Their journey into the north was reckoned by the compaction of snowfall old and new. They’d made decent headway by stepping lightly on the thinner crusts until their weight broke into the drifts below. Skorpa had razed himself against the ice; a boulder cutting passage through dense snowfields while Ayovi followed, besotted with affection for the man. He’d rebuffed her attempts to help carry any of their stores, and so instead of contending she took the time to mark their path, saturating old snow with her scent and fastidiously pawing out depressions in the trunks of black spruces. Twice a place of belonging had been pilfered from under her paws, and now Ayovi intended to own this northern reach even if it meant turning tooth and nail upon her own wolfkind.
At last there rose the mount from a swath of rimed forest, where few slant rays illuminated soaring peaks while the highest emprise was clustered in lenticular veils. She wound her way through the switchbacks alongside the northman, movements betraying anticipation but with reflections of awe in the deep azure as it caught upon striking details. She stopped to take crisp laps from the creek which poured down the lower valley like the length of a gray mare’s tail.
Skorpa led them to the snowwoman’s cave where Ayovi’s stood crestfallen to find only scant traces of Nemage. She lingered in the forgotten denmouth, sorting through the aromas there— chapters of history written in worn scents upon the mountainside. The strange alloy of loss and hope that had thus pervaded her sense of self on the leave of red creek imbued now with a feeling of connection; a great sense of privilege to walk upon Nova.
Over her shoulder the bear’s look is one of question. Ayovi grins, astonished by the way her heart careens against her chest as she takes Skorpa within her sights.
“Leave it for now,” she nudges their things from his back, tugging the bearskin to free the scarlet shoulders, throat leaking a playful growl. There was much of this place— their home— to explore, and the huntress was heady with the power of the mountain. The kind of power she really needed.
At last there rose the mount from a swath of rimed forest, where few slant rays illuminated soaring peaks while the highest emprise was clustered in lenticular veils. She wound her way through the switchbacks alongside the northman, movements betraying anticipation but with reflections of awe in the deep azure as it caught upon striking details. She stopped to take crisp laps from the creek which poured down the lower valley like the length of a gray mare’s tail.
Skorpa led them to the snowwoman’s cave where Ayovi’s stood crestfallen to find only scant traces of Nemage. She lingered in the forgotten denmouth, sorting through the aromas there— chapters of history written in worn scents upon the mountainside. The strange alloy of loss and hope that had thus pervaded her sense of self on the leave of red creek imbued now with a feeling of connection; a great sense of privilege to walk upon Nova.
Over her shoulder the bear’s look is one of question. Ayovi grins, astonished by the way her heart careens against her chest as she takes Skorpa within her sights.
“Leave it for now,” she nudges their things from his back, tugging the bearskin to free the scarlet shoulders, throat leaking a playful growl. There was much of this place— their home— to explore, and the huntress was heady with the power of the mountain. The kind of power she really needed.
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RE: ε - by Ayovi - February 12, 2025, 01:45 PM