Týrr would not claim that he harbored a restless soul, for he was content under Tuwawi's rule and being apart of the Glacier, a pack he had helped to see to fruition. Yet, he was not a homebody, either. He could not spend every day of the rest of his life locked away in the Glacier. He enjoyed exploring, and initially, he remembered, it was the reason he had desired to leave Coatl's Rise: he wanted to explore what lay beyond the Eldingar Valley. His guard had accompanied him, but how they had gotten separated or what had followed after that he did not know. Tezcacoatl's memories were not in tact, painful, and trying to pull them from whatever dark abyss they had been lost too as the amnesia, sliver by sliver dissipated was as cringe worthy as nails across a chalkboard. The headaches began dull and the more he poked and pryed, attempting to excavate something, anything they increased in strength. Týrr had learned quickly not to rush them, not to try to rip them free. Either they would come to him on their own, or they were lost to him forever. Vaguely, that was all he remembered: that he had wanted to explore the world beyond his home. Before and After remained large mysteries. There were times when he desired to ask Manauia, to see if she could fill in the blanks that he was too frightened to yank free himself but then bulked every time. Maybe she could tell him. Maybe it would spark a memory; but if it did would he suffer for it? Some sort of karma like consequence of “cheating” his amnesia? Or would her words fall deaf upon him with no spark of recognition at all?
He didn't know and the lost Amazon Prince was not willing to pay the price it might cost him to find out.
The Rekkr did not dare to venture too far from the Glacier — not when Tuwawi's ascension to her rightful throne was so new, and certainly not with the threat of death and war looming over them like a recently sharped axe, deadly and real. Just as Manauia was determined to let none harm a hair on his head, he was determined to protect Tuwawi and Maera to his dying breath if he had too. In his world, now so full of uncertainties, of so many more questions than he had answers the Rekkr held onto what mattered the most to him. Tuwawi, her remaining daughter, and Duskfire Glacier. In reality, the Glacier was all that he had. He had estranged himself from the Bay wolves, vowing to tear the heart of their patriarch out of his chest, hell bent upon vengeance; and though his trust for Manauia was beginning to take root it was still so new. He did not know for certain if he could trust her, though she had proved nothing but an asset to him thus far. She wanted him to go home, but he needed to make her see that the Glacier was his home. He tried to tell her that she didn't need to stay; yet she insisted. He would have attempted to order her to go back to the Rise, to be with her sisters but he held the suspicion that she would defy him. Though the whole “Lost Amazon Prince” was a new thing to him, he realized from their latest conversation that he did not have quite the pull over the Huntress as his title might initially instigate.
Still, she was all he had of a past he could not remember and there was a part of him (not that he'd ever admit it) that was glad she ignored his protests. It would no doubt be the Huntress he turned to, to advise him in the days to come.
The sound of a tongue sliding over fur, a subtle noise caught the Rekkr's attention, ears cupping forth atop his skull as his steps ceased, crystalline blue eyes scanning the landscape for the source. At first, his interest was piqued at the hopes that he'd happened to stumble upon some sort of prey animal. He wasn't hungry, but returning to the Glacier with something to offer the caches was not something he would willingly pass up. He found the creature, that appeared to be fox-like, though the Rekkr was filled with trepidation at his assumption. He'd never seen a fox those colors before.
A soft chuff was given to alert the thing to his presence, unsure if the creature would understand the wordless greeting.
a crime so old as the sky and bone