Duskfire Glacier Celebration dance

@Dione when you have time :)

the snow was crusted in places with old melt, hardened again by night. faust’s stride broke through it easily, his pace unhurried as he led her upward. the path was well-worn by now—carved through frost and wind and time. not many walked this far with him. fewer still were allowed to stay.
he glanced over his shoulder only once to ensure she still followed, pale against the stone, sharp-eyed and quiet.
ahead, the glacier unfurled like a great beast resting its belly to the earth. jagged rock formations rose from its base—twisted columns, wind-carved hollows, crevices made warm by furs and fire. this was the heart of darukaal. where the dens lay. where the warriors slept, and the young were raised.
faust lifted his muzzle, motioning toward the clustered stone.
dens, he said simply.
his voice, gravel over ice.
an offering. a beginning.
his glacier. her choice.

She followed with a new sort of pep in her step, keeping pace with Faust and walking at his side. The glacier was certainly a climb, but a challenge she was willing to accept.

She was brought to the dens. A quiet invitation, she had to assume. I haven't slept in a den since my litter last spring. She let out a laugh, more reminiscing rather than amused. Where's yours? I'll wake you the next time I want to hunt. Partially teasing, but it would be something worth knowing for one reason or another.

Raising her head, she took in the surrounding scents. There were certainly more wolves here than the average family pack. It would be a new experience for her to see multiple bloodlines living together in peace - maybe a bit strange.

faust’s ear flicked at her words.
a litter last spring.
his gaze slid to her with the faintest raise of a brow, though there was no judgment in the cool glint of his glacier eyes—only surprise. he regarded her for a moment longer, then gave a slight nod. you’re a mother.
a statement. not a question.
it shifted something, not in his posture, but somewhere beneath the surface. perhaps not tenderness, but an understanding—rooted, perhaps, in what he’d lost.
without another word, he turned, leading her deeper into the stonefold. through the jagged outcroppings and over the frost-kissed ledge, where a larger formation of rock loomed. beneath it, nestled in a shadowed hollow, was his den.
quiet. deep. protected from the wind and the eyes of others.
he cast her a sidelong glance, watching how she took it in.
here, he said simply. it was more than just his sleeping place. it was his refuge. and now, she stood before it.
his tail gave a slow flick. wake me, if you must.
a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

There was a slight tense in her jaw as he spoke. She did not often let her previous experience with motherhood slip, the fact often driving away the men and women she so shamelessly chased.. They're dispersed now. A cool, calm response. Her children were far away from her now, wandering in the lands she had once attempted to claim. She loved them as any mother would, but understood that it was natural for them to build lives of their own.

She was able to relax as they moved on, Faust leading her to the den he had claimed for himself. It was solitary, peaceful. You don't get lonely up here? She certainly would. It seemed a den suited to a couple and their family, but not a single wolf. Though, he did seem the solitary type.

She had spent a summer in a hollow once. When the litter after her was born, a single sister, and her mother wished to seek shelter to ensure she would stay warm. Dione had dispersed not too long after.

faust glanced her way, hearing the cold clip in her voice—more armor than dismissal. he didn’t prod further. the north had its own way of pulling wolves apart from the ones they raised. sometimes it was time. sometimes it was duty. either way, he understood.
they’ll make strong lives, he said, low and even, eyes catching hers only for a moment before returning to the trail. a simple truth, spoken without fanfare.
when they reached the den—tucked beneath a stone lip and half-shadowed by evergreens—he stopped and looked toward her. her question lingered.
not lonely, he answered, voice rough with the edge of a tired season. but quiet. a pause. then, softer—sometimes quiet is worse.
he stepped aside then, leaving space for her if she wished to enter. he would not ask her to stay. not outright. but the door was open, and the silence wasn’t so sharp with her in it.

I've never been able to stand the quiet. She responded to him with a snicker, slipping into the den after him. Have you always lived so high up? She was used to flat plains and permafrost, or thick forests of evergreen trees. Elevation like this was a rare treat.

