Sawtooth Spire and i'd call you atlas

@Mahler or @Stag or both! :D

settling in new places was easy for melkor; maybe too easy. adjusting did not require much of an effort but he's spent his whole life on the move, never allowing himself to be rooted to one place; while that was not expressly true anymore he dedicates himself to staying with the wolves he has pledged to lead, those of courtfall that have remained. merging with diaspora, however, was new. he doesn't recall anything like it happening with any of the numerous pack's he's ( briefly ) called home; lest of all sharing leadership with stranger. he knows it's all new territory and all of them: valeian and diasporian alike will have to adjust.

but he's confident about it all the same.

melkor tends to the borders; new and freshly lain, adding his scent to the mixture as he maps them out. eventually, he will come to learn them like the back of his paw so that he could patrol them in his sleep. he pauses to brush his shoulder against the bark of a tree, pawpads pushing past snow to scrape against the still cold earth.

Much had changed in a matter of a few hours. Stag was still wheeling from it all, but he knew his family - and he knew he had a purpose. Mahler had directed him to scout out the perimeters of the spire - Stag was unsure of where those perimeters were, but he would try.

In doing so, he came across a goliath on the trail. One that was steely blue and dark, one that possibly even made Stag's General look thin and wiry. Pausing with a quiet gasp, Stag's tail went up immediately. If this was another Zarya, he would be ready to tell this guy to scram.

Of course, he'd be real screwed if this guy decided he looked like a chew toy.

he spent large amounts of time upon the new mountain, relieved to be be granted tasks to break the monotony. 
the trail of his nephew rose, fresh and dutiful, upon the locale mahler had directed. pleased, he made a low sound and trotted to where stag had drawn up upon sight of melkor.
he brushed against the boy encouragingly, plume languid and inviting as he chuffed to his newest packmate. "melkor, this is the son of my late brother. ve founded diaspora together. stag is a prince," he teased gently, welcoming the growing boy into the small society of men.

just as melkor pushes off the tree — leaving behind a tuft of fur snagged by the rough bark — a soft gasp catches his attention. he assumes, before his head even swings in stag's direction, that the wolf is not one of his own from the vale. suspicion is proven correct as his glacial gaze settles on the boy, downy ivory in color that gives him a distinct advantage in the snow, the youngster's tail raised. he's about quellcrist's age, if melkor had to guess.

❝easy there young soturi,❞ melkor says, the tundrian word for 'warrior' slipping off his tongue. ❝i led courtfall here.❞ he says before mahler appears, introducing them and explaining that stag is the son of diaspora's late founder. he takes no offense to the protectiveness of the borders — in fact, the tundrian is glad for it. ❝a prince, huh? that's impressive.❞ spoken without an ounce of mockery. melkor had been a prince too, at one time. an heir, at the very least; even though he'd long since had known would things have gone how they were supposed to arturo would've chosen malliadh for his successor in the end.

o: thank u mochi<33

Stag considered his options, which were few. The mountain-man had made notice of him, which meant if he turned around now, he could probably not die. Maybe. He ended up standing his ground, only because somewhere in the back of his mind, Mahler's growling voice pursuaded him to. This was their claim! If he was another troublemaker, he'd have to answer to Stag!

His tail fell when the man spoke, mentioning Courtfall -- and it was then Mahler appeared. Ever grateful for the man's presence, Stag dutifully aligned himself to Mahler's flank, looking up at the General in mute surprise as he mentioned him being a prince. It was not a title the boy had ever considered for himself, but he liked it -- and hope he wore it well in Mahler's eyes.

Looking back to Melkor, Stag couldn't help but wonder if all of Courtfall was made of this man's mettle. If so, their proposed alliance was a strong thing indeed. "Hello," He replied shyly, trying his best to remember to be polite despite how out of sync he felt in what was clearly a group of strong men, when he was just a boy.

pleased to see that melkor had kind words also for stag, the general moved to mark the treeline with a musk-ridden spray. "stag has alvays been helpful," mahler murmured, "quick to defend diaspora."
he moved away from the pair, tongue growing reticent even as his need for focus enlarged, usurped all of his attention. he sniffed the bark of an evergreen, ducked muzzle near an abandoned badger set.

