Duskfire Glacier and down goes the hatchet on the chopping block 'cus i love you like a mountain

dated for Dec. 20 -- maybe @Gleipnir ? <3 *lights in the sky refers to Polaris Icefield

It was a wondrous discovery, grander than anything she had ever seen. In the moonlight the ice seemed to shimmer and glimmer. Lights in the sky that moved in their own rhythm. She was, undoubtedly, smitten with the display the heavens had provided. Her steps turned into a prance as she moved ahead of whatever path they were on.

There was the desire that perhaps she could get close enough to be bathed in the lights. Perhaps even touch them herself. Alas she did not desire to spend this moment alone. Her tail moved like a banner behind her as her head turned over ruddy shoulder. Gleipnir! She called out in an airy breath. There was no panic or worry, simply charmed excitement.

the snow shifts and crunches under each step gleipnir takes; this frigid cold, heavy snow and harsh cut stone is comforting. it reminds him of the cove, it settles him to know that he can find places of home in these foreign lands. the northerner's steps are slower than that of sakhmet's but he trails faithfully behind her all the same, keeping a glacial eye fixed on her up ahead. busy; sorting out scents: theirs and those of small woodland creatures that inhabit this place, trying to figure what is fresh and what is stale he does not pay attention to the heavens.

gleipnir!

his name arose in an airy breath from sakhmet and the berserker's focus is broken as glacial gaze lifts from a waddling groundhog trail cutting thru the snow to his ruddy companion. he steps forth, closing the distance between them, gaze studying her though he is calmed by the lack of tension in her body. after a moment he follows her own gaze, noting the green lights as they dance upon her face and lifts his own gaze heavenward.

norðrljós, gleipnir murmurs in a low, awed murmur. he has heard stories of the northern lights but has never before seen them with his own eyes.

There was relief that he seemed as utterly charmed by the sight. He used a word, one that sounded like his own, and she knew not what it meant. Perhaps it was an expression of awe upon the beauty? Was it the name for this phenomenon? She looked over at her wardog prepared for a question but was instead mesmerized. The green dancing lights seemed to paint him far better, reflected like waves against platinuma shores.

Somewhere in her charmed mind she found her words. That word...teach me? A soft request as she still gazed upon him.

gleipnir is bewitched by the lights as they dance, floating upon the sky like waves of the sea, or like flames stoked. not strong like the bifrost but flowing. he does not know of any connection the northern lights has to his gods — despite having a name for them — and wonders if it is, perhaps, a creation of sakhmet's peryite instead. head lowers as the berseker looks down to her in unbridled surprise. ...teach you? he repeats, understanding that she means she wishes to learn, but unable to ask it in so many common words and thus, as it has sufficed for them so far, he speaks in his broken common that parrots her more than anything else.

norðrljós. gleipnir repeats it for her slowly, sounding out each syllable as he would for a cub still learning how to speak; if only because it seems the easiest way to approach teaching her the word. means ..ah — light of... north. the translation isn't perfect but he isn't quite sure how to make the transition to 'northern lights' in common.

Her head would bob like bouy in the lights of the sky's wave. Yes. Soft, short, concise as need be. Some part of her felt as though they should be even, leveled with each other, with their knowledge. Might she learn his comfort native tongue as he had made effort to learn hers. Forever touched by his efforts, mind you.

He would repeat it. Slow and soft, drawn out as if she was learning to speak all over. She would gently repeat each syllable, utter it in a soft mumbled breath. Each time a little closer to piecing it all together. Until she seemed to crack the code of it. Although it would not sound as smooth or fluent. Rough on her tongue unlike his. Norðrljós? She was hesitant, patient to see if she finally stumbled onto it right.

