint.

the sveijarn's chin lifts, feeling comfortable at his doewife's side where he settles though, admittedly, nerves battered against his stomach and up within his throat where they seem to catch. a soft shift of his weight and a subtle press of his shoulder against vairë's slender one.

he did not know the wolves of moonglow, and though he was about to be family by marriage, he was still an outsider.

a conception of his own making that he cannot quite shake.

like his fear of heights, addressing a crowd of strangers appeared to be something he could not quite master.

but he is urged to speak and he turns then, away from the wolves gathered — a stone and red colored boy looking uncomfortable and awkward catching the seadragon's eye briefly — and focuses upon vairë, letting the eyes of those gathered melt away.

with my offering of the antler and doe pelt that you wanted, i give you, humbly, myself. my loyalty, my heart, soul and body. it ... all of me, belongs tae you and you alone. he was, if nothing else, like the saltstone that stood resilient against the battering waves and time: as immovable. it wasn't a declaration of love ... at least, not yet; but it was what he could offer her here and now.

and with it, if you want it, my last name sveijarn. a family legacy that he hoped to pass along to cubs, one day.