beowulf

Nowke

nowkē has not known many names in his short life. his mother’s, his father’s, those of his sisters, and the names of the places they gave him.

winsook of nova peak.
saatsine of qeya river.
darukaal of duskfire glacier.

stories of what had brought ruin to these lands. of how wide teeth in the mouths of arrogant wolves did away with peace.

nowkē is determined to establish a peace on the rise, where he has laid down his axe and sworn his own fang to the skydanser.

it’s dusk when he spots the stranger, just a flicker of red movement on the far slope. his back rises with thick bear hide and above bridgework does his lip curl, unthinking. he creeps over the ridge of the rise towards the rogue.

a flagging tail and a demanding snarl. a speechless question: what do you want?