Ethereal Eyes Upon Us

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Ethereal Eyes Upon Us

Part One: Another Spirit Becomes Known

This place, this frozen wasteland, with the view of dead things and feel of a harsh climate, proved to be a testament to her life. Any room for growth or flourishing was black and frigid with the cold, leaving no room for warmth.. no room for anything except memories of what once was. There were no comforts here. In observing over the course of months, she'd realized the comforts would likely never be again. Just like the blink of summer in these very lands, so was the few months worth of happiness that had been found. That was gone now.

Sadly enough, there was a second quality to this place. Something that came with the endless blanket of snow that had fallen over everything, whiting much of it out as if there were no detail left to the world. That quality? Peace. No, it was not the hopeful, warming sort, but rather a refreshed resolve and a conscious, clear path ahead. What she made of that path would only touch on blood, death and the loss of whatever soul that still dared live in her.

Having watched the Zorcans for months now, the very same few who thwarted the Vaekur and hunted down and murdered Rumerians in troves, her path seemed to encompass their ever shifting campsite. She observed with interest all there was to their movements, heard their harsh tongue on her ears and viewed many interacting, training, fighting and the like. For this short time spent, her existence shifted from that of wayward spirit to purposed scholar. She'd knew nothing of these people before. The children from Alzorc were so very foreign. There was nothing of finesse here. Not like home. And abundant smiles were nil.

Noting further from that, there seemed not to be one person in the campsite that was weak or ill, and not one person was scar free, either. Scars were their trophies, it seemed. Their proof on their very own hides that they had vanquished death and lived to tell the tale. As much as it did not appear to be, a comrade's way could be sensed, too. Over time she'd come to realize, this band of Zorcans would stand together without a second thought to their own well being. They had purpose, and to each soul there, it was as stout as their physical makes.

These things made her wonder. What sort of ideas were put in place in a Zorcan’s life? Who were their gods? What customs tempered a person as these people seemed to be? In an attempt to answer her many quandaries, the invisible one spent her time lingering through place after place, where she eventually came across a book with ridiculously odd writing. Aside from a few pictures depicting various scenarios, there was no possibility to decipher what was in the thick tome, the one crafted in treated though overly cracked leather, with its pages dog-eared considerably along the edges. The book had existed for some time, enough that the pages were yellowed over, speckled in dark brown splotches from old blood and torn in some respects. This book had been through as many rough times as its owner.

It’s owner. She had shadowed him for some time, that one. The wide-bellied brute of a man had a crows nest of white, long in the back, and a beard long enough to reach his hips. Each and every strand was oiled with filth, some of it questionable, though it was the same mix of markings and stench over the whole of his 6’-5”frame. Having not a right arm and missing the front part of the same side’s foot, one would think he'd put down the axe and take to more menial tasks, and yet he pushed on through every battle with a warrior’s spirit which rivaled any other on the field. Brokk. That is what they called him. She had caught it one day while lingering off along a line of blackened trees.

That very same night with the Brokk’s name fresh on ears, she descended through shadow, moving around his slumbering, log-leaning form, hunkering down next to him. For the longest while, the options were considered. While she had the ability to force the information she wanted from this person, the repercussions that could come from an attack could prove detrimental to her current path. It would hinder her chance at more knowledge.

Thoughts moved to revelation, revelation to action. Moving in marginally closer, the curious one set up a veil about the two, she and Brokk. None could see her before, and now only this one man could hear her, too. In the tongue of his people, the rough of her unused voice rolled free across her tongue, meeting the shell of his cruddy ear.

“I have been watching you, warrior of Alzorc, and you have found my favor.”

The single sentence was left to mingle into his mind, slipping through to his subconscious enough to let the ‘view’ of the whispering woman come in to his mind. Her dark features and flawless face watched down at him through the darkness, with eyes swallowed in shadow. Across her form, the rugged wear of the Zorcan people which had been acquired not long ago. Durable and readied, with thick pants, boots, tunic and vest, the length of her hair running in a black river down over one shoulder, the strands roughed up by the wintry wind.

“Hear me, Brokk. Know that I am to help you and all of Alzorc’s children.”

