Golden Glade i'll follow you into the dark

If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied and illuminate the "no" on there vacancy sign

If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, then I'll follow you into the dark.

A soft breeze begun to stir the fresh powder snow on the ground. For her, winters had never brought snow, her birth place existed in a place of cacti and rivers. The closest memory Mictec could relate to was when the sky turned black as ash from the volcano would blanket their dens. But there was a beauty in the white blanket as the trees laid bare of their covering, it was death that surrounded her once more. Her paws sunk in slightly with every step she took, blood dripping onto the ground staining the white red from the small hare that she held tightly in her mouth.

Born to the land of fire yet finding solace in the land of ice, she found heraelf slowly adjusting to the cooler climate. Mictec moved to the rock formation towards the edge of the small clearing where the bare trees limbs seemed to be preying to the sky for sun. The rocks had formed a small cove, free of the snow and reveling the soft earth beneath as she laid herself and placed the kill in front of her. The quiet came easy, her inner demons seeming to be just as entranced as she was.

Vulnerability can be a powerful thing, those with great power who know how to wield can move mountains the voice of her abuela whispered seemed softly from out in the clearing, a voice Mictec sought when in need of guidance. With that, she felt a tear well in her eyes and she did the one thing her madre never let her do, she cried.

The quiet was what drew Qvasir, though he came upon her with the grace of snow falling from the branches. His gaze, steady and unyielding, lingered on the small cove where Mictec lay, the bloodied hare before her a stark contrast to the unbroken white surrounding them. He did not speak immediately, watching her, letting the rawness of the moment breathe.

When he did speak, his voice was low, meant only for her. Even the strongest trees bend under the weight of winter.

Qvasir sat a small distance away, his posture relaxed yet commanding, his eyes soft but unwavering. He tilted his head toward the hare.

A pause. Then he ventured, Is the burden too much today? It wasn’t pity; it was a question offered with the understanding of one who knew the weight of living with scars unseen.

The flow of tears slowed to halt at the sound of his voice which brought her an odd sense of comfort. She lifted herself off the ground, giving a small shake from any debris that had caught onto her obsidian pelt. There remained only a dull pain from the i jury she had received from her unfortunate entanglement with a hog but the limp was barely noticeable. The hare was proof she was falling back into her roots as the huntress she knew she was that even in the coated white environment, she was able to carry a successful hunt.

"Perhaps I can convince you to consider a rank suited for words of wisdom" she teased, offering a small smile.

In truth, she had begun to feel the strains of stress looking at the small clearing and the work needed to be done before a heavy winter storm drew near.

"I admit though, it is a good one. I was reminded of my Moonlit Trial, how frivolous to think I thought that was the most difficult thing I would do in my life and yet the present has proven otherwise."

Qvasir’s gaze lingered on her briefly, steady and unreadable, before he turned his attention to the clearing. His posture was firm, rooted, as though he were as much a part of the land as the stones beneath their paws.

You spoke of trials, he said after a moment, his voice low and gruff, cutting through the quiet like the edge of a blade. His tone carried no curiosity, only a measured interest, as though he were weighing the words she had offered against some internal scale.

What are they? he asked simply, his amber eyes shifting back to her, sharp and unwavering. The question hung between them, unadorned and stark, like the man himself.

"My culture focuses a lot on balance with nature. That is why with each changing season we would celebrate with different rituals. During the winter equinox, we would have the Moonlit Trial. Whenever a Telpochcalli completed their apprenticeship, they took on a new title, Painani. Those in this rank were eligible to participate in the Trial so that they could prove themselves to be an asset to the pack. It consisted of leaving for seven days out by themselves and during this time they were to make the trek up el volcán and retrieve a stone of obsidian as proof of their completion. If they survived and brought the stone back, they were to place it on the ofrenda. Its meant to be a spiritual journey were if they survived, then the gods had blessed their path."

Mictec nodded her head towards the largest tree on the side of the clearing, whose roots emerged out of the ground. On their laid an obsidian rock.

"That one belonged to my abuela." There was a tinge of sadness when she said this, all that remained from her homeland but it wasn't even hers.

