Duskfire Glacier i'm cauterizing the veins you lacerate

---

—why had he returned?

towering frame blocking the entrance of a cave blotting the dense, unfurling expanse of the duskfire's glacier. those unfeeling eyes of crimson red unblinking against the pale white, sweeping in a predator's swathe upon towering peaks of ice and open, uncharted snow.

he is a metronome. ticking. hardened jaw twitching to life with the exhale of a visible breath, mist breaking past the sudden movement of the beast. muscle hardened from war unflinching across his body. shoulders and legs falling in muted thuds upon the path he weaves now.

further into the glacier, ears upon a stiff swivel. thinking that perhaps, if he listens close enough, he might hear those familiar sounds of what had once been.

but—

there is yet only silence.

@Sega is surely near, her trail would guide him, yet she did not glue herself to his strong side today. Intent on finding something for them. A hunter’s trail or a temporary shelter. It feels as if she might have found both, only to come across another masculine scent. One that did not belong to the man she had come to know as company, as safety.

She ought to be wary.

Instead she restlessly pressed on.

If either man is near, she did not hear them. The glacier held an eerie silence that felt as if it meant to encourage her away. Flee, traveling girl, go back to brighter lands with songbirds and autumn’s arrival.

She might have if she had not spotted the behemoth. Her innards writhed with worry for herself. A dark giant that seemed as if he had been chipped off the mountains around them.

She really ought to go back to Sega, to safety, to known company.

Her breath hitched and she froze.

---

—he is too lost within the turbulence of his mind to notice the presence of another.

and how odd that was, considering how desperate he had become to encounter another life. in loneliness, blackfell had once found supreme comfort. it was complacent, in the softest of ways. he desired, once, the breath of silence and the bliss in solitude. but now...

he despised it. how he had come to know the splendor of camaraderie, the warmth in brotherhood. the strength in numbers. and it had been ripped away from him, snuffed out by the tide of war. war had stolen everything from him. in the end,

none of it had been worth it.

a sudden shift in the silence of existence draws his attention. a presence stiffened behind him, and crimson eyes pull upwards above the peak he descends from. there is a woman, alone. but her scent smells vague of another, a hint of masculine.

blackfell, too, is still. and the two remain at an impasse, until he shifts upon large paws, crunching hardened snow beneath him. and his voice, full of grit, departs the quiet:

you're staring.

She wished for eyes of autumn upon her now.

Instead it is a gaze colored like the warmth of prey. Rich and red. The man was not violent, far from it truthfully, yet he oozed the brand of masculinity that came from warriors. She thought of the men back home that hunted and fought for whatever need be.

The thought did not soften her as much as she had wished it to.

Whatever he had said fell upon deaf ears. Hardly listening when so lost in thought and, for the first time, yearning for Sega’s company.

She blinked in what could be considered a response. Then a slow, tentative and curious step closer. Only the one, only to see who he’d be to her.

Sega came on quiet paws, pale hide a soft blur against the white. Her trail was sharp to him, clean on the wind, and he followed it as he always did. Close. Too close, some might say. Yet in his chest, it was something like claim.
He saw her then, small shape stilled before a dark mountain of a male. Red eyes like hot stone, heavy and still. Sega’s fur bristled, tail lifting with a slow, controlled sway.
He called low, voice rough, a grumble in his throat. His eyes cut to the stranger, then, taking in his battleworn physique. He wonders if he has seen him somewhere— it was familiar the way he carried himself. Like the men who used to live upon the mountain.
He stepped closer, close enough that their fur brushed; falling against him if she moved backward. The cold bit at his teeth when he bared them just enough to flash, although it had been more of a reaction to the wind. However, one thing was clear. She was his to guard.

---

—she steps closer. blackfell takes a step away. those cold, unfeeling eyes of crimson settling upon her face. a silent acknowledgement of her bravery, and yet, he is stoic against it.

and then, there, her man. pale, blond fur appearing to press against her fragmented scent. the norseman's rounded, small ears twitch with collection, taut upon his scarred, blocky head. something about this boy is... familiar. a distant smell upon his fur, interwoven, plains and icemelt, and a spitfire woman with sapphire eyes.

blackfell is a stain upon the pure backdrop of the glacier. inky, dark incarnate. built of mountains, a piece of the crags dismantled. the man rumbles, a throaty noise that vibrates behind the caged yellow of his teeth.

where do you hail from?

a question that isn't directed at either in specific, but for both of them as a whole. his stare encompassing upon the woman, then upon the man who so nobly postures himself at her side.

and looking at this, he has seen it before. there comes the pained thud of his heart.

