Týrr drew in a deep breath, the chilling air filling his lungs and pushing back out in a furl of white steam that left parted lips as the muscles in the junction between his shoulders tensed, his shoulders hunched to keep warm as the wind drifted like icy cool fingers through the wind swept and wild chocolate brown guard hairs there. The familiar territory of the Glacier was stretched out before him, calling to him like the song of a siren hidden deep in it's depths. Crystalline blue eyes stared longingly at the lands behind the urine markers that kept him out. His heart yearned for it but his mind was a steel cage of trepidation. He had sworn loyalty to Tuwawi and though it was hardly anything personal against Malachi it was only Tuwawi that the Rekkr wished to follow. This Glacier had been her dream, her promise to her young children and to her mate and Týrr, though he had given it an honest try, he could not conform himself to follow anyone else but the ember.
Besides, Týrr had a hard time accepting a fellow male as a leader, though now, thanks to Manauia he understood why he was that way. It was thousands of years of culture bred into him as an Amazon. The Lost Prince; the title made a mirthless smirk tug at the edges of the Rekkr's lips. Despite that he knew now what was truth and what was lies there was no ease to remembering. There were memories, certainly, though they were nothing but faint wisps; mere echoes of what they should have been. There was hardly any substance to them which provided Týrr with the always present question of was it real or a dream? For better or worse Týrr had came to the conclusion that he would forever be Týrr Nýeldur: the lost Amazon prince and the heathen rekkr. He was of both worlds now, knowing only what the Northman had filled his mind with, with ghosts of whom he had been before: Tezcacoatl.
Silently, the Rekkr stood at their borders, near but so very far away. Yearning, and unsure. Was what he wanted the same thing as what he needed; and how would he tell the difference? If Tuwawi was not in charge of her pack then was there a point to even attempting to appeal to Malachi for a second time; especially after he had left the first time. It was only one branch of the root that harbored all of Týrr's problems.
a crime so old as the sky and bone