Otatso Wetlands Without the night.

AW, tags are for reference and ofc welcome <3

They cut south. Anselm's lay of the land is only somewhat shaped by experience - he remembers the tall ridges of his childhood and instinctively searches for them along the horizon.

They come to an alluvial plain where the landscape is flattened by snow, all of its characteristics wiped by the endless blot of white. Anselm studied the broken clouds above and decided it was best to wait out the storm.

Calling to @Ezra and @Gideon with a howl, Anselm announced his decision to camp here until the snowstorm passed. Nosing along the ground, he searched for shelter -- and his mind invariably wondered what @Etienne would make of this; would he find some small satisfaction in knowing Anselm had gotten everything he deserved?

Etienne had been searching for hia nephew again. To give his sister some comfort in some way. But alas his efforts were in vain. And of course his luck went bad as a storm blew in. He narrowed his eyes in an effort to see. Golden eyes blinking fast the sheen of snow that dipped along his lashes.

He stumbled before a scent blew all around and engulfed him. And with it some semblance of comfort. Perhaps Anselm wasn't near. But his scent was enough to push Etienne forward in the storm. To keep him moving. But where he was going, he was uncertain as he could not see.

do you wanna build a snow man? Do you wanna save your man lol

He raked over a patch of soft ground, considering making for the distant tree line. They were in the open here — and if he was to avoid the brunt of the storm, they needed shelter. 

As the snow moved in visibility became poor. Using his nose, Anselm followed the scent of water, knowing water tended to percolate at low ground, which invariably came with swales and knolls. 

Rather than come across a cave, he came across fresh steps in the rapidly replenishing snow. Sniffing at the pawprints edges, Anselm couldn’t help the way his ears jerked forward in surprise. Before he knew it, his head lifted into the air in a short howl meant to broadcast his location. 

But why did he do that? His heart — suddenly mindless before — began to beat rapidly in his chest, drowning out all sounds of the storm.

Etienne was heading towards what he thought were the trees. He could see th
Beneath there he could wait it put
Though the sea born gritted his teeth against the howling wind. The noise hurting his sensitive ears.

A howl rebounded to his rear and left. He recognized it. Amd turned towards it. Noting it was near the forest too. He followed the sound. Hoping the wind hadn't skewed it. He returned a howl. His lyrical. Softer than the other, but still heard.

The sea born turned towards the mountain man. No guiding light for them. But hopefully. Hopefully.

Against all hope he listened for that returning howl. When it rose lyrical and soft over the raging winds Anselm bit back a choked sob; thousands upon thousands of layered emotions pressing against his throat.

Though the wind skipped and zagged, Anselm waited patiently -- listening for the lulls in the storm where his sharp nose could pull from the fresh snow and bitter cold enough scent to give him a direction.

He pushed for the treeline again, this time alternating between the high head carriage of a predator listening, and the low head carriage of a predator tracking: listening, scenting, listening again.

Pawprints wound around an old oak. Anselm snuffed along their crisp edges and gasped as the familiar scent -- one he could never forget -- wafted to his nose.

Etienne! He called as another gale whipped past him, shrieking up his back and parting his hackles. Somewhere in the forest where the storm was muffled, he knew Etienne was here -- his eyes scanned each shadow as his heart quickened.

The wind whipped at Etienne like the sea in her anger. It raked it's icy fingers through his coarser fur and squeezed trails of whisper cold throughout. But he pressed forward. Head slung slow. Paw step after paw step. A grit of fang. It hurt this icy wind. It hurt.

His Feathers hung tightly thank the heavens but they whipped against his cheek. His pearl like a icy stone around his throat. The rawhide sinew and fur that held it there squeezing. This was one for the ages.

Finally, Etienne could have weeped for joy when the treeline grew closer. And in it's shadowy boughs a body he knew better than his own. Even if he'd never traced it or touched it. He knew it. Knew it.

His name curled against the sharper shriek of the wind. It carried the sea in it's vowels. His mother's love in it's very letters and tone. And he made it. Made it.

