King Elk Forest ≼ völuspá

nyktos should have begun heading towards the coast days ago. something, he could not name, could not place his paw upon it, kept him here. bid him to linger. patience wasn't a virtue of the dreadfather, nor his commanding son. stillness was not either. but the whispers in the hush of night when the sky spills dark like a bruise implores nyktos to stay for a little while longer.

so, he roams the forest, giving wide berth to the massive male elk who has lain claim to the very heart of the territory — creator of the eerie call he'd heard on occasion.

their paths crossed once and once was enough for nyktos to know that he did not wish to disturb the ( believed to be ) god-elk.

steps pause when the scent of another draws nearer ... singular golden gaze roaming until it falls upon her: dark as soot and scorched earth. nostrils flare in the seconds before low chuff spills from betwixt his lips.