He was left with that image and those words to repeat for hours on end, through to the morning whose sun did little save blind the naked eye. It'd be the gleam from his shield that aided, in this case, bouncing an unforgiving beam of light in to the starts of slitted, waking eyes. Brokk jerked as his pupils felt the sting, rising a thick-fingered club of a hand to fend off the brilliance. Having shifted his seat, the oak-sized man moved and shoved himself up on his good foot, making his way about to pick up the shield, turning it to block the sun. The shield was as flawless as the day he'd bought it, and had been improved upon greatly, too. From the shine of its outer side to the sharpened edge, and the restructuring behind its front plate, the Zorcan was in a momentary state of disbelief. He had yet to think back on his dreams.

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The following night, she came again, this time repeating the same words as before, but this time to Brokk and three others. To the others, she simply made her presence known and spent the time to fix a pair of bracers, repair the sole of a leathered and furred boot and fashion a charmed necklace to aid a one-eyed man with clarity in his ‘good’ eye. They were left to wake as normal, to ponder and be perplexed. Brokk, however, received a small bit more.

“You have found my favor, Brokk, as have your brothers and sisters here. I bid you honor my generosity with an entertaining story, by the fire on the morrow. Your book should have plenty to offer.”

When Brokk woke, his shield had been augmented again, this time with a covering of burrs and jagged metal shards. Being assaulted by many surfaces across the front of his shield, the man rose much as he had the day prior, lifting the piece for a look. He narrowed his eyes, finally speaking to, seemingly, nobody…

“I heard you, Spirit.”

He spoke it with a harsh bite from his tongue. No sooner had he spoke the words than did he second guess what had been said. That is, until those nearer him woke with curious sounds.

“My bracers.. who fixed them?”

“Where did this come from?”

“Brokk, did you finally fix the wagon?”

“I didn't fix no fuckin’ wagon!”

He snapped it out in response, having been so off with his own thoughts that any sentence with his name in it HAD to be an insult. Responding before truly thinking, Brokk set the shield down with a growl that curled the edges of his nose and huffed out double-nostril spout of misty breath to the chilly air. The three with him watched over to their leader, expecting his bite but not as much frustration.

“There is something here.. it's been fixing my shit. Look!”

His arm gestured out and back at the shield.

“There is no fucking way I can do that. None of you fucks can either! It’s her.”

“Her?”

“Some bitch is fucking with my head!”

When he said ‘her,’there was visibly a recognition in the eyes of the three others. They caught it across each other’s faces before extending the over to Brokk.

“I.. had dream with a dark spirit in it. Spoke of giving us her favor..”

Immediately, the outspoken comrade directed his one-eyed gaze down to the new piece at his neck. He slid it off, winced at the poor, old way of his sight and placed it back on to ‘see’ the improvement as it took place.

“I saw her, too.”

“…. So did I…. She said Death was coming..”

“…. Death?”

“She told me The Bloodied was to return, and that we should ready.”

That got looks.

After a long silence, Brokk spoke up again.

“Keep on your guard. Tonight, we appease this spirit. We will see what good her favor really is.”

If she wanted a stories from his book, he'd entertain her. For now.

______________________________________________________

-=Logen Caddoc Wolfsbane----Maria Alaria----Girard "Requiem" Sirri=-

The Northman had made it in the night before and snagged his usual room for rest. He hadn't managed to bathe yet, only remove the blood-stained shiftweave that he had been wearing. Well, he still had the breeches on. Down the stairs he went on bare feet, toes curling down with each step. Maria needed to know about what happened and who was at fault. So, through the area he moved, heading directly for the bar. And if she wasn't in plain sight, he'd go peeking back in the kitchen where she normally appeared from, "Maria?"

Maria was sitting at a table near the hearth, with the books open before her, as she attempted to reconcile the bookkeeping for the inne and business she ran. Hana'lee was behind the bar doing the serving. Maria's red hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and she had an ink pen in her hand, tapping the end to her cheek. As Logen came into the tap room, she gave him a wave of her hand with the ink pen and smiled. "I'm over here."

