The Bracken Woods I know what darkness means

The trajectory from initial plans was so drastic that Akavir couldn’t even explain it anymore—what had once been a recon mission to map a path within the valley, through the desert and beyond had strayed so completely far from intent that it would have been laughable if it weren’t so entirely sad.

Mae was simply gone. Moonglow wolves had not been able to find her, he had been unable to find her. Pleading words between he and Kukutux that should she come within their means was met with the promise from the Moonwoman to send someone to alert him right away.

Reluctantly, he began the trek back home—without his daughter, and without his original companion… And he did not know how to feel or explain the one at his side now.

He had led them upward of the mountains, skirting away from where Muskrat might have been. The journey was slow—the weather proving to be complicated, at best.

Now—snow and wind stirred them from their path—impossible to see—and only when they found a firmer shield against the elements in the tall bracken trees did Akavir look to @Silvertongue, worry pulling at his expression. “We’re so far from our original path that I don’t even know where the hell we are,” he admitted quietly, tail lashing behind him.

stolen by emerald night was any memory of this place, any recollection which might aid the creekman in his pursuit. she could do nothing more than helplessly tag at his side. there were no skills left to silvertongue, no hunting, no respite; the only comforts she had offered were those in the furs, and akavir — well. she would not insult him by offering. he might think it transactional. around them she glanced, pressing close for assurance as well as warmth. "we should find a place to wait out the storm," came quiet suggestion at last, not quite a courtesan addressing a lord, but many learned things must be unlearned. her smile, however, glowed true as ever, and she cast around again for any spot of shelter. it pulsed harshly in her mind, harsh that she should know, and silvertongue found herself distracted again by that faint wisdom just out of reach.

The sudden press of warmth to his side caused him to stop the glare cast upon the winter storm and to the silver wolf at his side. His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth for a moment—wondering if even the bright blue of her gaze had changed in the loss of who she was.

She looked around—whether unaware of his own stare, or unwilling to fully meet it, he did not know—and he found himself having to stop worrying once more what the future held for her. What if they could not find her family? What if her memories never resurfaced? What if they did, and they still could not find her family?

What if they did find her family, and she did not remember them? Was that something her wife would place blame upon him for?

Pulling himself from the ‘what if’s,’ Akavir focused on the now. He began to move once more—slipping more than once on ice—yet another gift brought to them from the storm.

LET ME KNOW IF THIS IS OKAY ;;

faust moved through the storm, the wind gnawing at his fur, biting through even the thickest parts of his coat. the border checks had been routine—until they weren’t.
something lingered in the air, faint, nearly swallowed by the cold, but distinct enough to raise a brow. unfamiliar. wolves, traveling this far north through weather this cruel? either desperate or stubborn.
he pushed forward, navigating the ice with practiced steps, head low against the driving wind. it wasn’t long before he caught sight of them—a large black male, broad-shouldered and weathered, and a slimmer silver woman pressed close to him.
he took them in with a hunter’s eye, assessing—watching the way they moved, the way the man seemed to shield her from the worst of the cold. travelers, not invaders.
you’re far from anywhere friendly, he called, voice cutting through the wind, humorous, for his stature.
his breath curled between them, gold-green eyes steady. you tread closely to the glacier, a pause, a flick of his ear as the snow howled around them. is it shelter you seek?

she held to him, winnowed by the snow. silvertongue was growing weaker, daunted by hunger and the simple fact that repeated travel had taxed her to a breaking point. but she did not complain; she had none. when a man's voice rose up, silvertongue stiffened beneath akavir's hovering arm. the last thing she wanted to face in such weather was a stranger. but the promise of a sheltered locale appealed so much that he might feel her relax in desperation against his flank. not enough to trust in someone she did not know, but more than enough to trust in him. yet silvertongue remained silent, watching the unknown man in expectant voicelessness.

His pale eyes scoured trunks of trees—white snow danced around them in chaos—he could feel the ache in his joints and the fatigue practically rolled from his companion in a silent plea. The wind howled, another blinding sweep of snow—and then an ear cupped to the call of a voice. He felt the form of Silvertongue meld to him once more—a familiar sensation, in this more skittish phase.

His hackles bristled, eyes sharp as they befell finally the man speaking. Immensely large—perhaps rivaling Arric. He felt a pang—missing his friend more than ever, now.

“The glacier?” It was likely the home of the other—it seemed they were near packlands. Thankfully trespass had not happened—he was not interested in pissing off an entire pack of wolves he knew nothing about.

Had it just been him—he’d have outright denied any desire for anything from the stranger. But it wasn’t—and with the warmth of his companion radiating into the cold of his own flank, flecked with ice and snow, he gave a brusque nod. “We are,” he called out. Sometimes, chances had to be taken.

faust studied them through the veil of the storm—two figures winnowed by wind and snow, one leaning heavily into the other. travelers, lost and worn thin.
he recognized the way the silver woman shrank against her companion, the wary bristle of the dark male’s hackles. neither trusted him. good. the north was no place for foolish trust.
aye, he confirmed, voice steady, even against the storm. the glacier.
he let the offer settle, his breath curling against the cold. you can wait out the storm there. shelter, food, a place to regain your strength. his eyes flicked between them, measuring. come, if you wish.
whether they did or not was their choice—but the north was cruel, and faust did not waste his breath on second invitations.

all offered was necessary. silvertongue was grateful that akavir made the choice, though she wondered if he would have pressed on if she had not been there. "thank you," voice pitched into low submission, a soft blink of her eyes for the creekman and then for the one who had come to find them. where he led she meant to follow, picking careful step across the unfamiliar ice as she thought wildly of the warmth and rest to come. the glacier; she did not know it. she could not remember, but held back tears of frustration lest they only leech more body's strength. until they reached their destination, silvertongue would be keenly silent.

The offer was placed—potential death within the icy clutches of winter’s ferocity, or potential death at the grasp of strangers. Either was a risk—one held more certainty of holding true than the other, and so the Mayfair gave a single nod to the other man who awaited answer.

Silvertongue’s relief was palpable—her words spoken as the exhale of air from her lungs misted in the frigid temperatures. He rounded beside her, his own form shielding her from the other man’s should anything go awry as they allowed themselves to be lead back by a wolf who, for some strange reason, was also out traipsing in the heart of a snowstorm.

It was these suspicions he held at bay—a mask of stoicism in place upon his features as he remained as silent as the silver she-wolf he traveled with.