Silver Moraine v manik

Pungent evergreen aromas paint the air and he is pleased—sinking in to the nostalgia as it strikes him.

He picks his way along with a leisurely stride until the ridge bisects and he must choose a path. The mountains sit behind him as a watchful bulwark. Fire glints on the horizon to the northeast. Hills undulate around the epicenter that is Kigipigak, and he is unsure of where next he should journey.

The wolf is hungry and so he begins the endless cycle once more of seeking a strong scent: his head bows over the crag-heavy surface of the moraine's topography and the work begins. The repetition brings him some comfort; he imagines what it would be like to feast on the giant tuttuvak that passed by Unnuakvik every year, sighs, and puts thoughts of home from his mind.

I saw you mentioned the moraine but the thread is set in Herbalist's Cache. Was it meant to be Silver Moraine? Just so I have my brain straight? lol

It was in silence that he moved, effortless gait carrying him alongside the fire-furred presence that was his sister. Her assistance had been enlisted this day, his intent to find and gather the herbs and fungi that would assist him in his practice. The man's caches were abysmally small as of yet, as a ssingle mouth could only carry so much. Two mouths, however, could carry double the find, thus his chosen company. He supposed, quietly and to himself, that it was also nice to have @Valmúa around once more.

He was yards away from her, gingerly pulling the mjólkurgras from the ground by its roots, when he heard it: the footfalls of another close to them. His head lifted, his project forgotten for the moment as the star eater strode forward, ahead of his sister to place himself between her and whatever creature neared them, cursing the winds this day as they blew from behind, serving no aid to them now.

Valmúa had never understood her brother's obsession with herbs. However, it was a useful interest of his, and so as she had done many times, she left with him to help gather the leaves and flowers that brought him joy. Perhaps joy wasn't the right word for it. He wasn't exactly much of a smiler.
For the moment, she was quiet. She watched her pallid brother pull the weed from its root, scouting the nearby trees for signs of movement. She was often on high alert on trips like this, watching for prey or predator to take advantage of whatever thing they might find unexpectedly.
When she heard footsteps, she let loose a short, purposeful growl. Val watched for the animal; she would have nothing sneak up on her brother. He put himself in front of her, and she pushed him sideways to stand at his side. She was no princess.
The wolf was white, like Stjor, only filthy. She raised a lip. Hver ert þú? she asked, testing intentionally for their native Icelandic tongue.

I meant to label it as the moraine! Fixed it.

The sky grew dark and ominous as he worked but he did not see it. He tasted petrichor in the air and knew the rain would come soon without needing to track the clouds as they danced; a storm could be deadly in the wrong place and Kigipigak would have been cautious had he not trusted himself in this southern place, presuming any rain would be mild. He was not going to stop trying to find food even if the sky wept over him.

When he raised his head to check his progress he noticed that the band of fire had moved dramatically to his other side. He huffed to clear his nostrils of other scents and then started to bow and get back to work when he saw a tendril of firelight moving quickly. Beside the ember was another.

Kigipigak stopped and watched the pair come closer. He took a deep breath as they neared but found no trace of Tartok among them. These were wolves bound to one-another but not to any one place, a set of travelers, much like himself.

The ruddy one spoke and Kigipigak was attentive to the sounds, tilting his head to their strangeness.

Weee! Italics from here forward are Inupiaq. :]

The shoulder shove from his sibling was met with a quick pinch of teeth, the physical admonishment done and over with in the blink of an eye. His focus returned to the one opposite the pair, ears pitched forward and alert for whatever response was given to the question borne from Valmúa's mouth. Surprise was nowhere to be found on his countenance when the male's head tilted at her words; few wolves here knew their natal tongue. That one, at least.

Instead of translating in the common tongue, the gold and blonde crested male attempted another greeting, this time in the words of another Northern language. Kinauvin? A feeling fluttered in his chest, its source and cause unknown. A simple murmur of his heart muscle? Or something more?

Stjornuati smartly chose the more common northern language when the white male showed no understanding. Val hadn't expected anything. Of the siblings, she had the greatest command of the common tongue, but this had come at the sacrifice of Inupiaq. She could still speak it, her vocabulary was just weak.
Idly, Valmúa licked her teeth. Her hackles raised, but it did little other than display her thinness. She hadn't yet gained the weight back from traveling alone. It was her brothers that had always been the powerhouses. Right now she was more show than she ever had been. Her tail raised slightly, uncomfortable, despite neutral ground.

