The Wall Toome

Gods forbid if she hasn’t taken every last wrong turn.
But she has no place to be. Dead voices resume their crooning: daughter, find the kootsinpooäh. The ridge looms cold, frosted, its peaks blushing in dusk, long lichen tresses wavering atop stones. Boulders sweat, their gloss skidding claws long-dulled by the journey.
No food has starved her frame, eaten away at muscle. Distressingly, she found she could not even climb. Weak.
Ayovi runs tongue over teeth, and tries again.

faust watched her from above, emerald eyes narrowing as he took in her fragile frame struggling against the mountain’s grip. a creature born of softer lands, he thought, with her thin limbs and delicate build, so out of place here among the rugged peaks that had forged him.

the mountain was no place for weakness, and yet there she was, her pale figure a ghost against the unforgiving stone.

he moved silently, his calloused paws gripping the rocks with practiced ease, the climb effortless for one who knew the mountains as an extension of himself. as he descended toward her, the faint sound of her labored breathing reached his ears, a stark contrast to the resolute quiet of the peaks.

you’re no daughter of these ridges, he rumbled, voice low and laced with disdain. he stood above her now, towering in the fading light. what are you doing here? trying to get yourself killed?

his gaze swept over her again, lingering on her trembling legs and hollowed sides. he clicked his tongue against his teeth, a sound that was neither kind nor cruel.

get up, he said, tone brooking no argument. if you’re going to die, don’t let it be groveling on these stones. a kindness?

Only in falling shouts does Ayovi register the warrior who looms darkly upon his parapets, spewing chastisement which scalds the ears. Rough voice and shades of slate edged in ichor. Like Wide Fang.
Equally as agonizing– he is right.
Eyes jolt into prideful slits. Her chin stays resolutely down, concealing her face as she gracelessly scales a shallow ledge of limestone, scratching pathetically at rock until at last ivory breaches near the dangerous end of the mountainous figure tipped in sharp claw.
An Ashēer chief would have demanded the discipline of this man’s blood. Ayovi does not speak back openly, but she could make an answer; a message of defiance to rebalance the scales.
She launches a wad of saliva, meant to find its home-mark upon Wide Fang feet andvaults briskly away in a heat of smug disdain.

his persona faltered for a bleak moment when the ball of spit grazed the top of his foot. faust narrowed his eyes, but had made no move to clean it from his paw. let it stay, a futile reminder of her arrogance, as well as his own. if there was one thing he'd be sincere about, it'd be his attitude.

or fuckin' die. he shrugged. but she didn't relent. why? could her life truly mean that little than accepting she's wrong? accepting his help, though the shrouded paw he had thought of outstretching was drenched in her drool.

shit.

with a distasteful snarl, he himself was bested by the game of egos. embarrassing, toilsome. with the same paw that she spat on, he lowered himself down to the ridge he lingered upon. flat plateau. not a steeping ridge that invited the smile of death.

you made your point. grab on?

He offers his hand.
Ayovi resists the impulse to bite it.
It was an insult, of course, the offer itself, wounding far deeper than she’d let show in the snarl-lines of snout. The natural edges of the mountain don’t give a damn about her, but she trusts it more than the looming shadow warrior.
The winds belt, her muscles scream, the hunger swells again, clawing at her from the inside, and still she prefers their long pains to the quick cruelty of his kind.
“Now Wide Fang wants to patronize. Death by starvation not satisfying enough?” The blue fires flare.

he let out a low, dismissive huff, a sound as cold and sharp as the wind that swept down from the peaks. his gaze swept over the white wolf, her refusal striking no deeper than a flurry of snow against stone. his broad shoulders rolled in an easy shrug, the motion slow, deliberate.

...women, he muttered under his breath, the word laden with a rough-edged amusement that barely hid its patronizing weight. his lips curled faintly at the corners, though the expression was more wolfish than warm.

he lifted a paw, licking the spit from it with an idle flick of his tongue before dropping it back to the ground. i’m headed over the ridge. somethin’ worth takin’ down there, i reckon, he said, his voice deep and rolling, the northern burr unmistakable, like a growl softened by frost. if yer keen to join, well, that’s up to you...if you can make it up.

he took a step away, his frame moving with the easy confidence of a wolf born to harsh winters and harsher battles. as an afterthought, his voice came again, quieter but no less firm, the trace of a smirk lingering.

if silence’s yer preference, i’ll keep me mouth shut.

and with that, faust turned, his tail cutting through the air like a banner in the wind, leaving the offer to trail behind him as he began to move.