He found the mountain born with golden gaze and woth a whimper and a laugh spoke. I t'ink I'll take de sea in 'er anger over dis storm.

What were the odds?

And did he truly deserve such fortune?

Anselm steeled the instinct that told hm to rush Etienne and hug him; no, even in this private space his foolish pride turned his spine to steel. An inflexible cable ran the length of his body, now warm, now chilled -- though Anselm knew in his heart he was glad to see the seastrider.

How much older! And different! He studied the feather flapping in the wind, the scarcely seen pearl -- everything had changed and yet, these things remained the same. A totem from a past life.

Anselm choked back the emotion threatening to spill from his unguarded throat. He tried to laugh, but all that came out was a strangled grunt. And because he could not say what needed to be said (a thousand things, this list of unspoken words: I'm sorry. I'm an asshole. I shouldn't have treated you that way. I wish I didn't. You deserve better . I'm so glad you're here. I missed you. I need you --) he said something stupid: do you miss the sea?

Etienne did not know why the gods threw him in the path of the mountain born. Perhaps they found a sense of amusement to twist the mortals up like pretzels. Maybe they were trying to force an outcome. Maybe it was just fate. He did not know, but he would not argue against it. He would take the little moments as he could.

He knew Anselm did not see him the same. The mountain born had said so. But he could not help his own stubborn heart. That beat for a mountain. Even if it were of the sea.

Etienne did not move from the perusal of his wolf. But he tilted his head. Golden eyes taking in Anselm with their gwntle gaze.

He was surprised by the question. But like all questions. Etienne did his best to reflect amd answer honestly. A flick of his ear. He moved closer to Anselm amd the trees. Trying to find a wind break from the savage shriek of air.

I miss 'er sometimes. But Dow I love de sea. 'Er does not belong to me. At least not my pack anymore. I could not look at a man and treat 'im lesser dan because of 'is gender. As my family does.

Etienne shifted. I enjoy 'elpin' otters 'ere in de inland. De sea will always be a part of me. Do you miss dey 'ollows? De mountains?

Anselm would have given anything to love as Etienne did. Openly. Vulnerably.

What was so inexorably wrong with him that he couldn't?

He watched as the seaborn moved closer and fought the urge rising within him. The storm raging without was nothing compared to the storm raging within Anselm.

No small surprise to learn Etienne missed the things he loved, but could not bend himself to fit in a mold that went against his very principles. Anselm would have given anything to have such self-assurance too; to know oneself so openly and free of persecution from the self.

He swallowed, voice husky. No. I don't. And suddenly, cruelly to Etienne as he always was, Anselm fell silent.

What good had come of the hollows or the mountains? He'd only known grief. And now his children grew within his black garden, threatened by the bitter fruit looming within. Would they taste it, too?

Maybe he should give his children to Etienne and simply walk off the fucking mountain.

Etienne didn't know if the way he was, was the best way. He knew though he could not change and had found mostly peace with himself.

Etienne was not built for certain worlds
And he refused to compromise the wolf he was to fit into a mold that was not his own. That was one thing he held with stubborn pride was his sense of self. That was when you saw the queens of the sea in him.

It was not easy. And sometimes Etienne failed. He let himself fall into a trap of self sabotage. But he tried.

Etienne sniffed. His nose crinkling as he sniffed. Drew in the mountain born scent. You are far from w'ere I saw you last.::

Already feeling the scaffolding holding himself up crumbling, Anselm cast his gaze to the storm. Somewhere out in that blurry wilderness his sons fought for their meager subsistence; somewhere out there, maybe there was another wolf out there like him. 

Ignoring the fact that the very wolf he needed stood next to him. His attention slid back to Etienne as he inhaled the crisp air, the storm’s kinetic charge buzzing along his fur and nose. Ve left Saatsine some time ago. Anselm revealed, worrying now it had not been the right choice for his sons. Vhere are you now?

Etienne looked around. Where were the boys? But he was afraid to ask. Perhaps they were simply hiding further in the forest. But he searched again. But said nothing for now.

