The Rekkr had spent the morning hunting for the caches, fresh blood splattering his chocolate brown muzzle and the ruffled fur at his chest. Salmon pink tongue stained with crimson swiped across his black, leathery nostril as the putrid scent of an infected wound assaulted his nostrils. Muzzle wrinkled briefly, portraying his disgust at the unease that the festering scent left within his nostrils before he let out a soft snort. As far as Týrr's knowledge went there was only one injured within the Glacier: a young boy, as the pallid female with the crimson eyes had told him (though the Rekkr still did not know her name). Týrr did his best not to think about that conversation, for while it had worked in his own benefit certainly in having finally been able to seize the Chronicler trade, it had undoubtedly irritated him. Mostly how the woman had so brazen spoken of Tuwawi. Týrr loved the Glacier, but it was just a piece of land without it's true Monarch. It was his home, yes, but Tuwawi was it's rightful ruler and it was with the ember that his loyalties lay — though this was not for a lack of trying on his part. Týrr liked Malachi — they shared a kinship in the fact that they were founders of this pack alongside the Sveijarns; but it was only the ember's rule he would follow and she did not wish to gain her throne back then he would take it and ensure that the Glacier remained true to it's initial principles and purpose.
Those thoughts, however, were tucked away as he drew nearer to the intruder child, crystalline blue eyes studying him without infliction. Týrr understood why Tuwawi had attacked him, this was not meant to be a refugee camp for orphaned children — it had been created so her family, so her own children could prosper. Týrr did not blame Tuwawi and he hoped that Malachi did not, either. Malachi knew why the Sveijarns had moved from the Creek and as far as the Rekkr was concerned Tuwawi had been in the right. So you're the child Tuwawi attacked,
Týrr murmured to the crying child, barely avoiding the soft snort that threatened to escape him. The Glacier was no place for sniffling whelps who did not recognize their place — not that he thought anyone but Tuwawi's own brood child-wise deserved a place here.
a crime so old as the sky and bone