Duskfire Glacier Arvīge

Ayovi had sought peace.
@Faust had denied it.
And now, how plainly he made his mind known by the intrusion of his own upon Nova; that the mountain was free to range. That had been a part of no arrangement.
The hunter’s voice calls for an audience, but her pace does not slow.
Sharp eyes sort through columns of ice and wolf-kind, looking for him.

it is the woman from the peace-meeting.
she pours with purpose into the glacier, bringing blackfell sitting up from where he'd lounged upon a mound of furiously melting snow. eyes searching, looking upon her with quiet. a quick glance determines faust is nowhere near.
he rises quickly and thunders down the slope, paws traversing wet, icy rock with an ease becoming of him. coming quickly into her view, tail flagging a high arc; a black banner. narrowing his eyes upon her down a scarred snout.
state your purpose.

The ice yields a man. Dark, tail flagging, familiar.
By contrast, Ayovi slows, settling herself with delicate aplomb, overly aware of Skorpa’s swell within her belly.
The dark man’s face is youthful; arrogant; smart. He’s familiar.  Ayovi  studies him for a time.
“I’m here to speak with Faust,” she informs him, the swift light in her eye exuding annoyance; revealing also her lack of patience to converse with anyone else.

silence. grating silence as he looks upon her. debating whether or not to entertain her. his eyes slip aside, head turning to look briefly over his shoulder, scanning the vast ice melt in the distance.
then,
come.
he turns slowly, like clouds in the sky shifting over the sun. head immediately slumping down between the heavy shoulders he wears like armor, his tail snaking downwards into a more neutral position. following the scent—and eventually tracks—of his cousin.
stopping atop a crest in the terrain where he finds the man in the distance and barks a deep call for @Faust to come. standing quiet, feeling the pregnant woman appear in his shadow.

he had been tampering with a elk’s hide when he heard blackfell’s deep call. it was easy to understand— it was a summons. what lingered there?
he was quick. always has been. and when he reared over the ridge line just enough to see her pearlescent furs, he withheld the urge to roll his eyes. instead, the kaan approached with a heavy foot and brushed alongside blackfell’s shoulder.
it is a pleasure, he began to drawl, crooning his neck to the woman, at one point, had thought to have had an understanding with. iskava.
though her presence on the mountain was coveted by many, faust could not help the wandering eye, nostrils flaring, for that putrid scent of her so called husband.
what brings a pregnant woman so far from her peak?

The baskaan is proud in his keep. He’s adapted a new gait, one of elevated persuasion. And yet the girl in ice remembers how he bit into a tree; how fear was the grand gambit to subdue her.
How it hadn’t worked.
“Ayovi,” the huntress elevates her voice, making sure it rings boldly. His title would never be her’s.  “Don’t bullshit me, Faust.” This was a pleasure for neither of them. Still, there is some humanity to him, or so she assumes. He had not tried to control her during the council; had done away with violent exhibitions. it is the only reason she stands unaccompanied, vulnerable with the bearing of new life.
Eyes like ice flick between the two; settling on evergreen.
“You don’t want commerce for your people? Fine. Makes no difference to me.  But Darukaal is not welcome to traipse uninvited on our mountain. We will retaliate.”

eyes of red watch with unbolstered amusement as faust comes striding up. up the hill, bumping into him, drawing a lowly laugh from the man. noting the sarcasm that layers him. looking over faust's shoulder into the distance now for several seconds as they converse.
not meaning to intrude. until her voice grows too loud for his liking, and she insinuates. threatens. blackfell's head snaps towards her, and a growl blossoms to life in the cage of clenched teeth that bare before her.
the woman barks! he exclaims, words only for he and his cousin, to further provoke. sharing an amused look with faust, and then chuckling arrogantly, pressing a knowing elbow into his side. but is she smart enough to watch her bite?
a question posed for her as his violent eyes rotate now for her.