She knew his kind, the ploys they favored. Onl Wide Fang looking to warm his bed furs would make such an offer.
Her lips would not yield their snarl until his dark figure had turned and fallen away from view. She spits again, this time on the slick rock at her feet. The taste of him bitters the air still. In nursing her own pride, she wouldn't give his a chance.
With a sharp exhale Ayovi heaves herself upright, clinging to the jagged escarpments, blunt claws just managing to find purchase to make a clumsy ascent. It is painful, and the wind seems to make a mockery, tugging at her tail, biting into ears. Almost at once her muscles burn like wildfire, spreading up each leg and singeing the facets of spine. Fireflies gather in the corners of her eyes as grunts of effort are carried off in the wind. By the time she finds a final foothold and breaches a gentle slope the ground beneath concedes to weariness. Ayovi had never known this exhaustion.
No choice but to press on, hunger a singular, ravaging ache. Her paws take to the trailhead where not so far in advance strides the arrogant Wide Fang. No doubt he would proclaim himself a master of the hunt. Her lips curl, a hot sensation wrestling with the pangs of starvation.
Daughter, live.
With as wide a berth as she can manage, Ayovi steers alongside the man's giant flank.
“Silence. Your putrid breath gives one a headache,” she sets her terms, throwing a wry look in his direction. “This for the hunt only. I'm not sleeping with you.”

faust moved through the woodland with the ease of one who belonged to it, his dark figure blending seamlessly into the shadows cast by the towering pines. the cold air bit at his nose, sharp with the scent of frost and faint traces of game. the white woman trailed close, her cerulean eyes like shards of ice that caught the pale light filtering through the canopy. she was ragged, gnarled in appearance, but there was an undeniable presence about her, a rawness that made her stand out against the wintry backdrop.

ice woman, he would call her.

her words from earlier still lingered in the air between them, sharp-edged and laden with distrust. faust had said nothing in return, merely nodding at her demand for silence. it suited him; the hunt required quiet, and her need for it mirrored his own. whatever reservations she held, they didn’t matter to him. the deer they sought would not wait for her to sort through them.

his steps slowed as the trees began to thin, revealing a clearing ahead. he froze, his ears pricking forward, nose twitching as he caught the scent of their quarry. a doe stood there, her head low as she grazed on the sparse undergrowth, blissfully unaware of the hunters lurking just beyond the treeline.

faust chuffed softly to catch her attention, his emerald gaze cutting back to her for a brief moment before he pointed with his muzzle toward the deer. his movements were deliberate, careful not to disturb the brittle underbrush beneath his paws. he straightened slightly, glancing back to ensure she’d seen, then held his position. the unspoken message was clear: this was the moment. her move.

he stayed still, muscles coiled like a spring, ready to act if needed but letting her take the lead. the forest seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the faint crunch of snow under the doe’s hooves in the distance.

Syncing their steps is sacrilege. She would not stave the curl of lip or sulfurous flaring gaze in his appeals for engagement. She would not enjoy the pleasures of hunting alongside this ridge; not like she had in Big Sky.
She was wary of his reprimand. So much so that she followed each of his movements from the corner of her eye, parrying them with a pivot aside. A flinch.
But even she faltered to weakness and hunger, lapping diligently at slaver when deer-scent ladened the air. She might have crouched beside him eagerly then, tracing those familiar hind contours from their cover beneath a row of spruces.
By Wide Fang’s hesitation, he seemed keen on allowing her a lead. If it was a trap, Ayovi gave no time to its contemplation, instead settling the weight of her chest into feet, claws bracing against hard-packed snow. Then she vaults– blindly, impatience making her careless.
She makes a rabid dash for the doe’s hind, managing a few tugs before being kicked on the cheek, hoof slashing something hot into the side of her face.

faust sprinted after ice woman, muscles rippling beneath his weathered coat as he closed the distance. he watched her reckless charge with a mix of frustration and concern. her impatience had cost her—a swift kick to the face that sent a spray of blood onto the pristine snow. the sharp scent of it filled his nostrils, distracting and unnecessary.

she doesn't know these lands, he thought, too impulsive.

grunting under his breath, faust refocused on the fleeing doe. there was no room for error now. he surged forward, his larger frame moving with practiced efficiency. drawing parallel to the doe, he positioned himself to intercept. with a powerful leap, he latched his jaws onto the underside of her throat, feeling the frantic pulse beneath her hide.

a sharp pain exploded in his abdomen as a hoof connected, but he held firm, refusing to let go. his grip tightened, muscles straining. through clenched teeth, he shot a glance toward the ice woman, his eyes flashing a clear message: now is the time.

if she could pull herself together, they could bring the doe down. together.

