Redtail Rise still miles to go till i arrive

winter had bared tuhin's ribs underneath his coat and frozen his windswept fur against his limbs. he felt well, though he knew he did not look it; hunger was a permanent companion in the colder months of winter, one he knew well enough to just about out-pace.

here, he followed his nose through the familiar scents of snow and pine, tracing the faint, sweet smell on the chill air that promised what he would need for another few days' survival.

the walk grew long and quiet, but tuhin was patient. and his persistence was at last rewarded; a doe, the snow heavy around it in a way that suggested none had passed by since last night's storm. carrion birds had unearthed the bloody ribcage, and as he approached they scattered, calls rising into the still air.

he did not growl, being fond of the creatures who had so often led him to food; he turned his head instead to watch them vanish into the trees, and when they had gone he bowed his head and set his teeth into cold meat, stripping ice-hardened flesh from bone and working his teeth around it until it gave, swallowed in small snapping bites.

it had never shamed him to act as a scavenger, least of all in this season. but it did remind him that he might not be alone; and though he did not worry, his ears angled to listen for any other drifter who might smell in this corpse the same opportunity as he.

faust emerged from the trees like a shadow pulled from the ice, his steps deliberate, his gaze sharp. the air was thick with the scent of blood and winter rot, the carcass laid bare before the lone man. scavenging, surviving. faust had done the same in leaner times.
he did not linger at the edge of the clearing, nor did he move to take what was not his. instead, he gruffed a low greeting, more acknowledgment than warmth, though it was not unkind.
eating well?
his tone was flat, unreadable, but his eyes held quiet assessment as they traced over the wolf before him—thin, but not broken. winter was a cruel mistress, and yet this one still stood. faust respected that much.

the birds circled back to them, after a while; the rustle of feathers drew a twitch of their ear. piece by piece, precise, tuhin stripped each length of rib-bone of their lingering scraps of flesh and cracked them between their molars to seek the marrow. no piece should be wasted; they had not the luxury.

they buried their muzzle further into the hollow of its chest for what neglected remnants of frozen skin and organ might remain. and it was then, above the crack of meat and bone, that the crows began again to caw and take wing, and tuhin's ears caught and held the soft crunch of snow and a low, growling huff of breath.

they lifted their head, whitebirch muzzle streaked in drying blood.

he was larger than they, tuhin noted at once; broad-shouldered and night-black, certainly better fed...though if he had a pack to summon, they were not nearby. not that tuhin imagined it mattered; they had no doubt the man would easily overpower them should he choose to.

but though they regarded him with watchful caution, their visitor seemed content to wait at a distance. they made no further move but to cant their ears forward, their meal for the moment ignored.

"as well as one can, given the season," tuhin said, deep voice rasping with the cold. "is that what you are here for?"

faust regards the lone figure with quiet scrutiny, his breath curling into the frigid air like the smoke of a dying fire. he had seen men like this before—thin, wiry, living off the bones of others. there was no shame in it. winter forced the desperate to survive however they could.
his gaze flickers to the carcass, to the half-picked remains, before settling once more on the stranger.
no. his voice is rough, final. i eat only from what i kill.
there is no boast in his words, only truth. he has never scavenged, not even in the hardest of winters. it is a matter of principle, of pride. the day he cannot bring down his own prey is the day he does not deserve to eat.
his tail flicks behind him, slow, measured. he does not move closer, but neither does he turn away.
what about you? he asks after a beat, voice quieter, though no less firm. do you kill, or do you wait for the crows to guide you?

tuhin hummed, thoughtful. steam curled from his lips.

ah. he knew this man's type well. the warriors who so gloried in their strength... they starved as anyone else in lean winters, but perhaps this one had known none. and perhaps tuhin had been simply unlucky - or even foolish, to walk so many miles in the dead of winter, alone.

"when i must," tuhin said mildly, noting the slow flick of the man's tail. "i am no stranger to hunting... there is simply little to hunt."

only for one so unfamiliar with this place, perhaps. a long journey north, in his native forests, he would have had little trouble finding the well-used hunting grounds - and another half-dozen jaws eager to bring down elk or caribou with him, if he should be summoned for the hunt at all. but here he was only one man, and there was no pride to drive him otherwise. unlike some of his old compatriots, he was no blood-hungry crusader; he had not much of that to spare.

nonetheless, he sensed something else in the question. whether derision or honest interest…he could not yet tell, only suspect.

