Sunset Valley Pǎnakär

A long week of ice-storms swept the north. Ayovi emerges from a ragged curtain of trees, pulled by thirst to the compass of light. The huntress dips her head, furred ears turning to scoop from the wind sounds of prey or wolf. She laps at snowmelt and clears her coat, grooming her shoulders of powder before breaking a trail to the center of the rolling hillocks, where the sun gingers forth from a tear in the clouds.
Something ripples beneath her feet— Ayovi pads at it with a paw, silver tail frisking up over her back as she noses the snow.

leaving the hunting thread events vague since it's still on going :) , can delete ofc!!

jagged paws glided upon the valley. a place where he and asha had taken camp for the time being. faust had thought it foolish to remain in the valley, so open and vulnerable, but he wouldn't argue to the woman who nursed him back to health. it was the least kindness he could afford her.
instead he had taken it upon himself to find others. seek them. but he dare not tilt his head back and howl— it was an invitation for trouble. one that he wasn't sure he'd want to receive. what he opted for was to scowl amongst the tree line into the open valley, blanketed by the soft hues of starling silvers from the snow the night before.
and again, he thought himself mad, he saw her there. white form, draped in ivory furs. she was doing something...to the ground. hunting voles like a fox. he approached, still keeping his distance; you behave like fox.

And you a beast.
How casual his approach, as if he had not nearly cost her life to a test of ego. The forested eyes are deep and fathomless pits that gauge her implacably. She could not read his mien; she never could.
“You’re healed,” Ayovi speaks at last, “as am I.”
She lifts a paw to show the new, pink underside of flesh, and to prove she wasn’t so helpless a creature now. Her chest swells with a breath, shoulders squaring; a kootsin ready to ward off her predator if he dared to grab for her. The amused face from moments ago masking in ice.

can be a cameo; tag otherwise <3

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skorpa healed more slowly than he wished, helped by hunting and his own willingness now to rest where he was able.

and as he healed, ayovi gained the gift of more words. where there was nothing apt for translation, he used their mud-marks, growing fond of each created shape.

he must repay regnvand. there was little reason to do so; she had saved him from fever and he had brought her to these cold lands, but skorpa enjoyed being indebted to her.

distantly he saw the dark shadow of the man he had fought, and near, too near, the spot of snowsilver which marked ayovi's form. a low rumble burned in his throat, and he began a slow approach from among tall dark trees, still some ways away.

wind tugged at the bearskin. skorpa's eyes were hard upon the form of that drengr.

---

good, he said simply, the word carrying no warmth but also no malice.
his ears flicked, catching faint sounds in the distance, and his head tilted slightly. and your savior? the question was quiet, his tone even, though there was a weight to it. he was aware the brute lingered somewhere near, and his presence wasn’t lost on faust.
he shifted slightly, exposing his flank to show the faint scars that marred his dark coat. we all heal, he murmured, a subtle acknowledgment of their shared survival. the gesture was brief, his attention returning to her with a steady, unreadable expression. i came to apologize.

“My savior?” She interjects, “he tried to kill me. Same as you.” Her head lowers, hackles stiffen; body a streamlined arrowhead setting its trajectory into the shadowed man.
In spite of everything, her traitorous body deceives, heightened by him. Heightened, even, by Skorpa’s rotting scent as it trickles down into the vale where it blusters between them. Ayovi’s fear of herself then was far greater than either man. She glares at Faust coldly.
“Why? You think how I look at you will change? I don’t want your apologies. I want you to stay the hell away from me.” She spins, presenting her back and flicked ears listening for footfalls.

faust tsked, a sharp sound of frustration cutting through the air. he held his breath for a moment, reining in the storm that brewed behind his glacier-green eyes. patience, he reminded himself. he could do this—had to do this.
you ran from me, he said, his voice low but steady, each word measured, like the pacing of a wolf circling its prey. why? the single word hung between them, heavy with accusation and curiosity.
he let his gaze linger on her, unflinching despite the cold glare she cast his way. you don't get to throw that at me and spin away like i'm the only wolf with blood on his teeth. his ears flicked back briefly, his breath leaving him in a visible plume against the frost.
but he didn’t chase her, not yet. he stayed rooted, watching her tense form, his voice dipping softer, though no less biting. you think i don't know what i am? i don’t need your forgiveness, ayovi. but don’t pretend you don’t know why you’re here.