Ayovi snarls, sweeping at her cheek with the backside of a wrist before darting off again. Even if she abhorred the very idea, there was something she wanted to prove to the Wide Tooth– but she could not name it so decisively. Strength? Power?
Maybe merit; that her kind deserved to live. That their offer was something good for the world.
She tussles with the sludge of snow and earth churned up by migrating herds. These passages are narrow and backed on either side by steep cliffs which slows her step. But eventually her pace supersedes the doe whose throat now pulses in the clutches of Wide Fang. He wrestles to ground her and Ayovi unfurls her own jaws, hurdling atop the back in swift aid. She’s bucked and kicked but her teeth find their mark at the nape of deer’s neck, piercing blue eyes focusing upon the impossible deep green, like vibrant forests.
Her maw begins its savage whip, tearing to and fro until the animal is all but slack beneath the pull of their fangs.

the doe's final tremor beneath his grip, its life extinguished as his jaws clamped down harder, ensuring the end was absolute. his body strained against the weight and resistance, but it was a fight he knew he would win. still, it wasn’t his strength alone that sealed its fate. ice woman had leapt onto the doe’s back, her ferocity unmatched as her jaws tore savagely at the creature’s nape.

her movements were wild, untamed, and when her cerulean eyes locked with his deep green, he felt the pull of something primal. she was a storm, relentless and consuming, and for a moment, he could only stare, caught in the tempest of her rage and purpose.

when the doe finally fell, its body limp and lifeless, faust let his grip loosen, his jaw aching as he released it. he stepped back slightly, his breathing heavy, but his sharp gaze remained fixed on her. she was bloodstained, her breath coming in clouds against the cold air, and she stood over the kill like a feral queen.

can i speak now? he asked, his voice low and rough, though not without a faint edge of sardonic amusement. he shook the blood from his muzzle, his green eyes lingering on her, watching for whatever fury or fire she might unleash next.

She claims her place on the kill, lulling to pleasure in the crackle of bone and sup of warm blood over slick teeth. When Wide fang speaks she assumes it is his plan to boot her from the hind. In size alone the doe was rightfully his, and Ayovi would be lucky to flee with meager orts.
Front paws bury into the kill while her haunches prepare to leap should Wide Fang show aggression. The ivory ears flick upward upon receiving his voice, but her eyes do not truly see him over the embed of fang around the cow’s sloping ribcage.
Tension stiffens between them as she awaits his move.

faust watched her with an unreadable expression, his sharp green eyes fixed on the ice woman as she tore into the doe with savage intent. her fangs cracked bone, her jaws worked with the efficiency of hunger, and her pale form seemed almost feral in her focus. he made no move to stop her, no sound to break the wet rhythm of her feast.

when she paused briefly, his gaze flicked to the kill. without ceremony, he lowered his head and tore into the opposite side, the warmth of fresh blood slicking his muzzle as he worked. his size gave him the advantage, and he took his fill with deliberate, brutish precision. the meat was theirs, and he would not leave scraps for the scavengers.

as he ate, his eyes occasionally drifted to her, watching her movements with the wariness of a wolf accustomed to keeping company with unpredictability. when the tension between them grew thin enough to snap, faust lifted his head, licking the blood from his jaws.

he takes this as his own cue. she does not like to speak. frankly, neither does he. over the kill he steps with one foot, reaching out to her. his nose etched closer to her neck, scenting, smelling her as if adopting it to his memory. he makes no effort to leave her. it is clear she isn't as strong a hunter as he, and with the onslaught of winter, maybe she'd use her head and stay.

Wide Fang allows her to feed. This is a good sign. If he tended to her hunger, then he wouldn’t mean to harm her. The logic is sound, but every subsequent lift of head brings a fresh wave of caution through her breast.
Over the kill, watchful indigo eyes catch on his markings, never pulling as high as the neck, lest he change his color and take it for a challenge. She eats voraciously; greedily; savoring the taste and the sating feel of her first substantial meal in weeks.
But his sudden action surprises her.
He moves close, his maw taking her scent, touch a hairsbreadth away. She will not see him in full, entrusting only her profile and a flash of white teeth meant to secrete a jolt of suspicion. But she lowers herself all the same, tail curling into pink belly flesh even as a low growl quivers in her throat, challenging the submission.
“Not yours, Wide Fang,” she asserts with a hiss, eyes averting to his shadow.

it was a contradiction he’d seen before—pride and instinct clashing beneath the weight of survival. it had impressed him— a simple man. but the name she etched onto him; it only stirred his aggravation further.

