Whitebark Stream red sun rises

intended for @Veskar: follows this thread

he had proved much, but nothing at all. whether he followed star eater and blackfell, she hoped it was the latter. she wished to check him for wounds; the same that she would do for blackfell once they reached the camp.
she could not ensure the younger blackmarch brother's safety within her husband's claim. for what it was worth— she could not heed the guilt of a wounded animal. if he had been wounded. she would check to make sure, that of all, there was no stench of blood from his coat.
sit, she ordered of him. the stream roared in her ears, but she was lucky enough that the saatsine had settled here once before. she dug around, nose to the dirt, before finding her cache. plethora of herbs now dried, she dug, sprying dirt in her wake.
she returned to the blackmarch male.
why did you fight him? but more importantly, why did you stop?

veksar followed.

he didn't feel proud of himself like he thought he'd be the day he finally told one of his elder siblings to suck it. instead, it made him feel awkward and weirdly empty. unfulfilling. he regretted it. then again, he regretted a lot of things.

the trio came upon an ice river that star eater seemed familiar with. it still didn't smell like much; just cold wind and winterberry, and the earthy, mucky stench of fish in the water. he sat when asked simply because he was asked, and he wished he could've smacked himself for it.

because he kept touching me, he says simply, plainly. what was there to misunderstand about it? better yet, why did he expect this caveman lady to understand the complexities of being a crownore? an ashen ear flicked. and because it wouldn't have been appropriate to continue. i'm not violent unless i need to be.

hmm.
star eater’s voice was a quiet rumble, a sound of contemplation rather than judgment. she regarded veksar with an unreadable expression, eyes catching in the pale winter light as she stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
are you injured? she asked, tone even, practical. it was a simple question, but there was weight to it. she had seen the way he and blackfell had clashed—had seen the frustration, the sharp edges of something unspoken between them.
she did not coddle, did not rush to inspect him herself. instead, she let the question hang, waiting for his answer, waiting to see if he had the sense to acknowledge his own state.

maybe, came his simple response. i think i'm fine.
he doesn't invite her any closer nor force her to back away. a woman coming near him was different. women were gentle.

he thought about his mother, her face. the way she looked at him. star eater reminded him of her.

where is saatsine? has blackfell been with you?

it wasn't enough for her. she hummed, rummaging her nose through the pile before she carefully selected an herb that could offer as a sustainer for the cold winter's and heed protecting against frostbite. she ground it up with her teeth, coating the bundle in saliva before she closed the distance between the two of them. she dropped it at his feet.
saatsine is west, she answered him, sitting down with an exasperated breath. the travel just to the fields and back had winded her. she shifted, finding her underbelly tender.
he has run with us for some time, another good thing— her husband spoke warmly of him, however slim his words had been these past weeks. it didn't wane on her as much as she imagined it to, finding the comfort of other saatsine wolves to be up to par— even veksar, the young pup who'd she'd only met a handful of times from blackmarch's reach.
must be good hunter to stay with the saatsine. she looked up to him this time, tearing her eyes way from the rippling waters. it was an invitation, blanketed by her own challenge to see it through that he could hunt.

the star eater came toward him with what he took as a peace offering — something, he assumed, might be for bruises or first aid. it was a simple kindness, but it was one regardless, and veksar almost felt himself start to smile. almost.

it was west, and blackfell had been there for 'quite some time', whatever that meant. veksar furrowed a brow. why here of all places? her of all people? what was the appeal?

and yet when she challenged him, veksar couldn't help but puff out his metaphorical shoulders.

i can hunt, he declared. a flare glistened in his dark eyes. i'm not as incompetent as you think i am.

his quick wit had her auds perking forward in a lingering glance toward him. the fire inside the blackmarch children still dawned high! she was even tempted to let out a laugh, but settled on a huff of a chuckle instead.
i do not think you are incompetent, she drawled, voice smooth as the stone, whereas his own could cut the ice that protected the streams through the qeya. maybe when you were a whelpling, she countered this time, prodding him with a memory. a memory that he may not remember— from when she was just a teenager, she used to dance around their den with gjalla. he was just a little thing then of tawny stone furs, cut from the same block that blackfell had. it was before the cruel reign of their father, but she tsked at the thought. there was no more bad blood here.
and maybe, just maybe, she could reel out the boy that she once knew.
blackfell has taken interest in my courtesan, her name hung on her lips, gjalla.

when he was a whelpling? what an odd thing to say.

his brows knit together in a tidy display of confusion, but he didn't press. he had no need to. she was just a random crazy lady his brother happened to tolerate. he gazed upon her slightly curved abdomen and realized just how long he'd gone without noticing it.

he wanted to wrinkle his nose in disgust, but bit it down.

what really gets veksar's interest is her mention of somebody named gjalla. a courtesan? blackfell? oh! oh, how he wished he could laugh! well, he's never had the highest of standards.

silence, for a moment. until he spoke again.