Laying with legs curled underneath her, feline-esque and content, her ears were happy for a break from the noise of whistling winds. The den really did do a great job of blocking it out. A thick coat of white fur made her suited to the white, snowy taigas, but as well as it could protect her from the cold, you could only learn to tolerate the noise. But, Faust was right; when you learned to block it out, the quiet was often far more overwhelming.

yes, faust said, voice low against the hush of stone. he did not immediately lay beside her, instead standing a moment longer to study the curve of her body in repose—white fur haloed by the dim light of the den, stark and soft against the cold rock.
i was born in a mount like this, his eyes traced the earth, as if memory lived somewhere below their feet. darker. stronger winds. his gaze drifted to the narrow mouth of the den, watching the wind whip past without sound. but quiet always found me, no matter the place.
eventually he sank beside her, his great form settling with the gravity of a mountain come to rest. close, but not touching. yet.
and you? he murmured, eyes now fixed on her, not the storm beyond. you climbed the mountain with ease.

He was starting to talk. It was nice to see. Dione was a woman who certainly did not mind the sound of her own voice, but the harmony of another's conversation was far better than anything she could create on her own.

I was born north, but in the flat plains rather than a mountain. My parents tracked the herds of caribou and bison. She responded, resting her head upon her paws. I did live in a mountain once, after my sister Leto was born, but I imagine they went back to the plains once she was old enough to keep warm on her own. The ease of which she had climbed from the mountain came from the power it took to chase and take down larger, stronger, prey both with or without the help of siblings, children, or mates. She had been born and grew to the size of a titan, and now her musculature matched such a reputation.

Yawning, a paw lifted to push his head away by the cheek as he looked at her; more playful than offended of course. She didn't mind the eyes.

he listened, quiet at first, ears flicking with interest. talk of the plains brought a flicker of memory—long ago, when he too had followed hoofbeats across frozen flatlands, before the glacier, before darukaal. he could picture it easily: a younger dione, leaner, carved by wind and purpose, chasing giants beneath a low-hanging sky. her words painted it well.
you would have done well here, he murmured, low and warm. not flattery. truth.
her paw came up, firm against his cheek, and he let her push him, the weight of his head heavy beneath her touch. a snort rose from him—more breath than voice—and he eased back, but only slightly. there was a glint in his eye now. playful, maybe, though dulled by the usual solemn mask he wore.
if you push again, you better be ready to wrestle, he warned, voice full of something fond. something wry. he moved to pin her, a gentle action despite the giant, if she allowed him such.

He responded to her push with a playful push of his own. She rolled to her side, allowing the pin.

I'd win. She quipped back with an upturned nose, tone intentionally cocky. Her tail thumped on the ground behind them, I couldn't be helped. It was fun, teasing like this. She hadn't been able to do it for some time.

She would have a hard time getting bored in Darukaal, that much she was growing sure of.

he huffed through a smirk, teeth just barely bared in the beginnings of a grin as he leaned over her, weight balanced but heavy enough to remind. a touch of pressure along her side, a test. “i’d win,” she said, all nose and swagger, and he liked the bite of it.
hm, came his rumble, the sound low in his throat, more exhale than word. a chuckle might’ve followed in another life, but this was faust, and this was darukaal. instead, he pressed his brow briefly to hers in a gesture that lingered between challenge and affection.
tail swayed once. her confidence was no farce—she had proved herself, in the hunt, in stride. she was not soft.
he shifted beside her, giving space without retreating. she wasn’t leaving, not yet, and neither was he. here, in the glacier’s heart, the air was cold but their games ran warm. darukaal would suit her. it already had. we hunt in the morning.

He shifted and she leaned to nip at his ear, playful bordering on affectionate.

He had decided they would hunt come the morning, and she was quick to be in agreement - sort of. Alright, but I'd like to make a game of it. They were each skilled enough for a little extra risk. How about it? If one of us can reach to grab and take the ear of our prey, they win. Maybe a bit aggressive, but it was all in good fun with an animal that would soon be dead anyways. Surely it wouldn't mind.

I'll even let you decide what the winner receives, whether a prize or pure glory. She spoke, looking to sweeten the deal. Not everyone was willing to play her games otherwise.

faust's ears twitched at the nip, but he didn't pull away. he turned just enough to glance at her, slow, glacier eyes narrowing with the flicker of a grin.
it's a deal, he said, voice low and sure, already picturing the chase.
his gaze lingered on her, thoughtful. he liked the challenge. the fire in it. not many had dared to set such terms with him—not many still would keep pace.
i'll think on the prize. something quiet, promised beneath the words.
then he rose, stretching out his broad shoulders, shaking snow from his coat. we hunt at first light.