Light of north. For a beat, she wondered if his gods had created such an imagery for them. Perhaps even just for him.

as she is ever patient with him and his attempt to rasp out strings of broken common — oft with his own frustration seething close to the surface — he is patient as she tests the word of the north upon her tongue. trying again and again; determined. he nods along in encouragement, offering the sounds of syllables when she appears to be struggling; soft. as soft as he knows to be. it does not come naturally to him, this gentler side. but gleipnir has shared more with her than he has anyone else and she no longer feels as a stranger. like everything about this foreign land the blossoming of feelings in his chest — slow growing affection — is strange ...but not unpleasant.

norðrljós.

she speaks the word hesitantly to him, unsure of herself gleipnir can tell by her tone. já, he responds. good. he praises; and maybe she does not speak it as smoothly as he does but that doesn't matter. it is the effort she is willing to put forth and there is something about the rough way she speaks the northern word that gleipnir finds endearing. ...is good. he reiterates in an attempt to reassure her with a soft twitch of his lips, gaze lifting from her to the sky once more.

His praise, little and short as it may be, warmed her chest. Took root and spread through her. Pleased that she might do right by someone. She will undoubtedly hold the word close, cherish it like the best kept secret she had. Remember this moment of him bathed in Norðrljós and the softness he showed with her. Ever patient and temporarily released from a title of wardog that he oft brandished.

Reluctant (if only worried she might miss more soft looks upon his face, a soft twitch of lips that is more flattering than aggressive) her gaze traveled after his. It was undeniably beautiful in the heavens. She had thought she might wander for ages and yet the sight has her rooted. Content to stay as long as she knew they might appear to wave in the sky to the wayward duo.

Norðrljós, Gleipnir. She uttered soft and in awe. Your gods...they make them?

norðrljós, gleipnir.

the ruddy valkyrie speaks to him and he cannot keep the small smile from lifting further. i like. he says after the content rumble settles and calms in his chest. i like when you speak my words ...but the sentence remains too complex for him to piece together with the little common he does know. gleipnir is confident that she will understand what he means all the same.

at her inquiry, his head lowers, glacial gaze cutting to her once more. it takes him a moment, mostly trying to gather his words. not gods. not his gods anyway. peryite? gleipnir asks her gesturing subtly to the lights with his muzzle.

The warmth spread more in her chest, to hear that she might do well enough for him to like it. Comfort to know that she had not butchered his northern tongue beyond comprehension. There were not words for the feeling she had let build and so she simply offered him an almost shy smile. Then, if allowed, a small touch of her shoulder to his side. Tall as he was, matched with her rogue-stunted form, she could not do much more than that. Yet she had hope that it would convey everything she could not do verbally.

She learned that it was not his gods. There is brief flattery when he mumbles Peryite in questioning tones. No. . . Although she could not positive. Was this a place to store the dead? Were souls or ghosts dancing up in the heavens? Wish to see more. Come? She'd offer in a soft invitation before she moved to lope ahead.

glacial gaze flicks across the nearly shy smile that tugs at the corners of her lips; finding it curious. but whether out of no need to question it or because he cannot find the words to do so he acknowledges it only silently; gaze returning up to the writhing lights that color the sky and catch the patches of exposed ice in a distorted mirror of smearing greens and blues.

...and then there is a small touch; her shoulder pressing against where she can reach. the muscle of his shoulder twitches at the flush of warmth that the small touch brings with it and he glimpses down at the mingling of her ruddied fur with his of platinum silver. it reminds him of blood staining his fur and comes as no surprise that he likes that, too.

the talk of their gods, however, reclaims his attention and he glimpses once more at the fey lights in the sky, ear pivoting in her direction as she responds with 'no'. not peryite. without having either gods to claim as responsible for the phenomenon gleipnir is not sure how else to explain it. but ...maybe it didn't merit an explanation; perhaps it was simply one of those things that simply was and was left to plague them with its alluring mystery.

instead of giving her a verbal answer he simply follows after her lead, feeling that his trailing steps are answer enough.

She would lead, mindful of icy slopes and snowed in cracks of the land. Higher, higher, higher, higher. Although they never truly seem closer to the color waves in the sky they are almost better viewed here. Standing on some ledge that had stood strong longer than pehaps either of them had walked the earth.

Despite a desire to call him close to her side, she does not think that he is far. He had followed and she knew he would take a rightful place next to her to gaze over the little land they had conquered in their patch of travel. It was a lovely view — a lovely sensation — to view the cold below them and be one with whatever winter silence had settled.