Mount Apikuni and he walks among his people

@Grezig i apologize about the wait for this!

the early morning was clear, the breeze cool against the heat that the rising sun would bring with it. the moon still holds fast, bright and defiant in the velveteen darkness that is yet to be breached. mount apikuni houses small copses of trees on it's southwestern side. the northwestern side, however, is an entirely different story. he moves through woodlands that touch all three points: mount apikuni, herbalist's cache and emberwood but lingers on the outskirts, closer to the mount whose face on this side is horrendously scarred. there are old wives tales, that a once prospering pack had been brutally killed in the avalanche and then fire that had left scars upon the mount's face. the avalanche, kjalarr believed. it was evidenced in the stone. the pack he isn't so sure of: easily it could be a moral story meant to warn young children away from the dangers of mountains. his eyes rise to the mountain. an iridescent, frosted milk color sees only the mount's looming shadow in a world of never ending fog that writhes like it is living.

young life has taken hold from the seeds of destruction, kjalarr notes. saplings grow and small woodland life has returned. a small snort leaves his black, leathery nostrils. they are alike, he and this mount. both scarred. both persevere against that which stacks against them. he spends a few more moments studying it before he turns away and continues in the direction of the cache, shrugging into the thick of the woodlands.

Grezig was oblivious to the beauty of the surrounding area. She was here because she was once again feeling stuck in place. Creating this pack was taking far too long for her liking, although she knew that such a feeling was unfair. Creating a pack took time—of course it did. Time and effort and skill, and a little luck. Still. Grezig was a creature of habit, just like all others, and up until recently she had been following the habits of pack life. She still had some. She still did patrols, still hunted, still interacted with her group-mates. But without a true place to call home, all of these actions felt… a little worthless. A little pointless.

Up ahead, she scented another wolf and brought herself out of her thoughts. The pale coat stood out in the moonlight. Grezig chuffed and did not come closer, wanting to make it clear that she meant no harm. She stood and waited. Recently, she’d begun to see every unfamiliar wolf as a potential recruit. She supposed that could turn into a bad habit, but she couldn’t help it. Attempting to recruit others to the cause, even if she failed, at least gave her something to do and made the future pack seem more real. But ever since she’d brought Thorleif into the fold, she’d been a bit more cautious when seeking others. She had to make sure they weren’t insane like that stupid male.

it is not long before his path crosses with another. it's never been particularly uncommon in the teekon wilds. and it does not strike the warborn with surprise. mild annoyance, perhaps, but it dissipates when he realizes that she is not familiar. just as he's avoided familiar territories he strives to avoid familiar faces as well. for the moment, at least. it is unlikely he can hide from those that might look upon his face with recognition forever ...but he can keep it up for a while. not that he fears retribution. he is not responsible for the foul deeds the children of his seed wrought upon the wilds. he wasn't a father to either of them. perhaps, he allows, that is most of their issue. because he wasn't a father. third time's the charm, he thinks. perhaps the next batch will turn out better. he is brought from his thoughts as her chuff penetrates the silence the envelops the mount in a chilling and ghostly silence. an ear twitches in her direction and then his gaze follows. her pelage is composed of warm, earthy colors. a stark contrast to his the cold platinum, broken only by light sand stockings, of his own. the northman draws in her scent, noting the lingering scent of others. not many but some.

scarred muzzle lifts ever so slightly as he draws in another breath, assessing. analyzing. kjalarr does not move nearer and for a moment contemplates not offering her any words. "what do you want?" he eventually inquires. it is spoken simply and without the infliction of annoyance as those particular order of words might normally be spoken.

Grezig gazed at the male in silence for a moment after he asked his question. It was a question she often asked of others when they came to call on her. So many wanted to talk to her and she was a woman of few words who preferred companionable silence most of the time. She noted that his question was asked without any sort of inflection, as if he did not really care about her, or her answer. “I want nothing,” she replied, finally. “You were in my path so I called out to let you know I was here. Better to speak up from afar rather than startling someone by approaching without notice.”