are you expecting?

brows raised, she enjoyed this moment. he seemed to lighten, the strenuous interaction with his brother seeming to wash away with the colloquial words exchanged between them. she sought to correct herself—she was a princess, whether the words held weight or no, it meant little to the blackmarch's of hierarchy. it was something that she, now, would respect them for. admire, even, that titles held nothing in their sphere. how it meant the world to her, at one point, but now she was just a hunter. just the chieftain's wife.
you'll know her if you meet her, her dark furs, blue in the right lights. her star sister was beautiful. she sucked in a breath. she wished to move on from talking about them.
pregnant?
she glanced down at herself— the visual toll of pregnancy began to bloom! yes, she said with a softer, star-ful tone. they were the only things that would have her smiling. and now, too, veksar could see the light that had dimmed beneath saatsine nature. do you have a wife?

she was a princess. keyword was. but he took her word for it — was it really his right to judge so harshly? had he taken a look at himself?

is she in saatsine too? he asked then, quirking a brow. how did she become a courtesan? did she leave? these questions were perhaps invasive, but such a fact went right over veksar's head.

not when she said he'd guessed right, and that she was pregnant. he wasn't sure how to react, at first, and looked at her rather dumbly until it really clicked in his head. he had to remind himself they weren't blackfell's, or else... oh, he didn't know what he would've done.

congratulations, he finally said. and no. i'm... looking?

gjalla is here. she confirms, smoothing a forepaw absently over the earth. courtesan may be a heavy term, but she followed me here. to saatsine. the words are spoken with quiet certainty, a thread of something fond lingering beneath them. she's quite uptight, though with blackfell...
when veksar stumbles over his reaction to her pregnancy, she watches him with something unreadable in her expression before offering a small, knowing smile.
there will be a woman for you, she muses, tilting her head slightly as she studies him. blackmarch boys always did find one, don't they? there is humor there, a quiet jest at his expense, but it is not unkind. if anything, it is the closest thing to reassurance she can offer.

why did you leave?

it was a pertinent question. the more veksar spoke to this woman, the more he realized there was more to her than he'd initially gleaned. she knew his father, his brother was living with him, and she had a former-princess-turned-whore who tagged along with her? admittedly his fascination had been piqued.

it surprised him too to hear that gjalla and blackfell actually seemed to like one another. he'd never pictured blackfell as a romantic. he'd never even pictured a woman tolerating him long-term. yet here he was.

and where was veksar by comparison? nowhere. his ears twitched.

that's a bold assumption, when she smiled at him, veksar felt something inside of him shift; one layer of the endless wall being peeled away. he didn't know how to feel about it. he avoided her eyes. how did you find saatsine? and your husband.

star eater exhaled, slow, her gaze drifting somewhere beyond him, beyond the present. the past was a weight that settled deep into her ribs, one she had carried for so long it had fused with her bones.
i had no choice. the words were not bitter, not resentful, only matter-of-fact. evenspire had burned, and she had been the one left in the ashes. her path had not been one of want, but of necessity.
her eyes returned to him then, sharper, more certain. but saatsine found me.
it had not been her intent. she had wandered, lost and without purpose, untethered to anything but grief. but then sun eater had been there, unyielding as the mountains, as the river that carved the earth. she had not chosen him—not at first. but he had seen her, the truth of her, and he had given her something greater than survival.
my husband found me. she corrected, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. and i did not run.

he found her. and she didn't run.

veksar blinked. do you think saatsine has found me? i didn't come here on purpose.

and it was true, he hadn't. six months straight of picking a direction and following. six months of unmapped and unknowable terrain, little food, hostile packs, and more than enough other animals trying to survive just as much as he was. six months of escape. freedom. tranquility.

he wasn't sure whether saatsine could offer the same.

you seem like a smart woman, veksar nodded his chin. his dark eyes watched intently. what do you know about my family?

star eater inhaled slowly, the cool air of the taiga filling her lungs. she regarded veksar with something close to amusement, but there was weight to it—something knowing.
yes. her voice was quiet but firm. i believe you were meant to be found.
no one found their way to saatsine by accident.
she studied him for a long moment before shifting, shaking loose the tension that had settled in her shoulders. when he spoke of his family, she felt the pull of something old—something that had once been warm, before it had turned to ash.
there was tension, she admitted, watching his face carefully. you were too young to see it.
blackmarch. proud, fierce, unyielding. she had once enjoyed their company. when the weight of blood and war had not yet settled on their backs, when they had not yet become what they were.
before they changed, she said finally, her voice carrying something wistful, something edged. liked them.
but nothing stays the same. not forever.

too young.
too young.
too young.

she knew him.

realization was slow to fall upon veksar's stone-covered features, but it came in a crash. he smiled. you're morwenna.

a small part of him wanted to reach out and embrace her. a small part of him wanted to call her a bitch. either way — he trusted her. he saw it now.

i will come with you to saatsine.