There were many families in the north if one knew where to look and not all of them carried the same culture with them. Kigipigak's people were a territorial sort and they did not venture close to those rival tribes except for in wartime and it had been generations since the matriarch held such expansionist views.

As soon as the man switched to the other tongue Kigipigak's demeanor shifted. Kigipigak, he answered sharply. He was surprised to hear his tribe's language flow so well on a foreign tongue and at the same time, jarred by the switch, he became guarded.

You are not Tartok. He does not question them so much as state an observation. Far from home, like me? That much was obvious.

Kigipigak. The name rung familiar in the star eater's ears, though not due to recognition of the man but the language. His testing arrow had struck true and, though it was a surprise, Stjornuati did not allow his guard to drop. Much too soon for such trust, the Nordic male eyed the other carefully, noting his observation as a small frown drew his lips thin. He knew well his ancestry and prided himself on it, prided himself on knowing the language and the ways of those that had come before him.

Tartok in blood and legacy. This one is from Stormhaven Keep. Far north. Valmua, not forgotten, was indicated as well. This one's sister as well. You?

Indeed. From the north. The other was guarded. Valmúa felt the body language of her brother beside her and her neck fluttered a moment with a shiver. Her eyes were sharp, cutting into the stranger in the search for truth and trust. They were Tartok. Just different Tartok.
Stjor did the duty of introducing her as sister. I am Valmúa, and we are Tartok, she followed boldly, holding her head high. She would not accept the declaration of doubt at their heritage. The af Stormskýli were strong. She breathed, feeling the earth under her paws. She wondered if this Kigipigak might be recruited. He was either friend and thus a recruit, or else they would show him the strength of their bloodline.
Maybe both.

They could speak his language and that alone should have reduced his sense of uncertainy, not brought it blazing to life. The man spoke of a place he had never heard of and each of them had strange names, not those he was used to hearing at any rate.

None in his home village held such a fiery mark as the woman. Most looked like the man—and Kigipigak thought of his sisters, at first fondly and then with some consternation, incidentally flavoring his speech with a cold sort of pride: I am the son of the matriarch Sedna, of Unnuakvik.

Winter-hewn coat serrated as his mantled shoulders spiked, his tail a weighted flail hanging at his hocks. His head raised to match that of the man. I am the youngest of my tribe to earn my name. And as they held such odd ones themselves, he wondered if they were like him — or weak anneriwok like the sisters he no longer loved.

This one has not heard tell of your Unnuakvik. That did not mean it was not true, however, and indicated his acceptance of its existence with his next words. The Tartok reach is far and great. The legends of Siku the Mighty, Siku the Mother, Siku the Conquerer were great in number, and her empire had lived on past her to grow into what it was today.

The task of earning one's name was a great feat, and Stjornuati was appreciative of this, his awareness of what the statement meant flashing through his eyes. This one has earned many names. Was once Atuaserk. Ukpik. Arjatkuk. Now, this one is Stjörnuáti. Pride rose its rare and yet valiant head now, visible to the two souls that accompanied him. Earning their name was a tradition that had lived on in the lives of the Stormskýli and it was one that he would teach his ownn children as well, when he had them.

It was clear to her that Kigipigak was equally proud of his lineage as he told of it. He held his head as high as they did as he described that he was the youngest to earn a name. This was a great honour, as Stjornuati knew as well. Valmúa's silver eyes glimmered as she eyed the young northerner in a new light. Not only had he travelled far, but he had been made in the north before. He did not run from the north. Rather, he brought the north with him, just as they had.
Her ginger tail relaxed and waved slowly from side to side. She was growing steadily to appreciate the presence of the Unnuakvik. I also was called other names before Valmúa. She was proud as they were, but quickly grew tired of their male posturing game.
Once more she licked her teeth, something of a habit she had developed from childhood that meant either boredom or worry. Here, she moved in casually closer to the Unnuakvik sideways, presenting her flank willingly and reaching to smell him. Her lip quivered.

No tales of his home? He was not surprised by that initially, knowing his mother was a secretive creature who harbored strong skepticism about the world outside of Unnuakvik. The tale of Auktuk's demise would surely spring to life—perhaps it already had become a small legend within his family? Kigipigak wished it to be so.

The man spoke of all his names and then the woman also, drawing Kigipigak's attention. She turned towards him in a friendly gesture of greeting and as she went to smell him he mirrored her, lacking any caution. 

Watching the woman after, he directed his next questions her way. Do you come here for a reason? He looked expectantly upon her. To be niviaksiak?

