Overture Downs spoken words like moonlight,

he draws himself to a seated position at his haunches, looking gloomily upon the woman of pale snow-melt fur and soft eyes. tall, rounded ears perked; listening attentively to what she had to say. she spoke of her father, a song that carried through generations—a love song. the kind of thing he couldn’t imagine being shared in his own bloodline.

blackfell huffed, a dry sound, not quite bitter but far from warm. he tipped his head slightly, gaze shifting to the frost-covered ground at his feet. my father wasn’t the type to sing, he said after a beat. nemos... he was a king before anything else. strict, proud, ruthless. his lip curled faintly. his eyes flicked back to nanuralaaq, narrowing slightly as he studied her. her hum had softened now, her attention momentarily on the insect crawling up the tree. she looked so... untouched by the kind of weight he carried. he envied it, in a way.

my mother, though... his voice dropped lower, a rare softness creeping into the gruffness. she was... different. strong, but kind. she tried to balance him out. didn’t always work, but she tried. a faint smile ghosted across his features, there and gone in an instant. she taught me respect, the kind you earn, not take.

he trailed off, his gaze falling back to the river, watching the faint ripple of its surface. not sure she’d recognize me now, he admitted quietly.