He stepped away from her. For the briefest moment, she is surprised. A genuine look of it! Only to be whisked away and replaced by staring once more.

She was prepared to retreat now, too. Perhaps he had no want for company — or maybe his own company was elsewhere.

A step back to where she started revealed the familiar comfort of Sega. She knew, like some second instinct, that he’d come. Yet the writhing of nervous innards ceases to be replaced by comfort. He had not wavered once so far. There is some hidden, roughened, charm in his boldness now.

She did not ever expect herself to become a woman who hid in the shadows of a hulking man. Still somehow she had become such. Pleased to find she did not hate the sensation either.

Pressed along her company’s flank now, wordless still even as the stranger spoke, yet watchful of the encounter still. Let Sega handle it seemed to be her current strategy.

He stood still, letting her lean into him. Her fur warm against his side, steadying the beat of his chest. His golden eyes stayed fixed on the dark one, unblinking.
Big Sky, he said, rough, tainted by the memory of what once was. A tilt of his head toward the white horizon behind them. Plains here. Home now.
His tail flicked once, then stilled again. You? he asked, the single word edged with quiet weight, sheathed enough to hide his true curiosity: what gave him this air of familiarity? While the soft press of Svana at his flank reminded him why it mattered.

---

—what was her name?

blackfell remembers. the woman who had claimed the heart of his brother in juxtapose to the dishonorable norseman of the northern peak. her sapphire, glinting eyes and the hiss of her strong voice. he sees her now in this man.

blackfell raises an eye, not scrutinizing, but in observation. draping it against the pale features of the man, pressed so closely, so securely, to the woman he cares for. in turn, she does the same. blackfell huffs. breath blowing visibly from those deepening nares of his.

blackfell gestures with a heavy paw to the very ground beneath the two strangers. the thickening ice they roam upon now, what had once belonged to his cousin, and by familial right, him. here. and that is only half the truth, isn't it? but it's the truth blackfell had come to know. my clan has moved on, but i remain.

darukaal had been home.

ayovi, her name is distant on his tongue, winsook. they are gone. why?

400 posts!!

They talk; they exchange words in that tongue she hardly knows.

Suddenly an outsider to an encounter that she had started. Suddenly the dreadful feeling of having not learned more of the common tongue — and having not put more effort into knowing Sega's own. Then she could have at least uttered secrets to him between the men's speaking.

She allowed herself the openness of gazing upon her blond company for a moment. Then her gaze was sliding along his jawline to look over at the hulking man. It is hard to fathom someone so large, so whittled by mountain stone.

Before she had even realized it, she had pressed herself firmer into Sega.

Tuka-vaa, She whispered softly.

A reminder that they were in this together. Even if she knew he did not need her to handle...this. Whatever this was.

Sega felt her press firmer, and his tail gave one slow sweep behind them. His brow lifted, conspicuous and questioning at the mountain-born man.
You… know cousin? he asked, head canting. His gaze slid past them both, up to the northernmost mountain— cold, empty now. I do not know. Maybe… back to Big Sky. With husband. Children.
His words were blunt, quiet, but there was a weight in them as his eyes came back down. She… fear other mountain people.
Then his golden gaze dropped to Svana at his side, softer for a heartbeat. Something clear passed between them. Not a question, not a claim. Just knowing. They were together. And he smiled.

---

—ayovi feared them.

to this knowledge, blackfell cannot help but chuckle. those blood red eyes of his glinting with some faraway amusement, though it is dry and baseless, numb upon the tongue that rasps across his mouth. yellowed teeth clicking in consideration of his words.

it was not us she should have feared. blackfell looks at the man, and wonders what he might have to say about that. then again, perhaps he knew nothing at all. he was only her cousin.

the onyx brute of the glacier moves away from the couple, back up the ascent of the slope they stood upon. passing by them, a shadow upon the wind, and casting his longing stare across the long, distant slopes of the bosk iana below.

where @Gjalla had went for her hunt.

and her husband, ever the dutiful man, waited for her to return. over his thick, scarred shoulder, blackfell scents towards the couple. come, an invitation, extended in his native tongue and accompanied by the beckoning of a tilting head.

my mate hunts. eat with us.

Hunt.

Eat.

Those were words she understood loosely. Spoken many times when she visited places or encountered strangers. It is good to think that perhaps Sega has secured them another hunt, another meal. Even if her appetite waned with the nerves of such an illusive encounter.

She did not make the first move to follow.

Instead it was her companion she looked to now. Did he trust enough to accept the mountain man’s words?

