Moonspear profi'r dyfroedd

His spirits are the highest they have been since his father's death. The mountain air is doing him a world of good, physically, and the sense of purpose granted to him by Moonspear has put a newfound spring in his step. The golden prince struts along the border, shoulders squared, cerulean eyes searching for any signs of trouble. God help the poor soul that crosses his path, today. He will be met with a snarl indistinguishable from a smile. . .

And, oh, will he smile to have the chance to shed some blood for a righteous cause!

He had killed two of Ioan's soldiers, on Diwrnod Trawiad--the Day of Treason, as he had began to call it. One of the men he had caught was the devil that had slaughtered his mother. He took special care to ensure he suffered. Ripped his tongue from his mouth, plucked his eyes from his skull. Opened his belly and dragged out his guts, then left him there to die, slowly. No doubt someone had given him a merciful end, eventually, but Llewellyn likes to think he was there the entire night, flesh cooling as he expired with not a soul to hear him.

But it hadn't been enough. Llewellyn wishes he had found them all, killed them all. Particularly Ioan, the dark savage. Ioan's father, Rhys, had rebelled against their dynasty when Llewellyn was a yearling, and had lost, and paid for it dearly. Rhys and all his children were executed, save for Ioan and his twin sister, spared due to their innocence as pups. Gwynedd would still sit on the throne, had they killed the young ones, too. But that was not their way. No, instead Ioan had avenged his father--and altered history forever.

Eyes growing dark as a twilight sky, Llewellyn carries on with his border patrol, teeth gritted. No, maybe there will be no smile, only a snarl, the blurred ivory of fangs and the crimson of blood. He is a wolf of Moonspear now, and he will not let Moonspear fall to the same fate as his homeland.

Rather than some terrible beast attempting to invade the mountain, it was Yama that eventually found herself crossing paths with the male. Her nose was to the ground as she trailed after the scent of her father, having yet to realise that it was stale and Charon would not be waiting there at the end of her journey. Instead, she found herself staring at a different pale figure once she finally slowed to a stop and lifted her head, which she tilted seconds later as her inspection of the wolf began.

A sniff or two revealed the scent of  home clinging to him, thus she tossed away the option of requesting her parents’ presence. Still, she wasn’t entirely sure just yet of this new face. She’d never seen him around before, at least not that she could remember, and soon found herself wishing that she wasn’t alone with someone so unfamiliar—that she had someone there to key off of and figure out how exactly she was supposed to go about speaking to this male. Too bad for young Yama, she had no one at her side and was forced to work through the encounter on her own, using what she’d witnessed in the past as a guideline.

“Hi!” she chirped, tail wagging with a mix of uncertainty and friendly intentions. “Who’re you?” She wanted to ask why he was there, too, but didn’t because then she might be asked why  she was there and, well... she didn’t have an answer for that, and especially not one that she could give her parents, should the man think to summon them.

It is not long before Llewellyn has company. A pup of several moons, presumably following a scent trail, eventually comes to a halt a few paces from him, looking cheerfully interrogative. A smile blooms over his face, eyes sparkling like midnight pools. For all his standoffish behavior toward most grown wolves, Llewellyn loves pups. Children, after all, were revered in Mynydd; each youngster was given the best upbringing possible.

How could he not love pups? It was etched into his heart, his bones. And, of course, he desperately wanted a litter, one day--a chance to pass on his name and stories, and young wolves to mentor more closely than he ever had before. The bond between father and child was unbreakable, even by death.

"Hello," he rumbles, wagging his tail slightly. "I am Llewellyn. And who might you be?" he inquires in return, canting his head to the side as she had done. She looks nothing like Charon, nor any of the wolves he'd caught a glimpse of so far--a couple of shadowy things, but fleet--but she is thoroughly cloaked in the scent of Moonspear. She must be Charon's, and his mate must be a brown-pelted woman, like this girl.

Hearing his name made her ears perk up just a tad bit more, which was followed by a slight tilt of her head. The name was unusual to her, having never heard it—or anything like it!—before. She studied the stranger for a moment and sniffed in his direction, making sure that he really was supposed to be there. Once satisfied with her findings, the little girl said, “That’s a weird name!” If it was rude to say so aloud, she never would have guessed it.

