afterglow

For @Tyrr and set at... between "SFT0" and "SFT2" on the map. Set after his thread @ NP? Maybe a day or so later? Timelines how do.

The visit to the forest was a brief affair, and after spending a few hours there, Tryphon felt the need to roam further afield. He missed the taste of the ocean too much to let it slip from his grasp - even for this short period of time. The tundra prawled out from the forest and he made short work of it despite the drag to his heels and lethargic gait. Something still urged him to turn around. A feeling... It was like... Remorse? No, that was too deep for him to comprehend at this point; something similar then. A need to return to the forest and investigate why Mother Sea had pushed him so far. But he refused her wishes, being a petulant child instead of the obedient drudge. 

Tryphon found another cluster of mountains, and followed the ridge line until it faded in to grassland; there were patches of exposed rock and half-frozen soil before him, but in the distance, there were also dark shapes upon the horizon. He would have to crest the hill and travel across open terrain to reach it - and he was intent to, despite the ache in his legs and the worry in his mind; Tryphon wanted to run from whatever destiny the sea had written for him here.

He reached the top of the hill when his energy levels all but gave out. A sharp pain twisted through his ribcage, spasmed in his loin and haunch, and the boy's plump body was forced to halt. Tryphon sank to his belly, absently pushing with his forelegs at the short grass around him, while he whined and worried. Was he dying? Was he starving to death? Was this payback from Mother Sea and Mother Moon for his disobedience? 

'Please, let me live,' he pleaded, feeling his eyes grow misty as the melodramatic moment truly set in. 'Mothers, I will obey. Please, stop.' While he thought this, the muscle cramps in his body lessened - likely because he had stopped walking - and this he attributed to the prayer. A small sigh of relief pressed from Tryphon in the next moment, and he rolled lazily over, giving in to a bit of rest. He would return to that forest as Mother Sea commanded - eventually.

Týrr did not often willing stray too far from the Glacier; not even now that it was a kingdom fallen. The truth was without the Glacier in his life — something solid and real he felt lost. The Glacier had been a safe haven for him, a tethering point so that he did not lose himself in the wisps and sometimes rushes of memories that were old despite their newness to him. Tezcacoatl was trying to be remembered, attempting to claw his way out of the darkest recesses of the Rekkr's mind that the amnesia had locked him in. Even within the ruins of what had once been Týrr, drawn in by Tuwawi's fire despite that she was missing, lingered close, eye upon claiming the Glacier's neighbor Frostfire Ridge. He could not directly dishonor either Tuwawi or Njal (despite the tension between them during their last meeting) by outright re-claiming the Glacier; yet he wished to stay close. There was sentiment there, and in the case that Tuwawi came back he did not want to be too far from what had been home to the both of them. Claiming, and rousing those that remained in the ashes of their once pack to stand behind him as their King would not be easy, of this the Rekkr had no disillusions. So fiercely he had followed Tuwawi, without question, that he was not even sure they would be willing to follow him. He had not only advocated that she re-claim her throne he had encouraged it, though this was not with regret. Even now, he still felt the hooks of his infatuation with the Wildfire Queen, knowing that if she ever returned and if she came to him he would take her into their fold with open arms. With him, she would always have a home should she want it — to the Rekkr this was only meager to what she had done for him, giving him a home when he had nothing. 

Despite his unwillingness to stray too awfully far from the Ridge, his intended claim, he ventured out early – before the sun had risen into the horizon. There was much work to be done in claiming and in recruitment alone and though the gravity that lulled him back to his Ridge was strong, he chose to studiously ignore it as he went out to track the movement of herds – food for he and his; and to perhaps stumble across lone wolves in search of a place to call home. Whether the latter was successful or not didn't matter much to him this day for his initial departure was to track the herds. He needed something to focus his attention and energies upon, or he ran the risk of feeling like he was going insane. Týrr drew in a deep breath, tepid and pungent with the scent of dampened earth. Spring was finally upon them – had been for a small measure of time already. This was a good sign to the Rekkr, who knew from experience in Odinn's Cove, namely, that activity picked up in the Spring and Summer. Lone wolves seeking homes, children being born (this particular instance was not a near future  Týrr could foresee for the Ridge if he could get enough to follow him at that). This was enough to muster hope within the injured Rekkr's breast, the jerk of his head to the side at the soft 'click' of joints from a nearby herd as they presumably grazed upon the heather and wild grasses of the meadow causing him to visibly flinch as it pulled at the scabbing wounds upon his neck.