Qvasir hummed softly, the sound low and contemplative, as he listened to her words. His gaze followed hers to the obsidian stone resting among the gnarled roots of the great tree, its dark surface catching faint glimmers of light. He let the silence stretch between them for a moment, respectful of the weight her memories seemed to carry.

The Moonlit Trial, he murmured, testing the words as though tasting the tradition itself. It sounds... sacred. A true testament to resilience and faith. To earn the favor of your gods through such hardship—it must mean so much to your people.

His voice softened further, the weight of her sadness not lost on him. Your abuela must have been strong. That stone is more than proof—it’s a connection. A piece of her world, still tied to you, even here.

He fell quiet again, his eyes lingering on the obsidian. His thoughts turned inward, to his own scattered roots and the ties he wished to mend. Finally, he glanced back at her, his tone steady but gentle. Thank you for sharing that with me, Mictec. It’s... humbling, to hear of a tradition so deeply rooted in your people’s strength and belief.

He shifted slightly, lowering his gaze to the ground, not wanting to intrude further on her thoughts unless she offered more. His hum returned, quieter now, almost as though it were meant to fill the space left by unspoken words.

"I think that once this place is more habitable, I will take it on again." There was an odd sense of certainty, as if she had made the decision before mentioning it. There were no volcanos here, that offered her relief to no longer have to relive the days of when ash would snuff out the sun and drown their lungs of air. But in the distance sat a mountain, narrow in size yet appeared to be yearning to touch the sky.

Mictec gaze met his briefly before she nodded with her head towards the mountain. "Others will be tasked to take on this trial but in order to do so, we would need a destination. I think that is where it needs to be."

Curiosity became of her wondering why he kept himself at bay, never traveling past the comfort of his ironclad walls. What must have come of his past she wondered as appeared to be disconnected. Empathy, a quality others consistently declared she lacked were in fact false. It was the reason she took so much of the hate. And here she found herself wanting to help him just as he helped her. Mictec held back her tongue from asking, knowing he would need to approach her whenever he was ready to regale his tale of woe, and so she instead extended an invitation into her own.

"She was the strongest I had ever known. Stories were told of how there was a terrible thunderstorm during her Trial and fears she had been lost to the earth. But she came back. The same happened during my trial, a tree had fallen on my back and the strong wind blinded me. I held on tight to my stone and pushed forward. Before my exile though, I had tossed mine into the lake." Her eyes seemed to darken, her tone draining of all emotion except one, anger. "They don't deserve to keep a piece of me."

Qvasir listened in silence, his golden eyes resting on her as she spoke, her words carrying a weight that settled heavily between them. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t shift or look away, letting her story unfold unchallenged. The anger in her tone didn’t surprise him—it was familiar, in a way that made his chest tighten briefly.

When she finished, he let the silence linger, his gaze briefly flicking to the distant mountain she had indicated. It stood stark and resolute, much like her.

Finally, his voice came, low and quiet. You were right to throw it back.

He said no more, letting the simplicity of the statement carry his meaning. Some things, he knew, were not for others to hold.

You will do it better the second time.

With a sharp inhale she relaxed herself, anger was not worth being spent on those who were now dead to her. She bent her head down, picking up the kill then rose onto her feet. She nudged with her head for him to follow her towards the meticulously placed tree bark. Giving it a hard push with a paw, it revealed the small hole underneath, a temporary cache from other successful hunts. 

Placing the hare into the hole, Mictec looked up at him, reminded of his offering and how clean the kill was. "We should discuss a title for you though."

Gripping the bark to cover the hole once more, she let out a small grunt from the small bit of strain of the injury that remained. She was pushing herself to hard prolonging her body from healing completely. 

"What would you say are your best assests?" She asked to distract herself from it.

Qvasir followed her movements silently, his green gaze sharp and observant as she worked to cover the cache. He noticed the strain in her body, the subtle flinch of discomfort she tried to mask. Though he said nothing, the observation lingered in his mind.

At her question, he met her eyes, his expression calm and direct. Combat, he replied simply, his voice steady. Guarding, protecting—those are what I’m best at.