She could have been here seeking a claim on behalf of her tribe, to set down roots and become a matriarch of her own branch. It was a commendable goal, thought Kigipigak.

His tension inched higher as his sister moved forward, watching intently as she and Kigipigak sniffed at each other; his muscles sung in preparation to launch himself across the distance should the wolf of Tartok prove a threat. The chances were small, now that they had established some kind of commonality, but Stjornuati would not take the risk all the same.

It was not the other asked the question of Valmua that Stjor finally ventured closer, extending his neck to explore the scents gathered on the dirty male. The ginger could answer the man's questions for a moment, as he was much more concerned with the information he could glean through his nose.

Should touched shoulder, dirt coming away from Kigipigak's fur to color his own, a physical sign of Stjornuati's acceptance of the male, pleased that they had discovered one of their kin in this region.

With him he carried the smell of the woods he had travelled through. She found mountain air and a peculiar, sweet fragrance of freshwater streams and muddied trails. For a moment Valmúa enjoyed this primitive form of talk that all beasts of their kind were capable. She flicked her tail at him, stepping back again to regard him as he probed.
A snap, almost beyond her control, made a fast and sharp noise in the air as she pressed her teeth together. Why? Do you desire a wife with usuk arjiruk than you? Had her brother not been there, it was quite possible she may have done the opposite and flirted with the young Unnuakvik. Instead, she waived a proverbial phallus about. It was clear that her bite at the air was never directed to harm but merely make noise.
Valmúa cracked her neck slightly, relaxing as quickly as she had been lit aflame. Hringja, the call, brought me to my brothers, she said simply, eying him with anticipation.

They both smelled salty and he found himself probing for more tastes, wanting to find the clean edge of ice there among the furs. Then the woman snapped and Kigipigak bristled all over. He flashed his teeth as a warning to the both of them and while it was brief the expression gave him a crude look.

As he hides his teeth away in the next instant Kigipigak huffs, his tail frisking to relieve some of the tension that the woman's behavior brought out of him. If I had wanted that I would have stayed in Unnuakvik! His voice was light.

He did not expect such fire from the sun-touched one, and laughed, thinking of how well Nauja would get along with this one. The chuckle was short-lived as it caught in his throat. Valmua was eyeing her brother and so Kigipigak looked to him as well.

If not to grow Tartok, then why?

A low laugh came from him, deep and amused at the interaction between the two of them. This was a reaction he expected from the female spun of fire, having known her long enough to know that the notion of carrying children because it was right and womanly fueled her ire in a way that few other things did. He had been on the end of her teeth many times throughout their lives, enjoying the act of needling her on purpose and occascion. Kigipigak, if he was to know them past this first meeting, would come to learn all of this.

This one and this one's family answer The Call. If hringja bid we stay here, this one will lay claim to the forest of ravens. For a moment, Stjornuati switched to Icelandic, if only to sort his thoughts so that he could translate them into the common tongue. Þegar tíminn er réttur munum við vaxa. Time must be correct. And they would not make their move before then. Whatever family they built here would be strong, in bond and body alike.

The both of them seemed to find her outburst humourous. Her lip twitched and one of her ears flung sideways, but she made no action to remedy the situation. Valmúa did allow a thin, dirty smile to form on her vulgar lips, mostly at the thought of the many women with phalluses that might take advantage of a young Kigipigak. The image gave her delight.
The tension she'd pushed for melted away as sea ice in summer. Stjornuati described the Watch and told of the ravens and that the time must be right in order to succeed. Though Valmúa was a new addition to her brothers' move, she had every intention of ensuring that she was well placed when they made a formal claim on the location. She would not be ousted by their prideful neglect again. She would not be sidelined.
Our brother watches the stars and waits for good tíma — eh, time, she clarified. Her tail flicked every so often, as though still annoyed by the previous suggestion of motherhood.

Kigipigak did not understand but he enjoyed the sound of Stjornuati's laughter. It reminded him of harbour seals barking at the setting sun. The woman seemed to be in good spirits despite the communication error.

Wait too long and the cold will come, warned the boy. Winter here would not be as harrowing though, he thought, as they were very far south now. Kigipigak found he traveled more because of this, eager to see all the green before the white came. 

The lights above only watch, they can not speak. He remarks with another chuckle, a wolf grin settling easily on his face. It stung where a recent tear sat upon his lip. If it is the raven forest you want then take it! His tail waved triumphantly for a moment at this suggestion. It was the way of their people to be strong and make their will reality, was it not?