Sega’s ears flicked as the dark one moved past, his heavy shape cutting the wind. The words were strange on his tongue, and he wondered who his mate had been in this vast landscape. 
He leaned to Svana’s side, brushing his cheek along her jaw, a low rumble in his chest meant only for her. Safe. With him.
Then his gaze lifted to the mountain brute ahead. Your name? Sega asked, voice rough, clipped.
Golden eyes returned to Svana, soft for a moment. He stepped after the dark male, taking the lead in front of Svana, and gave her flank the faintest nudge to follow.

---

— blackfell does not hide his curiosity of the woman at this man's side. as he begins his slow rumble through the glacier's polarizing landscape, he tips a head towards them, the tail behind his strong pelvis relaxed amongst his hocks.

he cannot make it anymore clear that he is not a threat to either of them. their trust would come when they deemed it.

she does not talk? he asks of the man, then looking to the piebalded woman with a curious crimson gaze. gesturing with a strong paw to her, an open, friendly greeting to her. blackfell. he introduces.

his blocky head turns, and forwards they go. blackfell leads the two of them through a winding path of ice etched out into the icefield through moons of traversing it in the same manner each dawn and dusk. his repetitive patrol, his scent of iron dotted through out it all.

he chuffs into the cold autumn, calling for any sign of his woman. burly figure moving slowly, now.

you are not norse. blackfell directs to sega with a side glance, appraising him for a moment. who are the wolves of big sky?

blackfell's stare grows more smoldering, more curious. it had always warped his mind, how skorpa had managed to claim the heart of the plains woman—likewise, how faust had tried to do the same. how two could love despite their cultural differences; such a sharp contrast to he and gjalla, who's hearts both burned with the strength of their northern blood.

Her flesh burned even as she composed her facial expressions. His gaze was curious and yet still it grazed over her like hawk talons. Calm, she reminded herself.

Then there is a familiar gesture. One she and Sega had exchanged when they introduced one another.

His name would be rough on her tongue, she knows it. Clumsy and childish. Yet the sound is committed to memory. She did not know she answered his question when she raised her own paw, tapped near her chest —

Svana. Came her carefully placed greeting. Not bursting with warmth but as if the ice had begun to melt. If Sega trusted this man's company, then she would as well.

Carefully, she moved after the blond man. Eyes trained to look for others who might emerge into this meeting as well — or signs worth remembering if they ever returned.

Sega’s ears flicked at the dark one’s words, and he glanced to Svana as she tapped her chest. A small breath eased from him— good. Brave.
She… do not speak our tongue, he said, rough-edged but calm, brushing his shoulder lightly to her side in passing. A quiet reassurance meant only for her.
His golden eyes cut back to the dark male. I am Sega. A pause where he could catch his breath. Wolves of Big Sky are plains hunters. We live with wind. Herds. Open.
He stepped along the ice behind Blackfell, tail swaying low, the weight of his gaze steady and unbothered now that their names were known.

gjalla next! :3

---

— he has always thought of the things sega speaks of as soft things, yet the man before him does not look soft; with pale fur dusted with grit of the wild, scars of survival. he does not sneer at it, only turns it over in his mind.

he grunts, low, the sound shaking through his chest and curling up in the steam of his breath. red eyes tip to the woman at sega’s side, and blackfell nods, a slow incline of his massive head, and a sound rumbles from him.

sega and svana. blackfell repeats, mostly to himself, voice full of gravel. well met.

the norseman’s stride crunches through the ice, his broad shoulders bowing to the path that bends toward the bosk iana from which he knows gjalla will return. he tips his scarred head toward the jutting peaks, the jagged glacier that rises. stone and blood.

you live with the wind. he notes. we live with the ice. he says, just as he sees the appearing shape of @Gjalla in the distance. shoulders immediately loosening with a softness for his mate.

snow broke beneath her paws as the woman crested the hilltop, wind curling her mane across her cheek. her eyes narrowed on the strangers ahead, her husband among them.

her pace slowed when she drew close, though her posture stiffened, guarded. she held herself tall, cold as the frost at her feet, and did not offer greeting. the strangers would see her wariness plain enough in the sharpness of her gaze.

but when her eyes cut to blackfell, there was the barest shift, steel softening. she stopped at his side, hip brushing his as she shifted her feet. "my heart," she breathed, "friends of yours?"

She might have felt like a girl — but Sega continued to include her. No matter if Svana felt like she stood before a canyon now. The language barrier a great divide.

Yet the men were all forgotten when she spotted the woman.

Beautifully tall and storm cloaked. Confident in ways that Svana still aspired to be. If she had not been so awed, it would have been jealousy that made a home in her chest. Instead it was inspiration and admiration.

