Duskfire Glacier stone-age mind in a space-world age

He had gone further than the rest, searching the ground for the trail long after it ran dry. Malachi did not beg the others to press on with him, nor did he blame them for turning back to Duskfire once the snows petered out to solid ground. The man's mind was a rage of emotion, skipping between fear and confusion and anger and guilt, all funnelled toward the briny wolf he believed to be the giver of the wretched gift left on the safety of the border. She had given her word to return in a week's time, and he had given her a month before searching the shores for signs of her presence. Never superstitious, Malachi wondered if these lands were wrought to make him so, for if this wolf was anything, she was the epitome of a ghost. She had vanished again, and his eyes scanned the horizon sharply for signs of her retreat. Yet nothing but wilderness greeted him, and with little direction or knowledge of the land, he let out a breath of frustration and turned his shaking paws back to face the Glacier again.

Now with his eyes upon his homeland, every inch of emotion he propelled against Caiaphas accused him all the same. He had taken Caiaphas for her word, and had waited patiently for her return. Her answer was never supposed to be like this. A mangled corpse, a sign Malachi wasn't skilled to interpret in full, but one that made bile rise every time his thoughts returned to its bloody face and plucked-out eyes. He didn't need someone to explain it to him, for he understood the message loud and clear: Larus was theirs, or blood would be spilled, be it the Bay's or the Glacier's. And as much as he wished to rescue the child and rise against the injustice ushered against them, he didn't want to see the blood of either.

Tuwawi's howl caught him as he neared the Glacier, but the trembling of his legs prevented him from running toward her. Her cry was incensed and bitter, and he couldn't press the tendril of fear that snaked its way into his heart. When he finally dragged himself to the place of meeting, he stopped near the edge of the gathered group. Though many had gathered, he did not turn to them, for only one caught him rapt in fear. An anger unabashed sparked from Tuwawi's fire-kissed fur, and an uncanny dread settled in his innermost core as he opened his mouth to utter the sentiment he'd hoped to tell her only when she had entered a downswing of her rage - they have Larus - for what he thought to be reasons that would save them all in the end. Timing seemed of little matter now, but his voice made only a squeak as his words stuck in his throat, stopped by the ruminating fire in her eyes.