Týrr did not stray far from Duskfire Glacier, lingering like a wraith in the no man's land near the borders. Trepidation was not something that the Nýeldur felt often, and he loathed it now as it seethed beneath the surface of his skin. He yearned to be apart of what he had helped found but he would accept no one's command but Tuwawi's own. He had given Malachi a trial, though admittedly an extremely short and likely unfair one, but Týrr could not stand to follow other males. He had disliked it even in Odinn's Cove when his then-believed-to-be-father Ragnar Lodbrok led. Always, even the mere idea had left Týrr with discomfort though now the lost amazon prince understood why he had never truly followed Ragnar. It was in his blood to dislike other males, ironic though it was. It was either the rule of a woman or his own. Tezcacoatl — him, his past life — had been trained his entire life for leadership and these were things that Týrr had never forgotten even when he had forgotten everything else that he had once held dear, that had been so vital and important to him: his queen mother, Quetzalcoatl, his guard, Coatl's Rise, Tartok. They were nothing more than echoes now, memories that he could not clearly see. They were blurred and horribly distorted, some of them entirely all but unavailable to him.
Trying to regain what he had lost was a waste of his time and energy, he knew. Forward was the only path he could take now, though the winding path before him was full of nothing but unknowns. He did not know what would happen from this point forward: if he would attempt to return to the Glacier (though Tuwawi's presence was enough of a pull for him given it was with her that his loyalties truly lay), if he would go his own way, find his own pack, or if he would attempt to usurp.
Still, he did not know. Nothing was set into stone, after all. Interactions could always change the course he was on, which was precisely why he had yet to choose a course. Instead, the Rekkr held back, waiting. Patience warring with impatience within him. Týrr had not exactly, so caught up in his thoughts, been paying attention to where he was going, unaware that he had wandered a bit further from the no man's land close to the Glacier than he'd meant too. Pause was given, contented to know it was still nearby, yet it was the scent of a lone wolf that had caused his mind to snap to attention. Crystalline blue eyes, accented by the streaks of silver under each lit through the pre-dawn, absently marking where his breath left his lips in a white, twisting furl of steam before it dissipated into the cold, exceptionally early morning. So well blended was she into the shadows that initially Týrr had not seen her, though her silhouette was cut and cast by the moonlight that shown down from the velveteen darkness of the sky.
Hello,
Týrr called to her, accented voice soft, carrying easily in the space between them.
a crime so old as the sky and bone