Never claimed to be the most perceptive. Logen stepped away from the kitchen door after Maria had revealed her presence. Across the tap room he'd go, once again, to stand in front of the Boss. He was sore-lookin and ragged and in dire need of a sud-covered wash. The bruises upon his arms gave little information as to what happened to him, but to say the least, he'll think twice before jumping at a horse from behind. "Has anyone spoken with you about what happened at the mining camp in Rumeria...?"

"Well you look like you've been through hell, and you stink!" She grinned, and slid her glass of whiskey over towards him. He looked like he needed it. Just straight Madder whiskey. She gave a shake of her head and used her foot to shove a chair out for him to sit. "No, but I've been wondering. Have a seat and give me a report. Want something to eat?" She motioned for Hana, in case he wanted food or drink. "Got some thick beef stew going, and cornbread."

Arctic hues fell upon the glass. Hell, it couldn't hurt. He reached down and picked up the glass. He took a sniff of the firewater, just to see how it breathed. Then it'd be knocked back with an open throat to finish whatever was left in it in the matter of a second. Liquid courage. The glass was set back down on to the table and Logen would plant his ass as he was invited in an empty chair. "Maybe later.." Speaking on the food. Eyes turned to the red-headed woman with a slight expression of shame. "We fucked it up... Rather, I did.. We port'd straight in to their camp, met with the foreman... A proper man with some pride to him.. Told us they caught one of the folks raidin'em. One of Fenris' men.."

She watched as he took the drink, and motioned Hana off as it didn't seem he wished anything quite yet. She leaned forward, folding her arms on the table in front of her as he began to speak about what had transpired, a brow lifting as he said they'd fucked up. "Fenris... " She gave a shake of her head, of course she remembered that Zorcan. He'd done some damage to her inne, but had redeemed himself in the end and she'd given he and Astrid some information they absolutely needed. "So you ported into a Rumerian camp of the fellows that asked for assistance, but found out that those you were supposed to assist, were being assaulted by Fenris' men.... then what?"

"...Their captive said we were all dead, siding with the Rumerians as we were supposed to... Then I opened my damn mouth and bragged about killin Rumerians alongside Fenris whenever that bastard tried blowing this place up a few months back..." Logen leaned back against the chair and furrowed his brows at the thought of him being the one that brought it badly upon the group. "Soon as I say that, some miners playing guard started brandishing their blades at me.. So I pull mine. Next thing I know Girard's calling me a fool (Which, really, isn't anything new) and stepping in the middle of it. And before you know it, three Vaekurs are on the charge."

She lifted a hand and rubbed her cheek slowly as she listened, trying to put it all together. A nod was given, she certainly did remember when those Rumerian shits had attacked in the inne. At the end of the story, she was rubbing her forehead and looked a bit worried. "Hmmm." was about all she had to say for the moment. She tapped her glass, and Hana came over and poured it full of whiskey again, which she downed like a sailor, then placed the empty glass on the table again. "Well then... sounds like your big mouth has put us in a bind, but don't you worry. I've got contacts.. and some pull. I'll see what I can do. Ever find out why Fenris was attacking the miners? If he had a good reason, then I can use that to our benefit."

"He's at war with'em..." Put simply enough. "I don't know if you have enough strings to pull with this one, Maria... We killed five Vaekurs... But Fenris... He killed the miners and their families, women and children.. Fenris has declared war on the Rumerians and it looks like he's gonna wipe'em off the face of Arith.." Logen's expression was straight-laced as it could be. "But him killing those people is gonna get pushed back on us... He wasn't there when the start of it, just the members of the Obsidian Heart and one of the Vaekurs got away after seeing the Heart standing in the middle of an executioner's painting.."

"Fenris killed women and children?" She frowned deeply at that. Hell, from what she understood, that was the whole reason that Fenris and Astrid were going after the Night Crow, because the Crow were dirty enough to go into Alzorc and decimate entire villages, including the innocent children and elderly, and women. "Fuuuuuck. We want nothing to do with Fenris' war if he has lost his honor and has decided to do the same as his enemy. I thought the Zorcans were better than that. We are going to pay for this, if they think it was us....this does not bode well. The Heart, while I don't claim us to be "good" we do have honor and I would never send any of you to kill innocents. I know it's happened... a few times.... " She frowned, taking a deep breath. "Fuck." That about summed it up.