faust watches her. really watches her.
ayovi stands tall, bold in the way she speaks his name, his name, not his title. she has always been like this, he thinks—unyielding, unmoved by the weight of men. he had known it before, when she had stood before him and bared her fangs, her defiance a thing of fire and ice.
and even now, swollen with life, she carries herself no different. if anything, she is more striking for it. confident. untouchable. her voice does not waver, her posture does not shift. she is as fierce as the mountains she guards.
his tongue presses against his cheek, his brow lifts, amusement curling at the edges of his expression. i have no idea what you’re talking about.
but gods, he likes the way she says it. don’t bullshit me, faust. she does not speak like a woman asking permission, nor like one who bends to another’s will. she speaks as an equal, and something deep in his gut, something ancient, something stupid hums in appreciation.
he lets his gaze flicker, briefly, downward—to the swell of her stomach, to the proof of another man’s claim upon her. and yet she remains her own.
he exhales sharply through his nose, shifting his weight. darukaal does not need to traipse anywhere. measured, but smooth. our claims are clear.
but should she keep speaking to him like that, well—maybe he’ll linger just a little longer.

faust:

“It doesn’t surprise me that a woman is subdued in your court. By your— valet.” A glorified henchman? She didn’t care about the shadow’s expectation. He was an accessory. Oh— was he not aware? Ayovi smirks and presses forward.
Her eyes hold tight to Faust, watching him stalk, and goad, and tyrannize. He was made for this, even she could not deny it. A chieftain’s supremacy rode every word. She is never more aware of her pregnancy than when the baskaan’s gaze sculpts her belly.
“Is this a formal abdication then, of any such wolf on Nova? Have we permission to obliterate all who wear the glacier's scent?" Faust must know. It was surely a jest to Ayovi, for a woman with so similar a look as came to provoke the men of the mountain.

he scoffs, then. all amusement draining, as he looks to faust, hearing his words. watching him probe the woman with his eyeballs. resisting the urge to roll his eyes himself, at his cousin's inability to withhold whatever prior feelings he had for this woman. good thing, then, blackfell was there. he tucks his chin against his throat momentarily, humming a sarcastic note as he watches her with narrowed eyes.
her words bounce off his shield, characterized by a loud ding! blackfell. he corrects, offering her his name only in smug note. i hunted with your husband in the plains only days ago. darukaal has no intentions of slighting your... he trails off.
what would you call it, cousin? he asks, brows knitting falsely. a crew?
a serious tone, then, settles over the titan of onyx. fixing her with a cold stare, ignoring the way her belly bloats with children. though it is amusing. she was brave, all could see it. brave to come alone; a pregnant chieftess could be a vital asset in securing power in the taiga. he needn't have to voice this to faust.
who are you accusing of trespass?

ayovi, he exhales, the weight of his patience thinning into something sharp. his brow furrows, and the air shifts. must i repeat myself? i have no idea what you're referring to.
his frown deepens, lips curling slightly over his teeth. i agreed to peace. and i am a man of my word.
she is infuriating—as she has always been. her presence is a spark against the glacier’s ice, a woman too bold, too reckless, even in all her swollen glory. she stands before him, untouchable in her condition, yet with the audacity to press forward, to challenge him, to provoke.
obliterate? his brow lifts, mock amusement laced with something colder. you wish to make an enemy of my people, then?
he studies her, the shape of her, the weight of her now. carrying new life, carrying the mountain’s heir. she will not fight. she will not be the one at the front lines, should war come. but she is reckless enough to incite it.
careful, ayovi. his voice lowers, the warning unmistakable. some things cannot be undone.
his gaze flicks briefly to blackfell, unreadable, before returning to her. who are you accusing of trespass? blackfell's tone is edged with something dangerous now.
but she knows, doesn’t she? she always does. she sees through him, as if she can strip him bare with just her voice.
blackfell’s mockery slides through the air, but faust does not react. his teeth clench at the way she holds herself, the way she speaks of his court with such effortless disdain.
he does not blink, does not yield. she can smirk, she can press, she can throw barbs with that silver tongue of hers, but she is not the one who holds the power here. not today. not now.
his nostrils flare, inhaling deeply, and for the first time, his voice loses some of its sharpness. it softens, slightly. you will have your answer, but not if you waste my time with riddles.