The statement of Winter's looming was met with a stern and serious nod. They had all lived in colder regions than this and so knew the dangers of the season better than most. Only a fool would look into Winter's face and not prepare. This one knows. This one is ready. And if Stjornuati was ready, so too, would Solpallur and Valmua be ready. As if to punctuate this statement, Stjornuati shook out his fur, allowing it to fluff out and shake free the dirt and dust that had settled.

Kigipigak will help make the forest ours. Half a statement, half a question, all of it an invitiation for their fellow Northerner to join them. Livered eyes steadily watched the man, tail flicking idly behind him. Even if the man declined, Stjornuati would still be pleased with this meeting, with the discovery of one of their own.

Kigipigak was right. Winter would come and they would need to focus their attention on survival. Valmúa had never experienced a winter this far south and did not know what to expect, but the temperatures thus far felt as summer had back in Stormhaven. He grinned at the thought of the stars speaking to Solpallur, and at this she couldn't help but curve her own lips in a smile. Sol and Stjor both had their weird ideas about the way that nature worked. Though the ginger sister trusted their judgments, she often doubted the mechanisms they arrived at them.
She liked the Inuk of Tartok. She liked his straightforward manner. Her tail wagged slowly as he readily encourage them to take the forest as theirs, for it was a sign of his acceptance.
Naturally, when her brother suggested that Kigipigak join them in this growth, she watched the young male closely. She was still holding a curvaceous, almost coquettish grin. The misunderstanding all but forgotten, his eye contact now seemed to excite her.

It was likely these wolves were from further north than even himself, with the way their language had mutated to encompass sounds he had never heard before and presumably customs he had never seen. It was an exciting thought. 

The man's statement rang in the air and Kigipigak drank in a breath as he considered his options; journeying around this wild place had proven to be entertaining so far and he would like to continue, however, his people were conquerers and expansionists. It was the Tartok way to take what they wanted when they wanted it. Kigipigak knew he would be living up to his name if he agreed.

That wolf-smile grew wide. Kigipigak will help you take the raven forest, yes! For the honor of Tartok. He tried to ignore the focused manner in which Valmua watched him but it was difficult to keep himself centered upon Stjornuati, feeling the chill that those eyes left upon him. It cemented his thoughts about her too—not a niviaksiak then issumatar!

The smile of Kigipigak was mirrored on Stjornuati's muzzle, the distance between them closing as shoulder met shoulder. The motion was meant to be one of comraderie, sharing their scents with one another and, with Stjornuati's would come all the others he had lived with recently. Kigipigak is bróðir now. The rumbled words held much beneath the surface, his head butting the others gently. Kigipigak will come to the Watch soon then, set back from the coast and into mountains. The ravens will guide. A look was cast to Valmua, knowing that if his intructions were not clear, she would help him to be understood.

A long moment passed as Kigipigak drew in a deep breath. She breathed with him, her stare perhaps unnerving given the intensity. In that moment, she drank in his spirit. She felt his presence, and knew that he would suit their Watch well.
The cinnamon woman noticed the cut on his lip as his smile stretched wide. Her wagging tail quickened as he accepted. As her brother shoulder bumped him and called him brother, she too pushed closer to him again to push her nose against his neck briefly. His thick coat was warm and soft with an exotic scent. As Stjor gave directions, she nodded. It is there, between the mountain wall and the sea, Valmúa grinned. He would find it.
To her brother, she looked toward then. Náum í illgresið þitt, — we will go get his plants now, but I will see you, said Valmúa. First to her brother, then to her new favourite Tartok. She gave him another glance that had a shimmer of mischief in it. She was sure that Stjor would see it. He knew her well.

First one and then the other took chances to spread scent across him. It would feel wrong for a while to Kigipigak that he should carry these scents and not his mother's. He would get over it eventually. As they shared scents Kigipigak took notice of how fit their bodies were and then, catching a glimpse from the woman, his attention trailed after her as she separated from him.

Set back from the coast. Between mountain wall and sea. He would look there for a glimpse of the sun in an unlikely place, hopeful to reunite with them both. The curve of Valmua's hips would sustain him in his mind until then.

The ravens will guide, Kigipigak recited as Stjornuati also left him. The boy chuffed at the air as a farewell to them both, his tail frisking to despell new vigorous energies that had spread throughout his skin—and he turned opposite to them, seeking somewhere new to distract him until their next meeting.