❝hello.❞ melkor parrots back to the boy, offering him a small, encouraging smile. a gesture of his muzzle given as he invites stag to help with marking of the borders as mahler moves away from them. velveteen ears cup forth to hear mahler's words though there is a peaceful sort of quiet to be found up this high. the songbirds still sung and the woodland creatures chattered and scurried but it was easy to feel above the strifes of all other packs, all the noise, up here. ❝that's good,❞ melkor responds in deduction to mahler's words, giving the boy an approving nod ( even if his approval means little ). ❝you can never be too vigilant on the borders.❞

from what he and melkor had discovered thus far, the valley set in the large bowl of the very mountain. evergreens, willow, and silver birch comprised the majority of the forests, which poured down the stone sides of the spire, ending in scrubby foliage at the shale of the mountain's base.
there, good pasturelands would bloom green in springtime, but be trapped under chase amid the stone fangs of the foothills.
even without the herds, deer had made their home in the near untouched belly of sawtooth, along with goats and elk. there was hardly need to leave once here, and mahler knew the waterways not yet explored would also yield a bounty.
"vhat shall we call this river?" he inquired of the two, plume flagging at his hips as he inspected the meandering, ice-edged serpentine flow that seemed to be fed by snowmelt.

More of Mahler's quiet praise; Stag preened inwardly, but smiled in return. He watched as Mahler turned to inspect an evergreen, and made to do the same by an adjacent bush. You can never be too vigilant, Melkor imparted -- and Stag nodded dutifully in response.

A quick glance at Melkor, who Stag felt must also be a General, confirmed the male was doing much the same thing as Mahler. Learning from both, Stag pounced upon a small sapling and rubbed his shoulders vigorously against it, leaving tufts of white between blades of silver-green pine.

melkor follows along mahler and stag's path, adding his scent as they, as a trio, go; content with bringing up the caboose. ❝y'know ...i have a daughter about your age, stag,❞ melkor says then, realizing that it might seem a bit silly to say that given that q didn't live with them. in truth, he wasn't sure where she was; but trusts that she was capable all the same. she was a fearghal-ansbjørn, after all. ❝her name's quellcrist. she doesn't live with me, though.❞ he adds.

maybe it wasn't even fair to call her his daughter given he had little hand in raising her; too wild and too young to settle down. especially with a woman whom had already had a mate; or so that was what melkor had assumed the mayfair and elixir had been.

if nothing else, it was a fact about him given freely so the other two might know something else about him. something deeper than just his name, or that he's andraste's widow, or led courtfall. a question then rose from mahler, about the river and what they should call it. it's a snaking river, rimmed in ice and fed by snowmelt from the peak(s). ❝naming's never really been my specialty,❞ melkor admits with a sheepish chuckle before he turns to stag. ❝what do you think we should call it?❞

he waited for the pair to join him, incredibly pleased to see stag take the role of marking completely to heart.
refocusing stoneflower gaze upon the coursing waters, the general glanced to stag. it was perhaps a pressure for the boy, too monumental to assign as a task for now, but he wanted to see what the young man would make of it. whatever he decided, mahler would enjoy the sound of it.

Stag's long ears turned to Melkor as the male spoke of a daughter. Like any boy, this was an interesting factoid to Stag. Maybe later he could pull an ear or bully her into play as boys were wont to do. Or not, since it sounded like she didn't live with her father. Disappointing, but Stag didn't remark on this, and his head was turned from the male as he flung snow every which way, rubbing his scent along a young pine sapling.