Seiðandi, She allowed herself to spill the compliment openly even if her voice was a soft whisper. No one would understand it, surely! The only thing that allowed her to be so confident in saying such.

Sega’s ears tipped back when the dark woman came into view. Her storm-bound frame drew his eye as much as it had Svana’s, though he kept his posture low, respectful.
He bowed his head first to Blackfell, then to the mate at his side. Blackfell. Wife, he said slowly, gravel rough in his throat. We… well met. A pause, then his muzzle dipped toward the piebald pressed close at his shoulder. Svana...mine.
The words were simple, but the weight of them was heavy, meant to bridge the divide of tongue and land.
Ice... he echoed, a faint nod following. We live with wind. Plains.
He did not miss the way Svana’s voice slipped like a whisper of awe beside him, foreign to their ears but clear in its tone. Sega’s icy eyes softened a fraction, enough to let her know her place was seen and included.
He wondered, then, if they could understand her. If he would end up being the odd one out for the woman he claimed to be his.

— the man softens entirely with the brush of her at his side. a rumble in his throat, one of the deepest affections for gjalla, while his forehead bumps lovingly into the ridge of her jaw. head rubbing gently into her cheek, fixing himself into her side.

yes, travelers. the man, sega, is a cousin of skorpa's woman. his mate is called svana. i have invited them to hunt and eat with us. he says to gjalla's ear.

and then the crow's ears twitch, but it is not sega’s roughened voice that seizes him. it is svana's. the small woman tucked pliantly, who he had thought was voiceless.

yet now with the arrival of blackfell's wife, she mutters his own bloodsong!

yes. blackfell looks to svana, gjalla is the strength of frost made flesh. he rumbles with the press of a nosed-kiss to gjalla's ear, and the softening of a fool's smile. even now, when his shield should be high and his axe ready to be wielded in case of treachery, he cannot help but to decorate her in his fondness. blackfell bears no shame in his love for his wife.

but his attention is soon drawn elsewhere, back to the joining of them. those red eyes fixed upon svana regarding her with a new recognition. you speak our tongue.

other language denoted by italics because i forgot the translate code jidifjgijg

gjalla stilled at the small voice, unexpectedly familiar in song. her eyes sharpened on the girl as if to make certain she had heard true. after a beat, a smile comes—"thank you," she murmured, her mate’s warmth pressed against her jaw in the same breath.

her ear angled toward blackfell when he murmured, and the name he gave drew a rise in her hackles. skorpa. she did not speak, only hummed through her nose, a flat sound that told him she had heard and kept it. they had been no friends of darukaal, if her memory served.

"it is good to meet you both." she said,  "you've travelled far."

mobile post so forgive typos + assume italics is other language

It was a bit like looking into a mirror — or perhaps the future. Is this what awaited her and Sega? Is this what their long walks and hunts would morph into? What’s to say it wasn’t already doing such?

Yes, she was his.

But he was hers, too.

She decided this maybe on behalf of both of them. If Sega had been willing to support her when they had nothing between them besides the open lands then…well, that spoke volumes on itself.

Her jaws parted for a moment in near preparation of making some kind of girlish declaration before all. Only to softly close at realizing she had been understood. Her cheeks burned even hotter and her emerald gaze slid down the pair’s dark limbs to large dark paws. The embarrassment ought to be set aside in favor of the joy. When was the last time she had been fully understood?

Then we are not fully strangers now, are we? She offered with the smallest of smiles. Hesitant to make Sega feel like the stranger now.

Boldly she reached for her blond companion, aiming to place a gentle nip at his jawline.

We should repay your kindness. She did not think Sega would begrudge her saying such. Besides, wouldn’t it be nice to know another…pair? If they doubled their numbers for hunting or even socialization then the coming colder days would not be so difficult.

Sega endured the exchange in silence, his ear twitching once when Svana’s words slipped into their tongue and were met with recognition. It soured something inside him— a briny sting that coiled low in his gut. A reminder that there were bonds she could weave with others that he could not touch, songs he could not sing.
But his face was a mask, calm as stone, hoof-scarred and steady. His eyes moved between Blackfell and Gjalla, learning the weight of their presence without uttering a word to disturb the moment. He would not bare the salt in his chest, not here.
When Svana leaned close and nipped him, he shifted slightly, brushing his jaw against her crown in acknowledgment, before finally letting his voice roll.
You… give welcome. Not cold. We… take it with thanks. His gaze moved from Blackfell to the tall woman at his side. A truly indomitable pairing. If you ask hunt… we give. Strong backs. Strong teeth.

he toxic on the down low ;-;