"He told me to tell you to deny it all and blame it solely on him.. Told everyone at the camp that stayed with him to deny everything and say not a word to anyone about it, but he was right in sayin you oughta know about it..." Logen looked down at the table, brows still knit in shame. "I fucked this up, Maria... Everyone else was just trying to dig me out."

"Well, Logen, I am not one to talk because I have a terrible temper that in all my lifetimes I've not been able to keep down but perhaps this can be a learning experience for you. You are like me, and a few others I know - Fenris included - that is so hot-headed and quick to anger and strike that you don't think things through before you make an action, or open your mouth. Perhaps from this circumstance we can all learn to give a little thought before spouting off, especially in a group situation because as you now see, what you do is not just done against you...your decisions, your words, your actions reflect on every person in your team, and on me, and on the Heart." She nodded a little at that. "If Fenris killed the miners, women and children then Fenris will have to answer for that. Whatever war he has begun, he will have to finish. I do not approve of what he's done." She paused and looked straight across at Logen. "I promise you this though, I won't let you go down alone, we are a team, and I will work all my charms and strings to fix this for you, and for us all."

He just shook his head at that. "You're gonna have all of Rumeria coming down on you.. You can't compete against all that gold..." And if she could? Gods be damned. Where did she hide it all? "You've got options though and if there's anything you need me to do, just point me in the direction. I wanna help fix this if I can." Head had canted half way through his statement in a submissive stare. "If the only use is turnin me out and denouncin me, I understand... Lived in the wilds long enough, I can go back to it."

She frowned. "That will never happen, so don't even entertain the thought. I will have to look into this, see what options we have, check with my fellow Blackfeathers." She nodded slowly, more to herself than anything. "Thank you for letting me know so we can get the jump on this. I'll let you know when I figure out what we need to do."

"Alright then.." Logen nodded his head and slowly stood up from his chair. "Thank you for the kindness." He offered a conflicted smile. He still wasn't happy with himself. On heel he'd turn and make his way towards the stairs. And now she knew. Suppose everyone was waiting for Logen to do so. With a deep breath taken in, he hoped for the weight to escape with the release through his nostrils, but Hell, that never worked.

"You're part of my Heart." She said simply, and then rose and headed for the bar. She really needed more whiskey.

Eavesdropping never really suited Girard.. something about being easily distracted by ..the Song.. could make for plenty of explanation. It tended to lead away from gossip and to humming elsewhere.. and once the song came to a there wasn't much reason to remain outside now was there? All the reason to reach for the door, making his way in while Logen was making his escape stair-ward and the Heart's head, Lead, artery.. going for the bar. Really he felt as if he'd missed something.. a frequent enough feeling that it found no attention paid while Girard went for the bar as well. And why not.. unlike Logen his mind was on matters closer to home, because if he worried too much about results of what occurred in Rumeria .. well a Fool Paid a Fool's price. " You look terribly morose, Maria.. "

He had to pause at her statement. An odd thing for her to---And then it dawned on him. "..Ah, right.." The Northman carried on afterwards to prepare himself for the night and days after.

She glanced over to Logen a moment, even as she brought her newly refilled glass to her lips and sipped, then gave a nod. She meant part of the Obsidian Heart, she hadn't been letting out some secret longing for the man! Ha! She glanced towards Girard and shrugged a bit. "I just need some liquor,that's all." She gave him a crooked smile, then headed back over to the table to work on the books again.

" .. Sometimes I wonder if you're a strange dwarf lady with a penchant for illusions.. " Or one illusion as the case might be.. or not.. better not to dwell on the strangeness a minstrel could think up. " Well perhaps a change of what ever matters have driven you to the drink will help.. I doubt it but its nice to hear my own voice sometimes.. " Ahem. " ... Oh, right.. you'd be capable of contacting the White Ravens yes.. well of course you would.. " She'd done it often enough hadn't she? Well for more business related matters.. aiding the Heart could be called business. No doubt he had his reasons for asking, but who cared bout those?