“A woman. Ivory. Pale eyes. Flaunting Darukaal’s scent,” lips curl, but Ayovi’s demeanor is quiet. She watches Blackfell. He makes a play of familiarity, and in the same breath reviles a constitution which would grant him more power than a pampered lap-dog.
“You warn me?” She hisses, another long stride towards Faust where the blue of her query is thrust against his verdancy.  Is she the only one here to question him?
She should not; she knows this. She is lucky thus far to plant feet here unmarred. And still she cannot quell the voice which mocks such his question. “You should know this. Keep charge of your lackeys, Baskaan.”
“Or I will.”

a woman. ivory.
she needn't say more than that. blackfell's eyes seem to register immediately and he grunts only, shifting upon thick paws. overlooking the vast region of the territory their eyes were allotted from this vantage point upon the hill. then, leaning closer to faust; breath upon his cheek.
fucking svalla. his hiss is cold.
he relents now, not fully, but enough that he can no longer take joy in chiding this woman. now, he feels only cold anger.
blackfell's guard hairs bristle. do you know? he says now, a voice only for them to know, to understand. she attacked before she went to you? claimed that i abandoned her? the man speaks swiftly, coldly now, head turned for faust's closest ear.
you must get her under control. she threatens what you have built.
ayovi's threat is now unchecked by him. as far as he is concerned, she would be doing them all a favor—notwithstanding his lingering childhood affections for svalla.

fucking svalla, faust echoes, his breath a sharp exhale through his nose.
his eyes flicker briefly to blackfell, absorbing his words with a slow, tempered nod. but his face does not betray his thoughts—not yet. no, i didn't. he states flatly. he had not known, but it does not surprise him. svalla had always been a wild thing, reckless, unchained. it seemed she had little regard for where she tread, or whose name she carried while she did so.
he barely has a moment to let his mind settle before ayovi is stepping closer. and— fuck, does she always have to push?
he meets her halfway, closing the distance between them in a way that feels almost dangerous. he looms, breath warm against her cheek, his voice a low growl in her ear.
i don’t control any of them, least of all you, iskava, the name rolls from his tongue with a sharp edge, a reminder of what she is—what she is not.
his head tilts slightly, eyes dragging over her, lingering perhaps a moment too long. her belly is full, her body swollen with life, and yet she still stands here, baring teeth, daring him to break.
mind your tongue—just because you're fat with life doesn't grant you mercy on my lands.
his gaze does not waver. his body does not move. if she wishes to challenge, she will find no retreat in him.
go back to your simpleton, the words drip from his lips, biting, taunting. take a hide, if you wish. oxen skin. that is my offering.
but she lingers still. he can feel it. the tension, the weight of something unspoken between them. she should leave, but she does not. and that alone tells him everything.

Faust had closed the distance. It happened so suddenly that Ayovi barely had time to react as his nose bent to crest the fur of her ear. That familiar sense of unease melts through her, whipping her heart into a careening canter. For all her posturing there is still fear, because she knows what he is capable of. Because her mate isn’t here to shield her.
Anger flashes through her eyes. How dare he insult him; Skorpa, who treated her with a tenderness Faust never could. Skorpa, whose heart was good. She didn’t care who’s realm she stood in then. Snarl blazing, she whips her teeth so they are facing one another.
“That ‘simpleton’ is more of a man than you will ever be.” Her tail sweeps, she doesn’t wait for a counter.
“I want nothing from you. Keep your people off my mountain.” She turns then, a streak of snow among his ice.

300th!

he watches her go. top lip curling, a unsettled growl rumbling in his throat. stance squaring, as if preparing for whatever battle may yet come.
she will carry back anger to her man. blackfell says. chin tilting upwards, watching down his snout at her retreat. we must prepare. it must be decided.
blackfell feels faust at his side. trembling, shaking with an emotion. he does not look to the man—let him bask in the heat of this moment. but:
it is time to choose. blackfell advises. your right-hand. he says, and then: and a commander of your warriors.
faust already had those men. he need only cement it. darukaal would be stronger for it.

congrats!

faust exhaled sharply, the tension still crackling in the air between them. his eyes lingered on blackfell, weighing his words, before a grimace pulled at his features.
i have a woman to see, he muttered, already thinking of svalla, of the next steps.
his gaze flicked to blackfell, knowing his cousin already understood the weight of their preparations. you already know your place, warbringer.
with that, he turned, his focus shifting away from the retreating mountain wolf. there was still much to be done.