Snowforest Taiga risky play

backdated to december 30-31, before the zeph thread. somewhere close to the mountains.

He cannot help his wandering nature. Although he stays close to the group, he needs time to stretch his legs away from them on occasion. Call it old habits that die hard, the Wayfarer sees no reason to quit it now.
Ahead, the peaks of mountains range, towering over even his titanic form. It is where they seem to be heading, away from the valley and taiga—leaving behind whatever haunts the Ghost and his companion.
The Wayfarer cares not, for he’s left his old life behind awhile ago. Shackled voluntarily this time, yet he could, in theory, break it all again if he desires.
Around him, the snow continues to fall, and eventually, a loud snort breaks the silence around him—his nose twitching, snow flying from the tip, the beast exhales again, and walks on.

Where'd Firestorm go? He asks @Phillip without looking at him. He doesn't wait for an answer, though. I'm gonna go find him. Don't die while I'm gone! And with that, he's off.
It doesn't take him long to find his other friend, thankfully. He glances up briefly at the sky as he approaches, watching the snow fall for a moment. It's long enough to make him dizzy by the time his gaze returns to Firestorm. He's closer now, close enough to reach out and nip at the tip of his tail — and he does exactly that.

Foolish he is to think he can get that moment away—the stretch of his legs becomes a chase he unknowingly falls in. The Ghost haunts him, and success in finding the hidden beast.
The nip to tail causes him to smack it away violently, he turns quick on his feet with his aquiline muzzle bristled ready to reveal fangs. The hardened edges of his face soften, peeking canines retreat and he snorts.
What, for once he does the opposite of his habit—posing questions without an interrogative—and uses one without expressing it in his tone. He shifts back to his walk, assuming now he will simply have Ghost’s company.

He grins as his companion whips around, laughing at the snort. He hurries to catch up when the other starts walking, finding himself in a rare good mood despite Demon's flatness. Where are you going? He asks, gaze searching ahead as if he expects to find something of note. His tone holds only curiosity; he's already used to the other boy's wandering, and as long as he knows he'll come back, he can't take issue with it. After all, he enjoys his own freedom just as much, and he can only stand allowing himself the luxury of hypocrisy with so many things.

Odd to hear Ghost laugh; it rings a nice tone. He dare say it might’ve been cute the way he does it and wears a grin—different than how sulky he’s found Ghost in their first encounters. Maybe he can be smug about being a difference in that.
Regardless, he can’t stay mad. Ghost is never unwelcome. Firestorm enjoys the company the silver coywolf provides.
Nowhere, everywhere, doesn’t matter much, he answers in a mouthful—rambling in a way near uncharacteristic of him. He blames the flowery mood, and the way his lips want to twitch up.

The answer almost draws another laugh from him, but something changes his mind a second later, and his expression turns thoughtful. For several moments, he's silent, and when he speaks again his voice is soft. Why? He asks, casting a brief glance to his snow-dusted friend, and continues without waiting for an answer. Gears are turning in his head, and he's certain if he doesn't get it out now he'll forget. I like to travel, too — I hate staying in the same place for too long, but... I don't know why. Do you?

He expects to continue on, into silence or a different subject. Ghost throws him off with asking why. There is a reason, and he keeps quiet for a bit longer—letting the silver companion tell about his own feelings before posing a second question. This one is easier to answer then spread details.
Yeah, he answers simply; he knows exactly why he does it. Firestorm feels itchy all over. He keeps moving his feet.

The answer frustrates him, but he tries not to let it show. He's learned by now that getting angry with others hardly ever makes them do what he wants. So he has to try a different way. Tell me, He says, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. He knows if he looks at Firestorm, his impatience will win — and he's determined to have an answer, even if it means digging deep for some semblance of self-control.