"I was a dwarf lady, in a past life." She had been many things, the last race she'd been had been elven though. It was several lifetimes ago she'd been a dwarf. "Yes, I can contact the White Ravens. We have a group of them at the Cathedral."

" ... I'm suddenly wary of ever bringing up the matter of reincarnation to you... " Muttered Girard, not-so-under his breath. Another ahem made and he put himself back on track. " Would you .. ah.. need a reason for the contact or can I retain my aura of mystery? " Or Evangeline's as the case may be.. even if his choice of phrasing was horrible for preventing rumors. Ah, rumors...

She smirked, and then shook her head. "No, I'll have someone get in touch with you."

______________________________________________________

The night came, just as chilly as the one before, though it brought with it a blanket of fresh snow. To the Zorcans there, the snow was as easy to bear as the spring rains were to southerners. This was nothing against their hides. In actuality, most appeared pleased at the six plus inches drifting down atop their heads, welcoming it as if it were the first snow of a treacherous winter. Few took to the company of the fire. They didn't need it.

What few lingered fireside were, in part, those touched by Brokk’s“tormentor,” who figured the night’s camp side storytelling to be in their interests. It was not simply those who benefited from the ‘spirit,’either. Throughout the day the word spread. Little by little the ears of many a warrior were turned to this happening. This curious miracle. No, most did not believe it. How could they? Fabricating truth from the dreams of even their most trusted comrades was a long stretch, and Brokk might well have been a great warrior, but he was not considered all right in the head.Having hunkered down next to the fire, a chunk of a tree under his leathered ass, Brokk's cracked fingertips roughed the edge of a page to turn it. This book, acquired from the Shattered Atheneum itself, had been in his possession for some time. It was a treasure of sorts. One he had to bash out his brother's teeth to acquire. But he fucking wanted it. It was his. In actuality, it kind of irked him that this specter, this summery-looking bitch spirit was curious of his belonging.

In extension of that, it made him curious just how long she'd been watching him. Weeks? Months? Longer? For a few thought's worth of time, he mighthave thought her a benevolent spirit. A Harbinger sent to live up to her station and to aid their path. Even still, his mind kept to wander on another possibility... this woman may well be Valdis in one of her many forms. The Goddess of Death and Trickery seemed easy to pair with the dark woman. If she was there only to fuck with them, gain her 'entertainment' and turn them in circles, that'd chap his goddamned ass.

The pass of Brokk's thoughts between either side of thinking existed onlybecause of one thing. She spoke of The Bloodied. He was spoke of as dead, back to the mud never to be seen or heard from again. Not even those at the Hall seemed to know where that man went or what his fate had been. Maybe death caught up with him. Consumed him from the inside out.

"BROKK! Come on! You reading or taking a shit?!"

*THUD!*

The book worked well in hitting someone upside their empty skull, too.

"I'll read when I am fucking ready, halfwit!"

Grumbling in between his mess of broken, crooked teeth, Brokk huffed out a stale bit of oxygen, flattening his lungs and then pulled in the fresh crisp of a winter breath. The burn in his lungs felt good. Giving an extra glare then at the impatient dick not three feet away, he'd lick along the line of his lips, sniff and take a thick hand to scratch at the chin beneath his beard. Read? Suppose he could get around to that. He put it off longer just to gain Halfwit's ire.

Once the other man's nostrils curled, Brokk slowly reached for the cover's corner and turned the tome open again. The timbre of his voice started at the beginning - gifting the words of their Creation Myth to the unseen spirit. As he spoke, his voice rough though in part passionate with belief, he let his eyes turn to watch out along the perimeter of their camp. He knew the myth by heart, mostly, having to chance his eyes to the page every now and again to catch his spot, but Brokk could navigate the story much like he could the Ridgebacks. There was mastery to this. The more he read, the more the commotion around him faded off. Those around him listened. Quieted.

The Zorcans were not the only sort listening...

From the perimeter, perched on a fallen trunk, the Spirit, as Brokk had thought her to be, listened. Eyes would not see her there, though with the way the old warrior looked around, it was easily assumed he figured her there. How? The edge about his shoulders was the first indicator. The intensity in his eyes the second. It was as if any moment he'd spring up to deliver his weapon her way, should she give him the slightest reason to.