She fell silent again, assessing him, and then turned her face away as if to ignore him. She had no business here, other than an attempt at countering boredom. He did not seem overly eager to speak with her, so she let him be, beginning to make a wide berth around him so that she could continue on her way without bothering him further. She was still close, however, so that if he chose to speak, she would hear him.

she tells him she wants nothing. good, he thinks. the shadowmarked has nothing to give her anyway. except for, maybe, the stinging bite of teeth and lash of cold words. that is all the ásabragr cares to offer anyone these days. soon, that will have to change as he sets his gaze upon the broad horizon and guides his intentions towards the empire he will build. for now, he wanders like a reaper, still thirsty for blood and hungry for the flesh of those that deigned to stand in his way. "it is better, you are right," he speaks. his gaze, haunting and frigid like the glacial land his father hailed from, lingers upon her even as she turns her head away. as if he is no interest to her. perhaps he isn't. but he cannot help but feel the slight bristle of hackles at being dismissed. he's spent too much of his life as a king to accept the disrespect. his upper lip curls back from his teeth. he has done so many terrible things. his teeth brought the death of his own daughters. he has tasted and eaten flesh of his own ilk to survive the famine that had commanded death. kjalarr killed for no reason other than he had wanted what the other had had. "startle the wrong wolf and one might find teeth sinking into their throat." he speaks vaguely enough but he means himself. kjalarr does not play games and offers no second chances; startling him is never a wise play, accidental or not. his gaze slides over her once more, focusing his attention to his unmarred eye. "you smell of others." the northman speaks bluntly. "why are you not with them?" he asks. he smells no lingering scent of wolves upon the mount and is left to assume there is some distance between them and her. the desire to hear question answered keeps kjalarr around, for the moment.

Tags for reference.

’It is better, you are right,’ the male replied.

Grezig grunted in response and kept walking, having nothing to add to that.

’Startle the wrong wolf and one might find teeth sinking into their throat.’

Grezig stopped short, but did not look at him yet. Was that a threat? She longed to turn and stare the male down, demanding to know why he would say such a thing. But she knew better. Maybe he was just talking to fill the air between them. He might not have meant anything at all by a comment like that. And if had, she would not rise to take the bait. Not out here, by herself, when she had a commitment to the group back in Emberwood. It would not do to return to them bleeding and battered, or worse, to not return at all. She thought of her promises to Kavik and Liri, and she thought of the boy, @Illidan, whom she still worried about. No. She would not fight out here. A friendly spar was one thing, but those words about teeth in one’s throat… those did not sound like friendly words.

“It is a good thing I did not startle you, then,” she said, finally, trying to keep her voice light. She turned to glance at the male, forcing her tail to wag, showing she was friendly and not here to challenge or threaten or fight anyone. Thinking, perhaps, that their encounter was over then, she began to walk away.

He asked about others, saying that she smelled of them. He asked why she was here, and not there. He talked too much for her liking. The threat in his voice earlier had destroyed whatever acquaintanceship she might have had with him. “I am taking a walk,” she replied, her voice even and light. “They are not far,” she added. She almost said that they could come if she called them, as a way to neutralize whatever threat he supposed he held over here, but that sort of comment could be just as bad as straight-up challenging him to a fight. So she said nothing more, kept her distance, and began to make her way back towards the forest.

kjalarr notes the amiable wag of her tail with an idle flick of an ear. the northman accepts it for what it is: a show that she does not desire to fight or challenge. which is good; for the both of them. kjalarr's moods are mercurial as the sea these days. calm one moment and harsh with fury the next. as a lone wolf he could not truly afford recovery time from a fight ... but he would not back down from one if it arose, either. kjalarr is a survivor and he would find a way to survive. yet, she keeps her tone light. she is treading carefully. a smart move. despite her statement that her pack is close she does not call for them and for a moment the scarred northman wonders if she is using them as a deterrent. he does not fear being outnumbered. he does not fear death. death in battle is glory for his culture. to sup in the hall of vahalla, to join his father ...and his daughters. what fierce shield-maidens he imagines them to be.

it almost sounds tempting.

but kjalarr does not wish to sup with the gods, his father and his daughters yet. not until he's lived a full, long and prosperous life. he was too tenacious to settle for anything less. he lets out a small snort then, swings his head back in the direction he'd been originally heading and ventures opposite of her.