Bossy. If it was anyone else, they would have ended up getting a face full of teeth instead of an answer. Firestorm grunts in irritation, before a long sigh escapes his lips.
Free folk have the ability to do whatever the hell they want, he says, you lot have names. You get to choose when you want to eat, shit, and sleep.
Every action they could control, they would. He knows everyone he meets that learns he holds no name thinks it’s strange. Before he thought their obsession with them was what was old. Now, he thinks he understands… having a name.
I travel because I can now.

The answer confuses him at first, simply because it does not apply to him at all. But then he realizes that he'd been mistaken in expecting it to; he'd asked about Firestorm's reason. And now that he's heard it, confusion sweeps his interest in that direction, and for once he forgets his own feelings.
What do you mean? He asks, finding himself unable to comprehend the idea of not making those decisions for himself. A beat later, he adds, You have a name now too, I gave you one. Do you dislike it?

Yeah, now, he says, a bitter tone dripping into his voice. Champagne eyes focus ahead—unwilling to look anywhere but the unseen goal. He hates having to think back, or when the memories creep up on him unwillingly.
It’s not about me disliking it— I didn’t have a name before. That’s odd to you, yeah? That’s how I grew up. Only the free got names. Me? I was destined to die without one, but I broke that. I fought for it, and I ain’t lettin’ anyone take it from me.
I was a slave since the day I was born, but now I can do whatever the fuck I want. Sometimes it’s traveling. You get it?
Fuck, what if Ghost thinks giving him a name makes him owned again? Fuck, why didn’t he think about this beforehand? He’d been happy at the moment, never had he been called something other than an insult. But who knew what Ghost’s intentions really were. They’re still new to each other. He doesn’t know much about Ghost, and Ghost sure as hell doesn’t know about him.

It takes him a few seconds to put it all together, but it all clicks into place slowly. Firestorm had been a slave, and though he's never heard the word before, he thinks he understands the meaning well enough from the things his friend spoke of. And he can relate, in his own watered-down way; he'd fought his own freedom in a sense, though his only foes had been circumstance and his own inability. He certainly would not want to give it up, after all he's suffered in his efforts to stand by his decision.
Yeah, He says softly, irritation gone now. The feeling that replaces it is one he can't name, but it makes him a little sad, too. I get it. He's silent for a few beats, thinking. So... now that you have a name, you're free for good now, right? No one can take your name. But — A slight frown tugs at his features. Most people have more than one name, I think. I have three — four if you count Ghost.

He’s on-guard, spikes prickling across his spine as everything settles into the dust. A lot of what he spewed out hasn’t escaped him before, and it is an odd feeling—lightening the load upon his shoulders. Yet regret seeps in moments later, because he doubts any could truly understand.
Most of all, he ends up halting in his tracks to turn towards the lookalike that’s haunted him ever since he’s gotten here. It’s one thing to have watched the only person important to him die with his every own eyes, but another to have been the cause of it.
His nostrils flare. Champagne eyes drinking Ghost in. The corner of them twitches at the response.
Four? He questions. What others. Why so many. So?

He stops when Firestorm does, frown deepening for a moment with worry. Did I say something wrong? He watches his friend's expression carefully, gaze dropping briefly when he speaks. Yeah, uh — my first name is Zephyr, that's what everyone else calls me. My middle name is Avalik, and... Tonrar is my last name, my family name, but I don't think I should use that anymore, His ears heat as he realizes he's likely giving more of an explanation than his friend wanted. I think it's because... what if someone else has the same name? Our names are who we are, and that can't be the same, so maybe having more names makes everyone unique. Phillip doesn't have another name, though, he thinks, doubting for a second — but then he realizes that he doesn't really know that for sure. According to Phillip, he doesn't have a family either, and that definitely doesn't sound right.

The obsession with names goes deeper than he could’ve ever imagined. Part of him is thrown off, how does anyone remember the mouthfuls? Why would they bother? But he gets it at the same time. Everyone wants an identity. Shit, has that been what he’s looking for?
He’d laugh if it made sense to. In his head he’s cackling.
Not use it? Why, he asks—that’s the one thing he really latched onto. Because go figure Ghost came from a family that loved him enough to give him three names. So why’s Ghost getting rid of one?