She remained guarded and distant, though it did nothing to keep her ears from investing herself in all he read. In the rough yet somewhat beautiful way to the Zorcan language, as it fell in chunks off his tongue, when speaking in a way that bordered eloquence. It was easy to tell Brokk liked this story. That it meant something to him. His near-reciting formed off of Creation and in to the stories of Alzorc's gods. Of Rig and those created from him, the stories spun from the Primal Six. The words continued on in to the night, on through to the campfire's flames falling to but ember.

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Late that night, with all asleep around the fire save for Brokk, she finally decided to move from her perch an drift forward. Levitating across the ground so that ears would not hear her footsteps, the Spirit lingered a few feet from the rough man's seat. She watched him for a time, setting her feet down quietly atop the flat, jagged cut of a large stone, and wondered what next to do. The man seemed appreciative of the pantheon that he'd read. Faithful, in a way...

Her decision came with a slow, light nod.

".... Brokk.."

Her light voice formed the words across dry vocals, teasing the alto tone of her voice with a bit of a hoarse edge. From her spot, she'd watch the man take to his feet to give a spin, swinging his weapon to the side and down, lingering then just in line with his chunk of a calf. His eyes narrowed and searched hard across every stitch of his surroundings.

"Where are you, Spirit?"

He wasn't sleeping, was he?

There was a pause there. A moment where silence reigned and not but the wind moved in invisible curls around them.

"Spirit?"

Brokk turned in place, then stopped, slowly casting his eyes to the weapon in his hand. There was a look of consideration that for a moment made the cut of stone at his brow a bit more malleable. Drawing a sniff in at the end of his thought, the old warrior leaned forward to rest his weapon in a slant between ground and tree. He stood up straight again, once more taking his eyes across a horizontal line.

"I am here, Brokk."

"Did you hear the reading?"

"Yes. I enjoyed it."

He nodded firmly, then stood through another pause.

"Tell me what it is you need here. What do you require in order to properly aid the one coming here? The Bloodied."

His thick brows rose in unison.

"We need a number of things, Spirit. Better armor and weapons. Repaired and fortified structures over our heads. An ample food supply..."

"I shall give all these things to you."

Silence. As much as Brokk wanted to holler out at the unseen specter, he would reign in his nerves and put on a cordial mask.

"Spirit. You speak of The Bloodied. So it is true he lives? Many believe that Named Man returned to the mud."

"Nonsense."

Brokk's feet shifted some and a bit of a nervous roll took his shoulders, just to keep them from shivering.

"Not that I do not appreciate your favor, Spirit, but why choose us? Why aid the man headed here?"

She quieted, until the point that Brokk had begun to think her gone.

"Spirit?"

When her voice came, it was light.

"I am his Harbinger, Brokk. That is all you ever need to know. The war at your doorstep will be fought with Zorcan might, and I will see that you have every resource required in order to find victory."

Brokk nodded.

"You will read more, tomorrow night, yes?"

There was something of a curl at the corners of the man's thin, chapped lips.

"I will."

He would watch as a log lifted from the pile of kindle at his right, floated on by and set to the embers, starting to catch there.

"Then I will continue my station here, with you and yours."

______________________________________________________

"Watch."

The single word had roused him from what had been far too little rest on so demanding a journey. Blinking those beryl eyes open he watched as the flame haired woman that had become his traveling companion move over to where her own scant gear lay upon the ground. They were in the Knockskulls now, too high and too remote a place to allow for a fires that would serve to only act as a beacon for those creatures that dwelled high above the realm of man. Their encampment nothing more than two horses tethered and bound so that they could not rise unless unbound, their gear lain close to their own mounts to help keep the warmth hardly found as winter still worked it's savage hands across these lands.