He was not yet back to full force, though his wounds had ceased to hurt and had begun to itch as they healed, expose to the open air to aid the process along. It was slow, but  Týrr had patience enough to see it done right. This held very true for his intentions with Frostfire Ridge; and for Ragnar — who luckily was not much of a priority currently in between discreetly searching for Tuwawi, trying to claim and recruit for the Ridge, and nursing his wounds back to health. A scent wafted towards him them, raising the Rekkr from the sea of his thoughts, crystalline blue eyes landing upon the source of the scent in question.  He was closing the distance with a rapidness, Týrr realized, steps slowing and then ceasing all together as he studied the presumably young male who was laying with his belly up among the grasses. As to not startle the other, lest he happened to not pay attention as Týrr himself had been, the Rekkr let out a soft chuff of greeting.

The boy would've stayed there for hours had he been alone, but the small noise caused him to nearly jump out of his skin; and in the next few moments, he was rocking to one side, scrambling so that his feet were down and his belly covered. For a moment the world was spinning - Tryphon had moved far more quickly than what he was used to, and his senses were a bit warped because of this. The dizzy spell was brief.

"Who are you?" The question was abrupt, as was the follow-up. "What do you want? Is this your land..?" The stranger's dark figure was eerie, at least to Tryphon. He did not like being watched and was especially suspicious of the stranger's intent. He didn't have to make himself known; it would've been just as easy to avoid the boy's prone form. Tryphon was lurching to his paws - ignoring the pain as much as he could - and apologizing profusely. "I'm sorry, I'll get out of your way. I didn't mean any harm - just so tired - sorry! Sorry." 

What a pushover.

The boy, Týrr mutely observed, appeared to be quite jumpy. The way in which the younger male scrambled to right himself so that his sensitive belly was not exposed to the Rekkr — who had no interest in attacking him —  quick and hasty left little room for doubt. Despite Týrr's offered chuff of greeting he had managed to startle the boy. The question of who Týrr was was sudden, and before the Rekkr's lips could even so much as part to form a reply to it, another followed soon after. It was rude the Rekkr felt, all things given, the perhaps unintentional demand in the follow up question, especially when they were on free territory and the Rekkr owned the boy no such explanation. What did he want? Many things; all of which Týrr failed to see how it was the boy's business. In the interest of avoiding having a go at him as he had Adlartok so many moons ago now the Rekkr chose to ignore it. Instead he focused upon the more important of the two questions that had fallen from the boy's lips that he chose to acknowledge.

"No, this isn't my land,” Týrr reassured him, keeping his stance neutral in an effort so show that, lest provoked, he had no interest in attacking. He was still healing from his battle with the coast man, and engaging in a battle of any kind would only delay the healing process. Despite that Ragnar was no longer a priority for the Rekkr, he still wished to be fully healed as quickly as was possible. He had things to do, after all, and he wanted to ensure that no one moved in to claim Frostfire Ridge out from under him. The Ridge was his ...or it would be. “The land I am claiming is further North,” Týrr indicated with a jerk of his muzzle in the direction he'd came from, telling the boy in the hopes that he would spread the word. 