He frowns when Firestorm seems to give the most attention to the one part he'd hoped would go unnoticed. He'd been pretty sure he was going somewhere with his rambling, too, though he doesn't know where yet. Nonetheless, he tries to answer. When I was younger, I did something terrible, and then I left my family for awhile. And then, after I went back, most of them died, It comes out more casual than he'd anticipated, as if discussing the weather. He's run out of tears dor the situation by now. But his voice is still a touch more solemn as he continues. So I don't think I was ever really part of the family.

A story of tragedy, and one that the Wayfarer couldn’t sympathize with. Perhaps the closest feeling to losing someone that felt like family to him was the windwalker. Even then, he doubts it is the same.
What’s evident is that Ghost’s life has been hell, too.
If he were a better person, maybe he would’ve comforted—told him that of course his family loved him and he was still apart of it no matter what. But he isn’t.
Pick another, he suggests, equally as if it is an easy feat and not complex like it truly is. Start a new family.

The suggestion surprises him, but after a moment of thought, he decides he likes it. Yet doubt lingers, as it always does. You think I could? There's hope in his voice despite his insecurity. And then an idea strikes him. Without waiting for an answer, he adds, Will you be part of it?

Why not? You gave me a name. Were there specific rules that meant you couldn’t give yourself a name? Bizarre, and rules were supposed to be bent in situations like this regardless.
What he doesn’t expect is an invitation in toe. He’s never had a family, and never quite pined for one either. How?

His head tilts slightly when Firestorm questions him. He hadn't considered that. I don't know, He admits. He can't imagine Firestorm as a sibling, no matter how hard he tries. None of his siblings had been like him at all. But if he's starting a new family, surely it doesn't need to follow the rules of the old one. I just know I want you to be my family. I don't care how. Maybe it doesn't matter anyway.

Maybe, except it does matter; because the Wayfarer finds he isn’t looking for brotherhood. If that’s what Ghost is after. He could settle, ought to settle. But for now, that’s the only answer he gives.
Why’d you bring up how many names you have anyway? He shifts the conversation, wearing what he considers a teasing smirk—although it’s likely more unappealing than anything. Showing off?

The maybe is slightly discouraging, but it isn't a no, so he leaves it at that. There's still room to convince him later, he thinks. His gaze drops at the word, only to return to Firestorm when he speaks again, eyes widening as they settle on the smirk. For a moment he forgets where he'd been headed with his rambling.
Uhh... His ears flush, and then he remembers. No, I — I thought maybe you could have another name, too. I could give you one better than Firestorm if you want.

His tease brings back the conversation, and it seems like Ghost did have a plan in store for him. Curious as it is that one would wish to bestow yet another name for him. He is wary, but intrigued.
Like what? He prompts, beckoning forth with a curious glint in pale gold eyes. Firestorm already suits him well, but if there is something better in Ghost’s mind, then he wants it.

He thinks for a moment, and returns briefly to his childhood. He'd been so young when he'd last asked his mother for a story, but he remembers that last time better than all the ones before; he'd asked her to tell him a story about someone strong, and she had spoken of strength himself. Kratos, He says, remembering the name. My — I heard a story once, about a god named Kratos. He was the god of strength — or, he was strength, I guess, and a god too. Something like that. You're the strongest person I've ever met, so I think it's a good name for you. I'm named after a god too, and so is my brother Helios.

Kratos.
It’s an honor and a joke all the same that Ghost sees him as the personification of strength. Sure, he isn’t weak in physical fights, but he is far from the strongest about. Nonetheless, he isn’t going to argue, not when it gives him purpose and the desire to make it true.
Plus, its matching along with Ghost’s family ordeals sparks curiosity and something else.
Thus, he is born anew, as Kratos.
Nice, he purrs, all too pleased, as the duo continue their stroll until they eventually made their way back to Phillip.