Blackfoot Forest lance of the falling moon

they did not speak.
they did not speak as 'cross the great jagged mountains they travelled, with the scent of their pagi's blood still rife upon them. garait had been scorched, burned; his limp attested to the agony of each step, but he was silent. pressing onward alongside @Venextos. they had no need for words; their grief was deep and shared between the two of them. when he met his brother's eyes, he saw reflected there the morass of emotions that threatened to drag him down.
they did not speak, even as the dark expanse of a forest loomed below them. garait paused, only the twitch of his lip evincing his pain. snow began to fall, and he paused in the cascade of white to scent the air, eyes narrowed. here were wolves; too many; strangers. allowing himself a moment's respite, garait gazed down at the dark emerald of the clutched trees, and then turned his attention to venextos.
he had slowed too much to lead them; he would defer to the sparser brother, though he knew venextos was no less powerful than he. this had been proven several times over during their flight from the spilled blood of their fatherland; he trusted the attalus implicitly, and knew the same was thought of him.
garait laved his tongue gingerly across his bare-scorched shoulder in a single gesture, dark ears cupped to listen to venextos' footfalls. where his brother went, he would follow.