Dawnlark Plains ☾ déix̲

the woman speaks, but her words are lost upon the ears.

he knows only the singular existence of him. he sees only the way he is charged, and blackfell's limbs lock in place. as if made to hold the weight of his brother, the man who comes barreling towards him with a glee that is almost pup-like.

he meets him with the same vigor, and the raven squawks in brief shock; stray feathers sent flying when he takes to the skies to avoid a premature death, squashed under two beasts.

they collide in the way only two warriors can, but it is not with axes raised nor a song of war upon their tongues. it is with love; blackfell's strength meeting faust's, with arms wrapping in bear hug as they crash. he is lifted upon his back legs as they tangle, chests two war drums that beat in violent cadence.

my brother, blackfell speaks back to him, nose heavy upon his ear. they part rather unceremoniously, but it is not for long as he reaches to press his forehead in a touch to his. breath fogging, clouding around them in hefty spirals and sides heaving with the effort it takes to live.

you stink the same, bastard.