Suddenly though, the mood in the room shifted. He looked up and found Mahler's gaze upon him, and realized the two Adults were expecting him to name this place. Uhhhhhhh... He looked desperately around them, trying to draw some sort of inspiration from their surroundings. Everything he thought was just.. lame.. and he didn't want them to laugh at him, or be disappointed. "Ummm..." So there were trees. Wind. Lots of stony peaks. Snow everywhere. Something winter? Maybe with a sprinkling of holm or hold?? "Wi- Windholme. Or um.." He felt a little nervous and couldn't help a cheeky joke as he looked at Mahler. "Vinterpeak."

melkor, having little to no experience dealing with kids — at least ones that weren't his own and even then his time spent traveling with q had been brief — he doesn't pause to think that while trying to be inclusive to their young companion that he might be applying too much pressure. ears cup forth as stag drawls out a 'umm' in contemplation and feels his head nod in approval of 'windholme'. the second option given is amusing, if only because it also reminds the tundrian of mahler's accent; though because he doesn't know mahler that well he hides his laugher in a slow smirk. ❝i like windholme. it fits.❞ melkor offers his opinion, before turning glacial gaze to mahler.

stag was somewhat confused; mahler had only meant to indicate the river.  yet a chuckle reverberated in his throat, pleased by the boy's confidence to rib him back a bit. "cheeky!" he exclaimed to the child, but brushed his muzzle down toward stag's eartips with a masculine show of affection.
"i like vindholme for a river," he commented, glancing in amusement to melkor.

WHOOPS! Because Stag's author is stupid, we'll have to explain away the misinterpretation as a genuine mishearing on Stag's part. Horrified by his (read: his author's) massive misreading of the task at hand, Stag sheepishly smiled. Thankfully, both adults accepted his (read: his author's) ineptitude with enviable grace.

Stag blushed under Mahler's brushing show of affection, his tail lowered. He'd done been dumb, but at least Mahler had accepted the joke fairly. "Do you?" He couldn't believe his ears, and had been nervous they might think his contributions silly.. after all, he was just a kid, and it was hard to take children seriously. Even he knew that.

❝windholm it is, then.❞ melkor decrees in his rasping rumble, approvingly, as his glacial gaze moves from his companions to the water, noting a rabbit on the other side of the bank hopping to the icy edge to get a drink. in a moment of rarity, melkor is reminded of himself as a cub as his gaze goes back to stag; and while the tundrian could not speak for the diasporian princeling, he knows that all he'd wanted as a cub was to grow up, to be one of the adults. ...before he'd turned into a mercenary flitting from pack to pack and selling secrets ( though he only told moonspear on the cusp of war with blackfeather ); and mostly that was because he'd wanted to impress her and see vaati and aries admit that he was the superior cub.

a second rabbit joins the first across the river's bank and melkor's brow rises as he takes note. ❝there might be a rabbit warren nearby,❞ he remarks then, gesturing to them with his muzzle. ❝maybe after our border marking we can investigate, hunt up something to eat?❞ he suggests.

last for me! <3

mahler followed the line of melkor's heavy muzzle, pulling his eyes from stag and windholme the river as hunger roiled in his body. suddenly ravenous, and eager to stain the slopes of their new home with blood, mahler nodded at the pair. the gargoyle found comfort in how unassuming melkor had been these past days; he was more confident now that he could lead alongside this man.
he pressed on, intent to see what more of sawtooth there was beneath the promise of fresh meat.

Windholme it was. Stag's heart beat fast. He was elated they had taken a name of his - that it had been good enough. He tried to study each of them slyly - surely, there was no guile in either of their eyes that he could detect. Their affirmation was genuine! His chest practically burst with pride.

Distracted then by Melkor's gaze, he followed it to the river. Across the bank he saw one rabbit, then two -- their long ears and dainty noses twitching as they grazed between ribbons of snow. He wished to chase immediately, but both of the adults were still. Stag followed the two of them with a mute nod, ready to mark where told, and eager to return to the river once their establishment over the spire was firm.

last from me also <3