He paused, letting the words settle before continuing. I’m not a builder or a healer. My skills are better suited for ensuring others can do their work safely.

There was no pride in his tone, just an honest assessment of his strengths. His gaze flicked back to the cache, then to her. And you should rest more, he added quietly, almost as an afterthought, before falling silent again.

" Un Cuāuhpilli perhaps" she wondered allowed. He had the build for it, she noticed that upon their first meeting and the way he carried himself would be an asset in confrontation. Hot-heads would often get her birth pack into unnecessary conflicts so to have him at the helm could negate that as a possibility.

"It takes a lot of self-sacrifice to care for others, an admirable quality." She offered him a sincere smile before brushing past him, playfully knocking into his shoulders as she ventured into the clearing.

"As for rest, there will be plenty of time for that in death but your concern is noted."

Mictec's gaze surveyed the area, taking note that they were in need of establishing dens and a space for a healer. Her knowledge stemmed from a land of heat so she hates to admit that the same would not translate to a land of ice.

Qvasir’s gaze followed her as she moved, the faintest tilt of his head betraying his curiosity at her assessment. Un Cuāuhpilli, he echoed softly, the term unfamiliar on his tongue but not unwelcome. He didn’t respond to the compliment immediately, letting her words settle in the crisp air between them. Self-sacrifice—an admirable quality, she’d said. He didn’t think of it that way, but he supposed it was true enough.

When she brushed past him, the playful knock to his shoulder drew a faint smirk to his otherwise steady expression. He turned slightly, watching as she surveyed the clearing, her attention shifting to the work that needed doing.

There’s more to care for than just others, he said finally, his voice low and steady. You’ll get farther if you don’t burn yourself out first.

He let the comment hang without pressing the point further. Mictec seemed determined to carry on at her own pace, and Qvasir wasn’t one to lecture. Instead, he stepped into the clearing with her, his sharp gaze sweeping the area. If we’re to make this place work, we'd better start now, he added, practical as always, though there was no hint of doubt in his tone—just resolve.

"Entonces, this is where your insight will be of great help."

There was a dusting of snow that covered the area, the surrounding branches of trees holding back as much as they could. He has a point she thought to herself. Mictec knew she would not have all the answers but she knew she would need to be open to accepting assistance. The madre would have scoffed at her for such a thought but the madre also pushed herself far past her own limits. 

But I am not my mother.

"You're right." She said simply, no sarcasm just truth. Her tail waved listlessly behind her until she felt the soft brush of the breeze. Mictec turned her gaze to watch the greying clouds off in the distance. They had some food, but what would be needed would be shelter from whatever the clouds may carry.

"Dens, that is what we should start with. What would be the best way to build those?"

Qvasir considered her words for a moment, his sharp gaze following hers to the greying clouds on the horizon. The promise of harsher weather made her suggestion all the more practical. Shelter would be essential.

That depends on what type you’d like, he said, his tone steady and thoughtful. I can dig underground dens—deep enough to protect from wind and snow. They’ll stay warmer, safer.

He shifted his weight slightly, glancing at the snowy ground around them as he spoke. But if the ground’s too hard, we can also build above. Use fallen branches, bark, and snow to insulate.

Snow as insulation was a difficult concept to comprehend, how can something cold provide heat? As she contemplated the question Mictec begun to paw at the ground testing it's durability.

"Thin soil." She said aloud, this would not bode well for digging deep. That is why the roots emerge from the ground she thought to herself of the tree she had chosen for the ofrenda. 

"Thin soil means we cannot go deep that means the same for the trees. Que interesante, that would mean the roots of all these trees are intertwined with each other."

Interconnected roots meant the trees would hold each other together, that strong gusts of winds meant they would all work together collectively to remain standing. If she could roll her eyes at herself she would at how easily such spiritual wisdom came to her.

Qvasir watched Mictec as she tested the ground, her words spoken aloud more to herself than to him. His green eyes followed her movements with quiet attentiveness, considering her observations. The soil was indeed thin, and while it explained the strength of the trees through their interconnection, it presented challenges for shelter.

