Duck Lake trust me when i tell you, you don't want that tooth 'n claw

Vague situation with the Merrick thread, but eventually our troublesome duo ends up traveling northward—which Kratos isn’t certain he agrees with considering the weather. The snow has come back with avengence, as if it never left the Wilds in the first place. Despite being a furnace, he isn’t keen on the way it wips in his eyes—chill snow is alright, blizzard quality? Fuck that.
You never gave an answer about the Taiga pack, he prompts, you wanna try there? Or should they just say fuck everyone like Kratos’ been wanting this entire time? At least when it comes to leaders. He hates having to bend to others, and he hopes Zephyr is starting to think the same.

While Kratos dislikes the change in weather, Zephyr feels relieved. He hadn't realized how much he'd miss winter until it started to slip away. His mood starts to improve overall as they venture further toward the taiga, regardless of other events. Still, his good mood doesn't do anything to soften his displeasure with the suggestion. No, He says, tone masking his surprise at the second attempt. He hadn't thought Kratos would want to join another pack. I don't want to follow anyone again. Do you? He glances toward him briefly, searching for his reaction.

Mayhaps he ought to have kept his mouth shut and taken Zephyr’s silence as the answer, yet he had to be sure; had to pressure until the answer he sought came to life. A crook of his lips slips—
Nah, he confirms, Better to be our own bosses’. No rules except the ones they make, and no answering to anyone.

Should we live alone, then? He asks, a little confused as he realizes he'd been wrong about his mate's intentions but quick to brush it off. He's more interested in continuing this conversation.

Alone? Sure that’s a thought, and Kratos wouldn’t be against it—he’d have Zephyr to himself, and all attention that he could ever want. Is it smart though, for their survival?
After dealing with all the crazy shit and the fucker who wanted to kill you for no apparent reason? Probably not. Neverwinter hadn’t been great at protecting any of them, but he had to give props to them trying later on the road. A group would be good to have around as a shield, and to help provide where they can’t alone… damn he missed Phillip. A pack though? Maybe even better.

He frowns, silent for a moment as he considers Kratos's words. Living with others might not be so bad... if they can follow orders. So you want to lead a pack of our own, then, He starts slowly, still thinking even as he speaks. It could work... but I want us to be equals if we do that, and no one else. I don't want anyone to interfere with how we run the pack.

Kratos arches an eyebrow; somehow it comes to a surprise to him that Zephyr wants them equals. If need be, he woulda been fine with playing second-fiddle, the muscle that gets to bare teeth and whomp anyone he’s ordered to. Yet, he’ll take what he can get. No complaints. Yeah, they can fuck off if they have a problem. Just like we did.

Thankfully, Kratos agrees without an argument. Zephyr had been half-worried that his mate might want to be at the helm of a pack himself, but if he'd such plans in mind, he doesn't mention them. He's silent another few seconds, thinking more. I want to find people who can fight. If they can't fight, we'll teach them, but not too many, He glances to Kratos for approval, hoping his mate agrees. He knows they'll need more than just fighters to survive as a pack, but he thinks every member should know some basics to survive (he won't take on liabilities; not when he doesn't have to), and they'll only be able to manage a few students at once.

Smart, with how much shit they’ve been thrown over the last few months, they need the defense—maybe the offense, too, so they don’t need to just take punches, they can give them as well. Kratos likes the idea behind it.
Yeah, we can both train some. By now, he thinks Zephyr knows what to do as far as fighting. Their spars numerous enough that he has the gist of what to look for—and he’s not half bad. That how we wanna test ‘em? Spar and see if they’re worth the energy.

His eyes brighten a little when Kratos agrees with his suggestion, and he continues with more confidence. Yeah. And we should make sure they can follow orders, too, That's the most important part, to him. He can forgive a lack of skill, given there's willingness to learn, but he can't forgive a lack of obedience.

Hm, to which Kratos pauses—certainly the looks of an army brewing underneath their wings. Zephyr’s ice, Kratos’ an inferno, an odd mix with similar core values.
Loyalty matters more, the beast counters. Mindless soldiers tend to stab their rulers in the back. From experience. A half-smirk curves across his lips. Not all though, as per dear dad comes to play, the one who’s never strayed nor stabbed despite the opportunities. Kratos, on the other hand, hadn’t gotten such traits. Rebellion too keen in pale gold eyes.

The last two words draw his attention immediately, and the smirk on Kratos's face sets his heart to racing. Experience? He questions, oddly excited by the implications of his mate's statement. He's always known Kratos is dangerous, but being reminded of it... well, it does things to him, that's for sure.

It’s the least important part that grips his mate’s attention, but he cannot go shoving his dirty laundry underneath his bed much more than he can avoid blabbing about the past when he so directly mentions it.
Yeah, experience, he repeats with the swish of his tail, I told you before, about how I was slave—they didn’t just let me go out of their own will. Free folk don’t tend to be good about that, ‘specially when you got somethin’ they want.
I was just one of many they had ready to toss at the front lines of battle. All they cared about was gettin’ more plots of land and more kingdoms to bend. Could care less who died for it. Hell, told you they didn’t even give us names. It ain’t like we’d be heroes in the stories everyone blabs about. There would be no happy ending, only a snuffed out candle—a decaying corpse lining with others as the dust settles.
We weren’t there ‘cause we wanted to be. We were there ‘cause we were forced to be. So… I was gonna die one way or another, might as well take a few of the fuckers with me, right? Guess I was wrong about one thing though. He isn’t dead yet.

