The Glacier was at it's most captivating when it caught the fire of the setting sun and reflected it, the glacier blue of the frozen water rising into the horizon appearing as if it, in and of itself, was ablaze. Many times had that sight stolen Týrr's breath. It was a sight of comfort and home. If home truly was where the heart was then his home was, without any sliver of doubt, Duskfire Glacier. Though Týrr had yet to resound his way to a conclusion of either sway, his heart ached and yearned to nestle himself back into the Glacier's ranks once more and stay there this time. Easily, Týrr blamed most of his at the time flightiness upon his sudden and intense identity crisis as he discovered what was real and not real about his own life. A life he had though he'd known, well, better than anyone else. As it turned out: he did not know. In fact, he knew very little about his own life. The Lost Amazon Prince had nothing but wisps of memories left — nothing more than thin echoes of the world he'd been born into. He was bitter about it — resenting for it. Ragnar had stolen everything that Týrr had once loved from him: Quetzalcoatl, — his mother — Tartok — the pack Týrr had been apart of during his time in Seahawk Valley, Siku...every thing that had shaped him and made him who he had been. Now, all he remembered were names. No faces. No connections. The name Tezcacoatl might have belonged to him but he no longer deserved it. He was not worthy of the holy name of the Amazons. The serpent king...it was not a title that befit him.
Týrr, while it held meaning to Ragnar certainly, held nothing of the sort to the Rekkr. Once upon a time, when he'd believed the lies, the amnesia keeping him from knowing nothing else, his name had meant something to him. It had been shared with a God — a burden in and of itself. With the truth laid bare before him, however, that burden as the belief in the Norse deities ceased abruptly and harshly, vanished into the quick of night never to be found or felt again. He was neither Tezcacoatl or Týrr ...but he needed a name. Something to go by. Something that tied him to both for while he was neither specifically he could not deny that he was not a mixture of Amazon and Viking as the memories and lies merged to co-exist within him in a surprising force of peace ...and savageness. Some both archaic and new. It was terrifying and thrilling, quite an exhausting mixture of emotions as they warred with one another within him.
Crystalline blue gaze, accented by the streaks of silver beneath each eye, reluctantly left the view of the Glacier in the distance, despite that something else had caught his attention. The sound of loosely pack snow crunching under the weight of another, nearing him. Velveteen ears cupped forth and then pivoted outwards atop his skull, his muzzle swinging in her direction as her scent wafted his way. Týrr had not necessarily been hiding but the shadows cast by the trees in the sunlight of the day was a favored spot despite that under the direct sunlight might have proven to be warmer. She nearly blended in with the blanketing of snow, though her scent, unmistakably female and of the Glacier, combined with the shadow she cast before she bent to lap at the water source nearby, gave her away.
Curiosity was not something the Rekkr believed in stifling and so he let out a soft chuff to announce his presence to her before he began to close the distance, his steps well measured and naturally regal as his paws carried her closer.
a crime so old as the sky and bone