Nova Peak Λ

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when skorpa had left elowen, he did not return to the painted den nor its comforts, nor the half-torn, scattered strips of caribou hide that he had left in disarray.

afternoon light slanted toward evening. bearman prowled among heavy pines to trail the hunter @Lorcan, bearing ayovi's message which commanded his own support.

it was not practical to travel overnight, but it would return him to emberflame in a shorter time.

lorcan had best show his face, and quickly.

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nose to the earth, rooting through the scents that now scatter what is left of snow and ice. now, breaking through the spring thaw.
elowen hungered, voraciously. their son premature but fierce as any; his father's spirit in him. lorcan swelled with pride—and in the same capacity, worry. he worried now, like any new father, for his small family.
he was on the trail of a doe and her fawn when interrupted by the shadowing breaksteps of skorpa. turning his head quickly, golden eyes burning quietly on the man. turning, slowly, tail a whiplash. come to join me?
a courteous smile, but eyes searching. eyes narrowing.

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"yes."

they took one another in, the northman and the dark hunter who still he did not know. "first, i speak." burningbrand eyes watched lorcan. "know darukaal come to you. if you fight, leave wife and baby. be — fool? for war? not wel-come back insiding winsook," he said gruffly; though the words were strained, lorcan would comprehend.

he was unused to this sort of level command, but the shadowblade had a choice to make.

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lorcan is more than happy to welcome skorpa on his hunt. two wolves; both capable, they could take down something sizable to feed both the mothers of winsook. but he is brought to pause while he digests skorpa's words.
lorcan was not ignorant. he knew his meeting with the darukaal woman would be found. but he also did not take it seriously to begin with, so he only snorts in response. shaking his head, as ears twitch with bubbling amusement. i told the woman i would fight her war for a bear-hide, he says honestly.
but smirks. a lie. he shrugs, and continues his tracking, words now hushed to be veiled from the acute ears of any prey. you see, i was a mercenary for long years. he explains. but to fight in a war so cheaply? he clicks his teeth.
no. he shakes his head. so let us hunt, yes?

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skorpa stared at lorcan for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "i kill if you lie," the bearsword uttered, deadpan, then his face split into a grin and he motioned for the other to lead. "mer-cenary. you fight for paying?" he assumed, hard steps carrying him after.

"i do same. some year." he shrugged. "gave pay to women." the other would understand, for what did a young man need with tribute but to spend it.

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lorcan's eyes do not flash with anything but swallowed amusement. words decorated with the same emotion when he exhales to speak: i am sure you would try.
the threat would not be taken lightly, but it would not be feared either. skorpa's kind did not bluff. lorcan respected that.
his ears twitched at the mention of payment, of giving. he chuckles once, dry. i have done the same. admittance, freely. without shame. a shame it did not ever buy peace.
he did not find that until elowen. and now, their son.
he glances sidelong at skorpa. they are both different beasts, but not so different at the bone. but now i have learned this life is not just fight and feed. a shrug. then, turning his gaze inward to the disturbed brush ahead. they bedded down near here.

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"i have learn same," skorpa said, finding a kinship in lorcan. the other man's previous role was familiar, as was his rough manner and easy discussion of transactional matters. bearsword did wonder how a woman soft as elowen had taken to the toughened shade, but perhaps it was indeed their opposition.

a nod; he slunk into hunting crouch, prowling among undergrowth to taste the earth and move across its disturbed face.

the hunt pleased skorpa. it occurred to him that in not so many months at all, he and lorcan might be here again, young at their side in teaching role.

---

lorcan spares a glance before turning gold back to the path ahead. then you know what i mean, he says, low. not warm, but not cold either. shared understanding passed between men carved from the same stone.
this way, he mutters then, slipping forward into the undergrowth. his body dropping low, muscles tightening as he moves now. deer sign was fresh; crushed grass and scat.
he flicked his tail once—signal—and veered wide to circle. he trusted the bearsword would understand. flank them. drive them.

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buffalo-hard bellow spooked the resting animals and broke their number into chaos. heavy snaps kept them on path to lorcan's teeth. skorpa channeled all winnowing warrior's will into the hunt now, finding glory in thrown clods of earth and hoarsened bawling.

if the gods decided, winsook would feast again by the blessings granted to its hunters.

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the herd already breaking, stirred to panic by skorpa’s bellow. hooves cracking against frost, bodies colliding in storm of fur and instinct.
gold plated eyes lock upon the straggler; lame, slower than the rest, struggling to find rhythm in the chaos.
dark mercenary surges forwards, breath sharp in his throat. teeth baring beneath blackened lips that salivate with growing hunger. he is soon on her, weight crashing upon her flank, ignoring a jab to the ribs by hoof. rolling with it and letting teeth feast upon her muscle, shredding.

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fangs moved to hold down that swaying limb, skorpa adding his own muscled weight to the pin. their breath mingled in hard panting; he too tore blood free until struggles began to ebb.

only then did the mountainwolf straighten, slumping to catch his breath with a broad laugh echoeing once he had. a good hunt! a blessed hunt.

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the hunt concludes with brash laughter and equal parts men catching their breath. lorcan does not slump but instead stands victorious over the fallen kill, sides heaving with great effort.
a good kill, brought down alongside a hunter of equal stature. it was a good mark upon a otherwise bland day. lorcan parts skorpa no words, no look; only leans down to take a bite from their kill.
the hunters would eat their fill and then drag the rest to the mount. the hide would be put to use, the bones, the fat. lorcan would make sure his wife ate her fill so their son would be properly fed.
he was distant from them both—but that did not exclude making sure they were cared for.

fade? :"3