Duskfire Glacier Trouble in the Stepstones

Tikigâk listened on even still. Strange, this talk of alliances—it had never been her own way. Tartok had aligned only with itself—its distance from itself intentional, so as to not compete for resources. When it came to war, it was only to acquire more land—for itself, as to feed only their own mouths. No righteous causes, no protectors of any but their chosen family. 

Tartok was still instilled in her. Faust was this—family she had chosen. And so she walked this path with him, learning the way. Feeling her way through it. While she could not help but wonder at the point of such an alliance, of a need for any more swords beyond their own capable ones—life had taught him different lessons. She was not unwilling to see it through to find that answer.

The woman named the man Draugr, as she informs of what they two sought to build. Warhall. She could hear well their shared devotion to it. Their pride. It is pride her mate shared, in what he had made—Tikigâk stands tall beside him, her gaze turning to him as he looks upon her. The unflinching gaze of Tikigâk was resolute: she would bleed with him, now. For Darukaal.  

Slowly does she turn to the man as he speaks then of a daughter. Daughter of Faust—daughter of hers, then. Tikigâk has no love yet for those not yet born, and so she is not offended by the statement he makes. An ear twitches. Tikigâk lets the silence stretch. She cannot see so far into the future. She has not the imagination to craft any pretty images of it. 

So she speaks only to what she knows. They must choose it themselves. One of our blood cannot be sent. Cannot be forced or made or convinced, she rumbled, tail stiff behind her. Tikigâk did not say this to insult, but to inform; she and her mate were two forces that had collided together as they faced the path their lives would lead. Side by side, they had seen their paths merge—and so they walked it together, now. 

But she could not have forced her mate down this path. Nor could he have forced her. They two were both strong willed, and perhaps stubborn—staunch to their ways. What brought them together was greater than that—wilder, older, innate instinct that presented itself and called them together. 

Neither bent, neither broke—with their union, they built. 

She looks even still to the man, tail swaying a slow beat behind her. A relationship seems to matter to Faust, with this wolf before her. Blood, bone, spire and chilling snow—whatever their cubs were made of would be that and more. If there was a girl, Tikigâk rumbled in her low voice decisively: …but she will see your stones. Draugrsson would have the opportunity to make an effort, at the very least. 

And if he was anything like the battle-scarred Draugr, there was surely a chance a daughter of theirs might choose a life with them and stay—battle and blood called to the heart of Tikigâk, savage warrior that she was. Her mate, too, was no stranger to warfare. 

Who would their children become? Tikigâk did not know, and so could make no promises. Still—she did not doubt that they would be strong. That one would need to someday prove their worth, to stand at their side. 

And not knowing the final word that Draugr spoke, this was what Tikigâk assumed—that Draugr sought a mate for his son. That he saw the shared strength of herself and Faust, and knew as she did what would come of it. They two were forces to be reckoned with—what of the beasts they would rear? 

Not yet here, but already spoken of—already asked for. Mighty things.