Whether to usher in potential recruits, or to keep unwanted intruders out it mattered little. For a moment, the Rekkr contemplated the name he was going to give the boy, seeing as how he was (quite literally) known by numerous names, not unlike the God he enjoyed pretending to be whenever he came in contact with a Stavanger Bay wolf. So many names. Too many. “I am Týrr,” Though he could have given the boy any name. For a second he had considered giving him the name 'Tezca' but in the unlikely chance that Manauia happened to get word of it, the Rekkr resisted. He did not want to give her false hope, after all. “What is your name?” The Rekkr returned in a conversational tone. “Do not apologize,” Týrr spoke in an attempt to hush the child's apologetic rambling. “Then you should rest, regain your strength.” The Rekkr recommended, without knowing why. There was something about the boy that pacified Týrr though he could not place it even if would have wanted too.

Feeling quite intimidated, Tryphon was ready to slink away from the stranger - but he answered some of the questions, even though the boy was already zipping ahead, mentally. He didn't really listen to anything that Tyrr was saying, being far more nervous and apologetic than attentive. But the stranger had good advice; Tryphon nodded, muttering, "I was - will, I will sleep. Later, I guess." His ears fanned out on either side of his yellow face. "My name is Tryphon. N-nice to meet you, Tyrr." 

If he was from further north, then they were kindred spirits. "I came from the north too. I think?" The boy glanced around, trying to figure out where he was in relation to his entry point to the wilds; however, he was too discombobulated. With a small shake of his head, Tryphon gave up figuring it out. This place was so big, wide, and open - it all looked the same. "But, claiming - that means you're an Alpha, right?" At this Tryphon's eyes went wide, and he sucked in an awed breath. He was in the presence of a future king?

I should probably stop with my GofT references, LOL.

Týrr let out a small nod, placated, when the boy muttered that he would sleep. Though whether the boy truly took to the Rekkr's advice or not held no real consequence to Týrr, but in the place of his apparently expected hostility towards children that were not Tuwawi's — though that had been strictly within Duskfire Glacier — it felt kind of nice to not be a giant douchebag to this kid, who looked like he was ready to bolt at any given moment. It would have been easy to be, but still it was something of a relief to the Rekkr to recognize that he had not entirely lost what he knew to be 'himself' in the struggle of the merging cultures and personalities within him as he slowly — achingly slow — remembered more and more of Tezcacoatl: who he'd been before. He still had compassion, which was a good thing, though it seemed to be rather selective these days. The boy responded with a name Tryphon and though it was unfamiliar to him the Rekkr allowed a small smile to tug at the edges of his lips. “Tryphon, huh?” He responded, trying the boy's name out though his Scandinavian accent, picked up during his time in Odinn's Cove, caused it to lilt a bit differently. “A strong name.” He offered in a soft murmur of a compliment.

Strength was something that Týrr appreciated, and though the boy was a bit jumpy to the Rekkr, Týrr did not fail to see that he had great potential within him. “Yeah?” Týrr inquired with soft interest, though he made no move to pry. It wasn't his business where the boy came from, though there was something that kept pulling, nagging at his conscious. Yet, he could not draw upon it; and even if he could would not have. The boy might have known Tezcacoatl — it was a slim chance given the boy's apparent age with looked close to Maera's own, but even so, the Rekkr brushed it away.

Týrr, since the Glacier's fall and his determination to claim it's neighbor Frostfire Ridge, had not given much thought towards what it would mean to him, and to what it would make him. Obviously, he was claiming with the intention of leading those that would pledge their loyalty to him and the Ridge which would foster him, as Tryphon had pointed out, as the Alpha Male. He supposed that it would make him a King. A Tlahtoani, as the wolves of Coatl's Rise would call it, though it vaguely surprised Týrr that they even had a word for 'King' having been a strictly female led and dominated pack. “I'm not an Alpha yet,” The Rekkr responded modestly. “But I will be.” Confidence, determination, and persistence were not something that Tezcacoatl Týrr lacked and he would take what was his with fire and blood — though he doubted his claim of the Ridge would truly be as exciting as it could be fantasized to be. As far as the Rekkr was aware he had no competition for it and even if he did he would not so easily be displaced.