You’re right, he said after a moment, his tone calm and measured. The roots hold together well, but they make digging harder. We’ll need to build above ground if this is the spot.

He stepped closer, pawing lightly at the ground beside her to test it for himself. The resistance confirmed her conclusion. Snow can insulate because it traps air, he explained, his voice steady but not condescending. It doesn’t give heat, but it keeps it from escaping.

He glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. We can use the trees. Their roots give stability, and their branches can help form a shelter. Combine that with packed snow for insulation, and it’ll hold against the wind.

He paused, his gaze shifting back to the area around them. But it will take time—and the right spot. If this ground won’t work for digging, we’ll need to adapt. That’s where your insight matters. He gestured with a subtle nod for her to continue, recognizing her ability to draw wisdom even from the land itself.

"The snow as insulation... it's clever," she murmured, more to herself than him, though the faintest flicker of approval crossed her expression. "A barrier that traps warmth rather than radiates it." Straightening herself, she glanced at Qvasir, her gaze steady and probing. "The trees are wise to endure this ground. They adapt—grow together so none fall alone. If we’re to survive here, we’ll need to do the same."

She turned, gesturing to the surrounding forest. "If we use the branches, we must take with care. Their strength lies in their unity. Strip too much, and they’ll weaken." Her tone carried a quiet warning, her reverence for the land evident.

Mictec stepped back, scanning the area with an assessing eye. "If we work with what’s already stable, like you said, we’ll save time. Look for natural arches, low-hanging boughs, places where the trees have already begun the work for us. The snow will hold if we pack it tightly."

Her attention returned to Qvasir, her expression softer now, though still resolute. "The land whispers its truths, all that it asks is for us to listen." She paused before adding, her tone carrying a note of acknowledgment, "And adapt, as you said. That’s survival."

Qvasir listened intently, his sharp green eyes following Mictec as she moved and spoke with a quiet reverence for the land around them. Her words carried weight, a balance of wisdom and practicality that aligned with his own approach. He nodded once, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding forest as she gestured, already considering her suggestions and the task ahead.

The land will guide us, he said finally, his voice low and steady. And it will be done.

There was no hesitation in his tone, only certainty. Qvasir knew the work would require care and patience, but he was no stranger to adapting, to building something lasting from what the earth offered. He stepped closer to the area she indicated, his movements deliberate as he began to assess potential starting points, letting the silence between them settle like freshly fallen snow.

As the light filtered through the trees, muted and cold, he cast a brief glance back at her, a faint flicker of approval in his expression. Though his words were few, they carried the promise of his actions. Together, they would make this place more than just livable—they would make it thrive.

And with that, Qvasir turned his attention fully to the task, his presence grounded and resolute, as the thread quietly faded into the rhythm of their shared purpose.

in case you want to bold your dialogue easily, you can put two colons before and after your dialogue. dialogue

Mictec watched Qvasir carefully, noting the steadiness in his gaze and the quiet determination that seemed to emanate from him. There was a calmness in his presence, a connection to the land that spoke of a deep understanding. She could see that he was already in tune with the task at hand, his mind working with the earth in a way that mirrored her own.

Trust.
This is what it meant to trust another Mictec came to realize, someone who she could share her vision with and was willing to assist. It was the ultimate foundation that a pack needed, making her feel proud that she had found the ability to trust another.

Mictec begun to move with purpose, her eyes scanning the ground as she walked, the soft crunch of leaves and twigs beneath her every step a quiet rhythm in the stillness. As she bowed her head, nose brushing over the earth, she took great care in inspecting the downed branches that littered the area. Some were brittle and dry, others still held a trace of life, their bark rough to the touch, but all of them would have a purpose.

With a swift, practiced motion, she selected a few that seemed strong enough to be repurposed, and begun to drag them towards him. She worked with caution, her movements steady taking heed of his warnings to not strain her body. She paused for a moment, glancing over at Qvasir, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. The branches, each one varying in size, were a piece of the puzzle.

We’ll need more than this, but it’s a good start.

yay I was struggling trying to figure that out!