I still be at Swiftcurrent. Been 'ealin' otters dere. But Today i was searc'in' for my nep'ew. 'e 'as gone missin' and Suzu be beside 'erself wit' worry.

Eti sighed and ran a paw along the bridge of his brow. Muzzle downward. Exhaustion creeping into his quickly lagging body. The storm had taken much out of him. As had the emotions of recent times.

Learning that Etienne’s healing was put to good use, Anselm remembered the Sweetharbor girl — a jolt that coldly sent through him as he remembered the girl’s mother. 

Did he know? Anselm searched Etienne’s face for clues as the healer rubbed his nose in a universal gesture of exhaustion. 

But maybe, this was for another time. He’d indirectly learned Suzu had whelped, and at least done so safely - but now a child of hers was missing. 

Which prompted him to think of his own sons.  Who deserved better than the feral rough shod life he’d been giving them. 

How long ago? I vill help. He was, after all, a tracker — and if nothing else, providing some level of service to Suzu and Etienne might endear him to the leaders of Swiftcurrent and give his children a better future than he was currently promising.

Etienne had been woefully away from the world as it was. He had stayed to his own space and Suzu's and had ignored the world. He could not help this part of him.

A soft whine and Etienne shook his head. It 'as been many days now. Dere was still ice and snow on dey ground w'en he disappeared. But I cannot give up for Suzu. 'Er is very sad.

A soft look to the mountain born. A gentle movement as he settled more comfortably. But we be going nowh'ere in dis.

With the snow blanketing all — including any scents of Etienne’s nephew — the boy’s prospects were grim. But Anselm kept this thought to himself, hoping for all their sakes the boy had the good sense to hunker down somewhere and wait out this storm. 

Ezra, too. His heart did a strange twist as he thought of his blood out in this. 

Bad father that he was, Anselm could not help but bitterly wish Heda had not died. Had she been alive today, his boys might still be with him — fed and secure with the love only a mother could ladle out. 

You must not vaste energy fighting the storm. He cautioned as Etienne settled besides him, measuring the angle of the wind as it carried off past them. Vhen the snow breaks, ve vill search for him. You bring me to vhere he was seen last, I vill track.

Snow lay in drifts along the ground. Any other moment and time. Etienne would have found it beautiful. Truly and wonderfully beautiful. Right now it was cold and sharp and painful. And it made finding his nephew even more difficult.

It will be very near Swiftcurrent. I can seek permission to 'ave you enter. Unless you can track from dey borders. I don't know muc' about trackin' I am afraid. Dough I can 'ear very well. Dat 'as 'elped me more dan most tings.

Etienne sighed. I know we may not find 'im. But I must try.

A white veil rippled past them. The last of the storm before it transferred to heavy sleet. Anselm listened to the breath of the storm, frowning. 

The heat from Etienne’s body rippled between them and out into the greedy world. Many things he sensed then, and not all of them proper. 

As a distraction he forced his mind to think of his sons. I vill howl for Ezra and Gideon and let them know. Then vhen your leader says it is okay, ve track.

One last squall of wind rippled past, and then slowly the clouds began to gather their stormy faces and march off. You call. I vill come. 

Though he very much didn’t want to leave, he readied himself for it before his head swam with desire he could not possibly answer.

Etienne buried his head further into his paws and legs. The sound of the heavy sleet on the ground distressing to his sensitive ears. But he would get through it, he always did.

There was a stricter form to his body this time. A less open vulnerability, but only because he knew if he opened himself up further. He may cause a very untoward advance on his part. And Anselm had made it clear time and time again, that he was not gay. That he was normal.

Etienne nodded. I would like to see dem again.

The distance was felt as Anselm readied himself to leave. Etienne did not want him to go, but yet he knew he must let him. Because he had no claim on such a wild man. A tilt of his head. Golden eyes finding the sunset gaze of the one man he would love forever.

Fè atansyon deyò, ti gason dyab