“You imprisoned me!” Ayovi twists in contempt, refusing to see him, “you'd rather I die than be made his.” She knew it was true, still all this temerity haunts her. Any moment she felt an Ashēer chief would come to lambaste his daughter’s sins. And still she could not stop sardonic laughter that emerges after a pregnant pause—
“Well, guess what, Faust? You’re too late. He’s already sullied me.” His words.
Once again she feels his eyes on her back, but she maintains the chasm with cold indignance, only to roll her head so he might see the stark glint of teeth as she speaks in shock, “you're not seriously insinuating that I want you.”
It is not him. It would be any man. She has no control over the sensitivity she feels there.

his breath came harshly, nostrils flaring as he struggled against the heat rising in his chest. his jaw tightened, the muscles twitching as he forced himself not to erupt.
you're so dire to play victim, he started, voice low, coiled, and dangerously measured. i hunted for you, made sure you were safe— his words faltered, the sharp edge of his temper biting down before it could spiral.
pindent]when her next words struck, he snapped his head toward her, the motion sharp enough to cut the air. she let that... disgusting man touch her. the thought churned in his stomach, twisting it into knots of rage and something darker, something he refused to name.
his silence was suffocating, the weight of it pressing down like an iron shroud. and then, like a crack in the ice, he laughed. it wasn’t warm or mirthful, but cold and jagged, a sound that echoed like a phantom in the emptiness between them.
i hope you enjoyed him. he said simply, the words dripping with something venomous and bitter, his laughter fading into a sharp, tense stillness. as i suppose he did. all wide fang's do.
a beat. he didn't know the weight of what a wide fang was. but that was him— petty— though he reeled himself in.
but i would've done it again. solemn. i am sorry that i was not enough to help.

Of course, it was a lie. But that didn’t matter.
Is this the apology he wished to give? She reels her chin. She can hear his revulsion. The lingering sentiment in his voice mocks her. It does nothing to reassure Ayovi; it doesn’t make him any less of a danger. A cold pit opens in her stomach.
Yet Skorpa on the hill makes her feel untouchable, filled with teeth and power. She had scarcely remembered what that was like.
The pit bubbles, small tendrils of transparent flames lick past her teeth. “I did. I enjoyed him. In fact, I begged for more of him.”
She hadn’t thought it through, and she didn’t care to. Ayovi wanted to strike Faust with the inanity of his own words.

faust’s roar ripped through the cold air like a thunderclap, his teeth bared as he surged forward, cutting the distance between them with an anger barely held in check. enough! his voice was a storm, raw and guttural, forcing its way into the space between them like an avalanche.
his chest heaved, the weight of her words churning inside him like poison. i don’t want to hear this! he snapped, his emerald eyes blazing with a fury that bordered on desperation. what do you want from me, ayovi?!
the question hung in the air, sharp and biting, a demand that carried the weight of his own torment. his voice dipped lower, rough with restraint, but his tone was no less sharp. what do you seek in this? revenge? absolution? tell me, because i don’t—i can’t—keep doing this with you.
he turned his head sharply, exhaling through clenched teeth, his body trembling with the effort it took to keep himself in check. faust’s gaze flicked back to her, shadowed by something raw and unreadable, his growl fading into a quiet, dangerous edge.
say it plain. or leave me be.

continue to skip! just observations

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when the warrior flashed toward ayovi, even if his steps were arrested, skorpa rose with a snarl on that ridgeline. he had surrendered thoughts of possessing the rainwater woman; his attachment to her now was for the gentility she had not needed to offer.

he was her dog, and a dog's loyalty oft meant ripping throats from those who threatened.

but the big man kept himself at least half-veiled by the sprawl of trees, nostrils flared in a mulish exhale as his eyes flared upon the scene below.