his lip curled, revealing teeth stained with blood from their shared kill, a warning that needed no words. the growl he answered with was low and deliberate, vibrating through his chest as his massive frame loomed closer. her words—not yours, wide fang—hung in the air like a taunt, but it wasn’t the challenge he heard. it was the name.

there is no wide fang here, ice woman, he snapped, his voice rough, each word sharp enough to cut. he leaned in just enough for her to feel the weight of his presence, his teeth still bared, though he didn’t strike. just faust.

the name carried the weight of his disdain for whatever title she had conjured. his gaze bore into her, cold and unyielding, before he finally shifted back, granting her a sliver of space. faust didn’t need to drive the point home any further. his size, his voice, his very presence did that well enough.

he turned his attention back to the kill, lowering his head to take another bite. but his ears stayed angled toward her, every muscle in his body ready, should she decide to test the edge of his patience again.

Heart leaps into her throat as he looms, nearness overwhelming the senses, the whole of his massive frame blackening out the sky from her postrate position in the snow. His own growl, deeper, dominant, sends Ayovi into silence. A name is thrust to her ear. Faust.
As he pulls back her gaze darts to the maw still raised to show teeth. She looks away quickly, repulsed that he’d come so close and shivers into a gust of snowflakes sweeping past, deciding the man must not feel cold.
He denies lineage to the clan which has overrun Big Sky and decimated her pack. She makes a sound of disgust.
“I know your kind,” Ayovi flings the words at his back like curses, “and I know your tricks.”
In a move that dared to be bold, she snatches up a hank of flesh, tearing away the bone from still-warm muscle. Several paces takes her to the trunk of a spruce where she collapses in the tall snow and tongues her prize.
Only from this distance does she allow herself to see the face of the man who calls himself Faust. She looks into the sylvan stare with something like disgrace.
Ice woman. So be it. She has no intention of abandoning this place until the kill is picked clean.

green eyes narrowed, his body still as he processed her words. your kind. what kind? what people? his brow furrowed as a flicker of confusion cracked through the cold veneer of his expression. she spoke as if she knew him, as if his name carried the weight of some great wrongdoing, yet he’d never seen her before today.

what people? he finally rumbled, his voice low and sharp, the confusion edged with irritation. his gaze followed her as she retreated to the spruce, clutching her prize like a feral creature unwilling to yield her share. his teeth bared slightly, but he made no move to pursue her. not yet.

she was bold, that much was clear, but her disdain was misplaced—misguided. i don’t know you, he added after a pause, his tone cold, but lacking the usual bite. he truly didn’t. whatever shadow of memory she projected onto him, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t find a tether to whatever hatred she carried.

his eyes lingered on her as she watched him from her distance, her cerulean gaze laced with disgust. he let out a sharp exhale, not quite a sigh, and turned back to the kill. if she wanted answers or a fight, she would have to do more than fling curses at his back like snowflakes in the wind.

The Wide Fang seems troubled by the accusations. Why should he care? Unless he wanted to keep Ayovi. Claim her, as was their custom. He stares at her and over the snow their eyes lock. He is wolf, she knows that. But there is something threatening in the green-leaf stare. The dove looks on, more broadly. He is covered in imperfections. A faded mark spreads over one cheek, matching the hashed lines she sees on his forearms. His face is too angular. Nose cut too sharp. None of the soft roundness that defines those born in Big Sky.
She swallows at the blood coagulating in her throat and refuses an answer at first. She owes him only half their kill, but something hot writhes in the chest.
“You,” Ayovi accuses, “raiders. Take the kootsinpooäh. Leave your men.” She scoffs and against the bark, leans her head, keeping an eye on Faust and another out for bears, uncertain of which repels her more.

faust’s sneer curled his lip, revealing the faint flash of his teeth, a warning more than a display. i do not raid, he said, his voice a low growl, thick with disdain at her accusation. the idea alone was enough to spark his irritation, but the way she flung it at him, like a truth she already believed, made his blood simmer.

he stepped forward, his shadow stretching over the snow between them. his green eyes narrowed, locking on her cerulean ones with sharp intensity. there are no men. just me. his voice was clipped, his tone carrying the weight of his solitude like a shield. he stood alone—always had—and the thought of being lumped in with marauding bands made his hackles rise. ones not of his own making.

he let the words hang in the cold air between them, his gaze steady and unrelenting. she leaned against the bark like a wary bird, ready to flee or strike, but faust did not move further. whatever you think you know, he added after a moment, his voice quieter now but no less sharp, you are wrong.

whatever’s chasing you, he added, his voice dropping to a rough murmur, it can’t find you here. he met her gaze again, steady and firm, as though daring her to argue. not while i stand.

