Chimera Fields hey you, big star

he had not been aware of the stranger's approach until his voice was already murmuring, speaking to him. scarlet met blue, oceanic, like the seas that roared north of the moon spire. the way his tongue sculpted common-speak was familiar to nordic ears, and rökkur rumbled a reply, voice similarly low as he spoke.

i know your sound, he said. and then he blinked, a knowing gaze. a nod of his head that was accompanied by a sense of brothership, though detached in a way that made him seem not-all-there. like his gaze was focused on something very, very far. only a dot on the horizon. you speak our tongue. do you not?

the strangers words would go otherwise unnoticed, but his scent would not. others stuck to his pelt like thorns. clinging to him. marking a loyalty, he assumed. but was this man a king, or a mercenary? a poet, or a bard? rökkur watched him carefully. perceiving the man coated in fire and ice. painted like the sun that rose from the back of the mountain range, glittering over the tundra.

a king, he thought. a stjóri.