Nova Peak Via Infinita

@Relic’s departure really impacted the sense of stability so briefly restored by @Avicus’s return the month before. Masquerade quit the rise temporarily, stalking away to the neighboring peak. They found their favored sunning spot but instead of basking, they brooded.

Presently, clouds gathered in the late morning sky, very much suiting their gloomy mood. Masquerade tipped their ruddy face into a chilly wind that pressed against them, a northerly that carried faint scents of the sea. It smelled of rain too. Perhaps a cloudburst was making its way inland.

They were exposed here, so Masque pushed to their paws and began climbing downward to inspect the foot of the mount for places to shelter. They found an overhang just as cold raindrops started to fall. They curled up and watched the rainfall, eyes glazing as they fell deep into introspection.

When the shower passed, the Ulfr stepped out of their refuge, shook out their gray pelt and paused, chewing on a “shower thought.” After a moment, they arrived at a decision and raised their head, hoping the damp air would carry their voice well enough for @Mulherin to hear their summons.

Much like Masque currently, he'd spent the week in similar spirits.

Overall, he seemed to simmer temperamentally; he grew quieter, wholly cool-exteriored now, fairly dependable. His voice deepened and he seemed to finally grow into his skin; tall, lean, a dark-clad version of his father. He was more reclusive, yet always hung nearby, like an early morning's fog. 

However, the boy found there was no fog today, rather, intermittent showers. Raindrops clung to his fur as he walked along, searching for who'd called him—Masquerade.

Hey, He greets, finally finding the Ulfr. Curiously, he eyes them with a slight tilt of his head, expecting an explanation.

Mulherin had never failed to respond to a summons. Today was no different. Masquerade smiled softly when they saw him appear in the distance, moving closer. When he stopped a few feet from them, their expression brightened even further as they reached out to nip fondly at his whiskers.

When they withdrew, their face grew more pensive. They wanted to tell him something, yet the Ulfr wanted to phrase it correctly. The last thing they wanted to do was upset their younger brother in any way. Masquerade also meant no insult to their comrades, though as time passed on, their preference only grew stronger.

I think articulation is an essential skill. I think it’s important for you—especially as a future leader—to be able to enunciate clearly and speak eloquently. I know you’ve picked up some speech patterns from mother. She can’t help it. But you can, they said, marigold eyes tight, and I’d like to help you with that and the rest of it, if you’ll allow me.

Orange eyes search their face as they try to find their words. When the words come out, a frown creases his mouth.

Adapt his speech. The prospect makes his gut twist in resistance.

Avicus taught him to speak. Her way was the right way. And moreso, the boy believed himself to have inherited something from her that made his speech similarly garbled as hers.

And there was no changing biology.

In a strange way he found a familial sense of pride in it, in being her echo. He was alone in this way—special.

There’s a small part of him that realizes there’s merit to the Ulfr’s sentiment. Would it be worth the try? However it was still a battle of heart against mind. It is a very pertinent dilemma for the boy.

Tight-lipped, he stares at them blankly.

Finally he breaks his silence.

Lilia ih Behherker. Ih never htopped ‘er. Augur doehhn’ even talk ah all. He says, unable to swallow his opposition, which bubbled in his throat like bile.

For a long beat, he made no reply. Masquerade drew in a slow, steadying breath as Mul processed. When he finally spoke, his impediment seemed more prominent than they’d ever noticed before. Their brow furrowed in consternation over that and his reply, though they reached out to touch their nose to his cheek to beg his pardon.

Masque let out a breath and confessed to their brother, I’ve struggled with communication in the rise for a while. I feel like I can’t connect with the others, particularly those who don’t speak. It’s true, mother and Lilia can at least be understood. And I don’t think they can help it. I think you could, if you wanted. But, they added, stepping back to catch his gaze, it’s up to you.

They stood by their words. It was selfish, perhaps, and certainly judgmental. But Masquerade envisioned a pack where the leaders could communicate clearly with their followers. The thought of being able to connect with everybody—not just one or two pack mates—on that level filled the Ulfr with intense yearning.

He listens, moving to try and avoid their touch. His eyes are steely and gaze unwavering as he watches them speak. Their words seem to swim past his ears. The only thing that resonates:

It's up to you.

It was heart, unyielding pride that won in the end. He refused to stoop and change himself.

He scoffs at them, then snorts and walks off.

Juvenile, perhaps a bit harsh—however, in the very least, he hadn't said no.

It was jarring when Mulherin walked away without another word. It was difficult, too, to let him go so soon after seeing Relic leave. Masquerade clenched their teeth against calling him back, even though their heart beat anxiously in their chest. Just because he’d decided not to take this particular advice did not mean he was walking out of their life, like the others. He just needed space from the situation.

They retreated back to the dripping overhang, giving Mul that space and honoring the decision implied by his vexed departure. Masque took deep, steadying breaths and tried not to dwell on the way he’d not only rejected their proposal but their overtures too. He’d moved to avoid their touch, an image which makes them even broodier than before.