"but i cannot imagine the prospect of some wanderer's skill to concern you," he murmured, "unless there is something you wish of me."

faust nodded once, slow and considering. he let the silence stretch between them, heavy as the snow that blanketed the earth.
maybe.
it was neither acceptance nor dismissal, only the weight of a thought he had yet to conclude. he studied the man before him, gaze steady, assessing. he was lean, built for endurance, and though he lacked the brute force of a soldier, there was intelligence behind his words. a survivor’s cunning.
after another pause, he exhaled sharply through his nose, shifting his weight.
if you are unbound to a pack, he said finally, voice rough with the cold, then maybe there is something i wish of you.
his tail flicked, and his head tilted slightly, watching for a reaction.

he was a man of very few words, tuhin noted wryly. not something they could well be accused of...indeed, sometimes their tongue had been the cause of much aggravation. there was always need of one to soothe ruffled feathers, to remind their people that they shared a common goal...yet some saw blood as the only binding that would suffice.

they expected he would be much the same.

for a long moment, then, they stared at each other. examining. they had thought his questions to be dismissive, truly, but it seemed they had their purpose. a man who ate only what he killed was not like to be a man who only hunted alone; the well-groomed fur, smoother and denser than their own, spoke at least of someone not given to empty words.

perhaps they did not admire these predators in the way of some, but tuhin could respect such prowess, even if it might differ from their own. for the meanwhile. violence applied too liberally led only to chaos.

but here, at last, came the purpose they had been awaiting, and for all their considerations, tuhin examined it with some surprise.

"i am," they said, slow and deliberate. "so say your piece, and i will listen."

faust stands firm, eyes cold as the glacier wind that cuts between them. the stranger watches him with a measured curiosity, but faust does not waver. does not flinch.
i am taking this land, he says, voice rough as the ice beneath his paws. the glacier, the hunting fields. it will belong to blood talon.
a pause, thick with meaning. he does not ask for permission. does not wait for a challenge. his claim is not one of diplomacy—it is a statement of fact.
we are big game hunters, he continues, lifting his head. his breath fogs between them. moose. caribou. oxen. the beasts that run through this tundra. we take them down, together.
his gaze sharpens. if you come, you have warm bed. full belly.
faust does not bother with flattery or persuasion. he speaks only truth. the glacier was vast, harsh, and unforgiving. only those with strength would thrive here. only those who knew how to work together would survive.
so, he breathes, shoulders rolling as he watches the man’s face for a reaction. good enough speech?

he had seen little, in truth, of these fields and glaciers, and did not know what exactly the man meant to claim. but tuhin had no reason to doubt his words, direct as he was; he did not seem a man given to half-truths. directness did not often breed lies.

a faint smile curled his black lips, a lick of frosted breath exhaled into the cold.

tuhin did not know well what people this man had already gathered, how they would behave; but he had already resigned himself to relearning such things, and it did not bother him to do so. it was a well-practiced routine. and perhaps this was not the place for him, and he would move on within weeks... but it would, at least, provide a place to wait out the rest of the winter, an opportunity to learn of this place.

and if nothing else, caribou and moose were familiar prey. he did not have the strength that some of his brothers and sisters had borne, being more strategist than warrior when diplomacy was no longer an option; but he was quick, and knew where best to place his teeth should he be called upon.

"well enough. I am hardly in the position to refuse such an offer," tuhin said, with a minute tilt of his head. "i am tuhin. i will lend my words and teeth to your cause, then...?"

faust observed the man with quiet interest, the barest glimmer of something like satisfaction flickering in his cold green eyes. the name suited him—tuhin. sharp, simple. he liked that.
faust, he returned, voice deep and even, the weight of his name carried in the frostbitten air. kaan of darukaal.
the glacier was his, as was the land that stretched beneath its shadow. its hunting fields. its rivers and caves. but what use was a land without its wolves? faust had been gathering them—strong men, sharp women. big-game hunters. warriors.
his gaze flicked over tuhin once more, assessing but not unkind. you are welcome here, he stated, voice gruff but certain. walk with me, there was no softness in darukaal, no place for idlers or cowards. you must meet the others.
but from the way tuhin carried himself, from the steel in his voice—faust suspected he was neither.

fade in your next? I can start a new one!

sounds good!

faust. they considered this wordlessly, too, the title of the people they had now pledged to; darukaal did not sit familiar on their tongue, but it was only the northern languages they had been made to learn, the ones oft used among the many hunters of the taiga.

it was no matter. they had always been an excellent student; there was already much that they would need now seek to understand.

tuhin lapped blood from their lips, and favored him with a respectful dip of their head.

"lead, faust. i will follow."