Just as was expected, the question was tossed back to her. Her head tilted in the opposite direction this time as she took a moment to think, having a severe wave of forgetfulness in regards to her identity; it was bound to happen sooner or later, having grown thus far with her and her sister’s names being interchangeable. “I’m Yami,” she decided after an extra long moment, not realising that she’d drawn the incorrect conclusion. “Why’re you here?” Not that it was any of her business but, of course, Yama was rather curious.

Had any other wolf thrown such an insult toward his name, they would have been met with his exit from the scene, at best; at worst, his teeth. His name was, after all, his greatest treasure in life, apart from family. But this is a child that stands in front of Llewellyn. Her outspoken opinion takes him aback for a second or two, before his maw cracks wide in a smile. Out of the mouths of babes, indeed!

"I was named for Llewellyn the Patriarch, a great warrior, my ancestor who died many, many, many seasons ago," he explains patiently, settling down on his haunches. "We have kept the name in the family ever since. But yes. . .I suppose it is a bit funny. And a mouthful," the prince adds, eyes glimmering with humor as he looks down at her. "Your name is much easier to say. Yami. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Her next question is much easier to tackle. "I am new to your pack," Llewellyn continues. "I came from a land very far away from here, looking for a home. One day, I saw this mountain, and I met Charon at the border. He allowed me to stay here. Is Charon your father?" he queries, tilting his head, almost--but not quite--a mirror image of her own curiosity.

Even before one word faded out, another was right there to follow after it and take its place. Yama tried to focus on everything that was being said but it was just too much for her. She zoned out for a moment or two—long enough for it to be noticeable—until something was said that stood out: her father’s name. The girl’s ears perked back up immediately and she tilted her head this way and that, processing that what was said was actually asked—a question!

“He’s my dad,” she confirmed, a nod accompanying her voice. Right after that, she remembered that she’d actually been looking for her dad—trying to track him, actually, but same difference—when she’d stumbled across the-guy-with-a-long-name. “Oh!” Yama exclaimed. “Have you seen him? Was he with you?” She could’ve sworn she’d been right on his trail before.

He sees the child's eyes glaze over--not everyone could be interested in history, he knows--but forges on, smiling when she gives him a nod. One of many children, he supposes. Then she shoots him two queries of her own, looking much more excited than she had before. Well, he supposed a search was more engaging than a history lesson. . .

"I have not," Llewellyn says, his voice a little rueful. "I have not seen him since I arrived. Do you want me to help you search for him?" he offers, ears shifting forward as he waits for her response. Pups were notoriously independent, especially at this age, but perhaps she would like some company. If not, he is content to be on his way.

That he’d not seen her father recently was disappointing, to say the least. With splayed ears she looked elsewhere, wondering to herself how she’d managed to get so confused with the scents that not only had she been taken to a stranger, but she’d been going down a path that her father hadn’t even walked all along. There weren’t many things that Yama considered herself to be particularly  good at but, well, she’d been hoping that she’d be able to add tracking to that list. Alas, it was apparent now that, that would not be the case.

At the offer to help she perked up slightly, though it wasn’t long before she was sucked back into her own mind. Would it count if she had help, or would that only prove that she really was incapable of acting on her own? So often did she look to her family on how to act and behave, her twin specifically, that she was soon falling back into that very same habit and considering how each of them might respond. Eventually, though, she settled on a decision with a slow shake of her head.

“I have to find him by myself,” she stated. “It’s important.” It was to her, anyways. Whether or not anyone else actually cared about her way of living was something to be debated, of course.

At least she is thoughtful, when coming to a decision. She does not make choices based on impulse. His feelings are not hurt when she answers in the negative; Llewellyn smiles down at her, giving a curt nod. "I understand," the prince says. "You'll find him soon enough, miss. He can't be too far away."

Oh, he has no idea of Charon's traveling habits--but what good would it do to split hairs? "Best of luck, Yami," Llewellyn rumbles, and then once the farewells are dispersed, he takes his leave--

Making sure to keep an eye out for the ivory king, and point him in the direction of his questing daughter.

Much to her relief, the male did not attempt to change her mind. He accepted her wishes and even wished her luck! As she perceived it, he believed in her. That was enough to further inspire her, assuring the child that she could accomplish exactly what she’d set out to do. With a smile and a nod, she uttered a quick, “Thank you!” before turning and running off, nose to the ground.