He listens quietly, absorbing the words with a frown as his prior mood melts away into something more somber. The more he hears about Kratos's previous life, the less he likes it. It makes him glad that his mate is here now, with him, ready to make his own life. He deserves as much; an opportunity to make his own decisions, and be cared about by others. He's quiet for a few moments after he finishes.
Well... I'm glad you got out of there and didn't die, He settles on finally, knowing the words he'd chosen aren't the best or most profound. They're true, though. And so are his next words, though he doesn't mean to let them slip, or even fully register the thought until it's spoken. And now you can lead a pack with someone who loves you. Wait —
He freezes for a moment, and rational thought flees. Uh — did you hear that? He knows full well that there isn't any noise, except maybe the sound of him withering and dying inside. Nonetheless, he speeds up, hoping to leave Kratos behind before he can say anything in response.

He should be, in all honesty. If it weren’t for the princess and the windwalker, he ought to be lined across the border of Rothskel—nothing more than a skeleton eventually, a show of what happens when you cross the wrong people. The Empire has always been them.
It’s a bitter thing to relive constantly, but as simple as Zephyr’s words were, they are true. He isn’t where he was. He’s here now, and—
Loves him?
Implied by the whole mateship thing, yet in ways he never really thought about it; after all, love didn’t have to be mixed into the whole label, it’s rare it ever was in front of Kratos. He stares a bit dumbstruck, and the realization comes belatedly.
Where are you going. Rocking forth to catch up, he knows there’s no way that he can catch the silver if he puts his mind to it. Maybe if he makes a wrong turn, or by endurance alone. His voice is more desperate than he wanted it to be. Don’t regret it. Don’t run away. Come back.

He expects Kratos will think him stupid, will let him charge ahead and forget he'd ever said something so dumb — or maybe bring it up later, mocking. He does not expect Kratos to follow, questioning him with a desperate edge to his voice that cuts straight to Zephyr's heart. His steps falter. I — He turns back to his mate, eyes big and uncharacteristically vulnerable. His ears tilt back just slightly, quivering as they settle in place. He doesn't have an explanation to offer, or any words, really. All he can do is wait, and listen to the pounding of his heart.

His approach slows with Zephyr turning back to him—a panted breath exerted despite the short distance, muscles wounding tight. A heart pitter-pattering at a pace too quick, a buzzing in his limbs, from toes to spine, akin to a lightning strike sending straight through him.
He reaches out, nosing across the phantom’s cheek, taking in a breath of stone and frost—a comfort that draws both another electric shock and security; comfort of an early morning with a tangle of legs and reluctance to move, of never feeling alone. Home.
Pale gold eyes glow with wonderment, until they close, pressing a step closer. I love you. I love you. I love you.

His breath hitches as Kratos nears, then reaches for him. A tiny shudder rolls through him as he leans into the touch, and his own eyes close. For a few moments, it feels like he and Kratos are the only wolves in the world — and honestly, he'd be happy with that. His mate is all he needs right now. Urged forward by his own fragility, he buries his face in Kratos's neck, letting out a long shaky breath as he settles. His chest aches so much he can hardly breathe, but it's a sweet ache, the best feeling he's ever known. He feels wanted, chosen, loved.

At ease he feels nestled with Zephyr tucked along his neck. He presses his crooked muzzle close as he can manage, brushing gentle with a few kisses dotting along the silver’s neck and shoulder.
‘m glad, he mumbles, that I can lead a pack with someone I love. He parrots the phrase that the silver spoke, mumbled with a misshapen grin.

The feeling only lasts a moment, until he reminds himself that this means little. It doesn't really mean Kratos loves him back, it's only —
Or, maybe it does. His breath catches again as Kratos speaks, thoughts tumbling to a halt. He feels stupid for doubting it, then — as stupid as he'd felt a moment ago for thinking his mate's pursuit meant something. Briefly, it occurs to him that he should stop making so many assumptions; it's exhausting. But the thought fades quickly as he presses closer to Kratos, forgetting everything else again. He doesn't know when he'd started loving him, or if it even qualifies as real love (his own version has always felt twisted, broken somehow) — but he knows it's the only solid thing in his world right now, and he'll hold on to it for as long as he can.

Whether he truly feels this feeling the way others do is unknown to him, who’s foreign to “love” in so many ways. Zephyr is his mate, is the person who’s given a feeling of belonging, and that is enough, however, for Kratos to be certain that he harbors such strong feelings for the silver.
It excites him in a way, as if fire burns in his veins—new yet familiar. He just keeps close to Zephyr, enjoying the contact and the moment.

200th post!