---

The huntress falters, shrinking from Faust as he commands a storm. Always his anger sought to cow her! If not for Skorpa watching above, would his teeth find her skin? Ayovi knew how to act with dominant Ashēerian hunt-men, but now she had seen another way too, one where she was more than ornamental. Like a creature caught between two worlds, the woman kneels, though counters with her own snarl. Ears pinned and chest heaving she glares up at the northman— cursing even now the way her body responds to his nearness; his attractiveness. As the strike of those massive jaws settle she watches the hope of an easy answer drain from his face, replaced with something softer.
She didn’t understand it— she didn’t understand him.
“I feel something for you. But it isn’t affection. I could never trust you enough for it to be.” Ayovi turns her face away, speaking softer now.
“I’ve already told you what I want, Faust. You just don’t want to hear it.”

jaw clenched, his fury restrained now, though it still simmered beneath the surface. his chest heaved with the weight of his emotions, each breath drawn as though it might steady the chaos roiling within him. he took a single step back, his eyes narrowing at ayovi, her words cutting deep, deeper than he’d let her know.
don’t speak to me about trust, he rasped, his voice low but trembling with emotion. you, runnin’ off to that barbarian like it meant nothin’. you knew i’d find out. you wanted me to know. so tell me— he stepped closer again, his expression sharp, almost pleading. say it, ayovi. if you think so little of me, say it.
he paused, his voice breaking slightly as his anger gave way to something more vulnerable. because if you think i could ever trust you after this, you're right, i can't. but you know what? maybe that doesn’t matter anymore. his eyes searched hers, desperate for an answer, any answer that might explain what she had done.
so go on, then, he urged, his voice barely above a whisper now. tell me the truth.
please.

Kneeling she remains with a hammering heart. Listening to Faust is making attempts on a fathomless puzzle. And more! She felt herself reduced to a tangle of nerve-endings, made her own mess of contradictions in a body that now aches fiercely to be covered. The blue eyes skit over frost, there is nothing to shelter them against, nothing to look at but the sharp cut of Faust. The huntress is exposed and vulnerable, pierced with homesickness and the coming heat which consumes through her belly.
Ayovi shows teeth and flicks high her silver hackles, “you said I don’t belong to the mountains. You’re wrong. They are mine.” As she stands to full height her tail whips.
“I want you gone. Leave this place.”

in a wave her words come from blackened lips, hitting him with a force that only a woman could find to injure the hubris of a man. he recoils, wordlessly, taking a step backward from her. the barbarian lingered here, somewhere, in the heights. he could smell him— disgusting, aching scent.
he would not fight iskava any longer. she'd made her choice: it was not him. and neither, he was not his father.
but then she claimed the mountains as her own— bah! the man could chortle with a laugh, but instead, only his lips curved to a folly of a smile.
we'll see about that, he remarked, darkly, though his voice not raising above the weight of the clouds as it had just a few moments ago.
the mountain range was large. surely he wouldn't see her again.
and she puffed out like a woman claiming her throne— but he saw none. he saw reaches that hunter's would dream of, and had no intention of fleeing the lands.
safe travels, iskava. because god knows she'd fucking need it. before traipsing away through the snow, he cast a glance upward—
her guardian, ever watching, and he spat into the snow— fuck it, a leg raised, and pissed right into the white sheen of the valley.

exit faust hehehe

She freezes to the garish display, eyes quickly averted. It was as clear an indication as any that Faust had no intention of leaving behind the taiga. And while he may have believed they would not see eachother again— she knew they would, so long as her resolve had also named the icepeaks home. She wondered if he would allow her to live— or if she would be chased off his land.
The huntress does not even flick a tail tip until Faust has fallen into the snow-haze, at which point she looks for Skorpa among the trees beyond the ring of winter sun. Ayovi believes she sees him— a brandishing of scarlet at the helm of a dark larch. But she does not go to him.
With a floaty whine she trots out and away, opposite of each man, leaving a tearstain of bright red in the snow where once she stood.