She incites his ire. Ayovi is decidedly pleased, if only because it denies Wide Fang the taste of satisfaction, and stokes into his heart the same hatred his kind had wrought in Big Sky. He moves with their same confidence, wears their musk. But his voice– his eyes…
Her gaze remains wide, discerning, and for the first time she is forced to admit there is as much likeness as there are variances in the man Faust. Still, he watches her too closely. Ayovi keeps herself from fidgeting, but cannot help adding, “nothing chases me,” like it might begin to smooth at the frayed edges between them.
At last her eyes drop, the grinning faces of family illuminating in mind. The pain of their loss is too fresh to bear. Perhaps she should not doubt the sooth in Faust’s words. He has the look of one attuned to solitude, but this cold, lonely existence is new for the young huntress.
With a sharp inhale, thoughts are ripped away from Ashēer. She waits for her heartbeat to settle, gaze flicking ahead to where the man feeds. Her face maintains suspicion, but the blue eyes glint with emerging curiosity.
“Just you. No pack. Why?”

faust’s ears flicked back at her words, the faintest huff escaping him, low and dismissive. ice woman’s curiosity pricked at his nerves, but he didn’t immediately answer. instead, he let the silence stretch as he tore another piece from the carcass, blood staining his muzzle before he finally lifted his head to meet her gaze.

haven’t found the right people, he said bluntly, his green eyes narrowing as if daring her to make something of it. there was no shame in the admission; only fact, delivered with the same unflinching weight as his presence. there are bad men out there.

he shifted his weight, the tension in his frame easing slightly as he looked past her, to the vast, empty stretch of snow beyond. i’ll build it. my place. when the time’s right. his tone was rough, but there was a conviction beneath the gruffness, something rooted deep in his chest. it wasn’t a dream—it was a certainty.

his gaze returned to her, sharp and calculating, as though measuring her reaction. just me, for now. the words were simple, but they carried an edge of finality, a warning that he wasn’t one to be pressed further. but the flicker of curiosity in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed, and for a moment, his expression softened—just barely. why you alone?

Bad men. She wonders what he knows of bad men. The hunter shifts again, but this time it is with some softening of head that implies empathy. He gives more than she expects from a wolf with his bitterness, and her own rears at the idea of giving answer to any question he might ask.
“I dispersed,” she submits plainly, though the circumstances of her departure were far more grim than she would share. The soles of her feet throb and she begins grooming them between cursory glances at Faust.
A proud man, and yet the refulgent eyes that held her raised more than arms, as if he too wished to prove something. Ayovi named it youthful. She had encountered many band chiefs growing up in Big Sky, and they had all known their minds.
“You are strong. Good hunter. Wolves will follow where you lead,” she offers, paws folding now into the warm down of her chest. It is no lie, but perhaps sugary words would also secure her another few days on this carcass.

you are strong. good hunter. sincere, perhaps, but he knew better than to let them linger too long in his mind. strength was fleeting, a thing as easily torn down as built up. he’d seen it before—wolves with all the power in the world brought low by a single, well-placed strike.

loyalty, though. loyalty endured.

he huffed softly, a sound neither dismissive nor accepting, but somewhere in between. strength can fail, he said plainly, his voice low and rough like the snow-churned winds around them. what matters is who stays when it does.

his gaze dropped briefly to the carcass, then back to her, his expression unreadable. she was a creature of pride and caution, her edges sharp but her hunger sharper. it fascinated him, though he would not admit it—not yet.

where do you plan to go? he asked after a beat, his tone gruff but curious. when this is gone. he gestured faintly toward the carcass, the question heavy with implication.

he wanted her to stay. not because of her flattery or her sharpness, but because the idea of her leaving unsettled something deep within him, something he couldn’t yet name.

There appeared a change in him, some lightening to the brow which had thus far shielded the green gaze so heavily. Ayovi felt sensitive to these small distinctions, garnering more comfort in her own capacity to relax those muscles which had been set on fire since her flight from Big Sky. The spruce hull tickles her neck. She pushes her crown willfully into the thready fingers, eyelids shuttering if only for a moment. 
The ivory hunter disagreed, of course. Only men who guided with stoic strength, who were wise and fair and good providers would lead. This unified the Big Sky chieftains, and if one faltered, no woman would be permitted to see it, lest his manhood be drawn into question.
“Then I pray you are surrounded with pack when your strength fails, Faust,” Ayovi’s eyes tease when they reopen upon the mountainous man. If there was reluctance upon his face, it was something Ayovi only associated with the possession she'd seen frequently in men.
But she has little way to answer his next question. Her head goes limp against the tree. “East. To forever-winter.” To the kootsinpooäh.