The starlight reflecting in the icy orbs he felt upon him had him give one final nod to dismiss the woman from her duty. Allowing her the rest that had been so fleeting a thing for him since he turned his boots towards the north. Pushing his massive frame up from where he had lain down, a soft stroke of a battered hand across the neck of the horse that moved with it's rider. A low single grunt offered to keep the equine at ease despite it's bindings. Walking to the edge of their small hideaway, trying in vain to push away those memories that he had eluded by depriving himself of sleep. Try as he may to focus on anything other than the memories that bubbled out from the darkness, still they came for him. To wash him under their twisting depths as the tides would drown the shore.

You couldn't run from yourself. You had to be realistic.

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Over the days that followed, the Spirit continued to aid them. When evening fell, Brokk would read, and when all fell to their slumber, the true process of her favors came to be. How, when or where her tasks were completed were not to be figured, yet the mystery was surely spoke of in whispers across the camp. Weapons, armor, leather clothing, buildings, wagons and more - these things were fixed, mended and improved.

As tongues continued on the talk of the Spirit, her name grew. Each act fueled the fire, the words shifting over from a guarded, untrusting way to something that mingled with gratitude, cold as it may have seemed. Warriors across the whole of their campsite began to set out the belongings they needed sought to, to find them a day or two later repaired and enhanced. The generosity of the Spirit, her abundant offerings and bountiful generosity reminded the lot of them of the summer months. And so her name grew. The Spirit of Summer.

The Spirit could only do so much in one camp, though. When it was she could do no more in one place, she sought to extend her reach to other camps across the region.

"Brokk.."

Snore.

"... BROKK."

Snort. Snore. Grumble.

"Brokk... wake up."

She dared reach a hand to give his shoulder a shove and pull.

The man roused slowly from his sleep, breathing deep of the chilly air about him. The Spirit never woke him up before, she'd always spoke to him in dream - through his mind alone - and yet, her voice actually came to his ears. The confusion riddled his face and drew his eyebrows in to stitch together over the broad, upper ridge of his nose. Having sat up, he shoved the cracked base of his each palm in to his eye sockets, rubbing the crust from them. A yawn ended in agitated words.

"Spirit..? Why wake me?"

"I require your presence, Brokk. We must leave this camp for others.. so that I can do for them what I have done here. More needs done."

"The other camps know of you. Word has traveled. Why not let them come to you?"

"It is easier to go to them."

He knew that, but his pride was getting in the way.

"You expect me to be your little guide then, is that it?"

"Yes."

"Well, you can bite whatever acre of my ass you wish, Spirit. I am not leaving my men here, especially for a being I have never actually seen."

Sure, he saw a glimpse in his dream, but never in the wake of day.

At first, he wouldn't be able to see the narrowing of the Spirit's eyes or the hard lines around them - but he'd come to. In nary a blink of time, the dark featured woman materialized before him, solidifying not six feet off with the sun at her back. She appeared the shadow, what with the way the light spotted Brokk's eyes, but at least she was physically real and seen.

"Does this appease you?"

Having blinked away the effects of spots across his eyes, Brokk took to his feet in a slow, guarded way. He was not fearful nor pensive, but resolved, strong and determined, amidst the remnants left of feeling pissed that she woke him so fucking early. Getting a good look at her, at the black of her hair, the summer green of her eyes and a complexion less than pale, he figured the rumored origins of this being to be true. She looked the part of Summer.

"If we head to other camps, Spirit, I demand that others see you.. that they may think me not as insane. People may have spoke of you, but that does mean, to them, that you are real."

She seemed to consider his request.

"Very well, Brokk."

He nodded firmly.

"One more thing. How far away is the Named Man?"

"A few days out."

A visible frown thinned and turned down across his mouth. Being the leader of those here, Brokk new well he'd not leave them, especially with a superior coming their way.

"I cannot leave here, Spirit, though I will send you with one of my scouts. They will take you north, to a camp I know to need the most aid."

______________________________________________________

He had a reputation to uphold.

....the air was foul and burned his nostrils, tainted by sweat, blood and now, piss....

A history that would choke any Bard that try speak it.

....the sound of bones shattering beneath ruined flesh like soaked timbers snapping....

He could not let the words of this no named man go unpunished.

....gurgling sobs, a shaking gesture of a ruined hand, one eye still pleading and hoping for mercy....

Too many miles on that dark road to change, too many years in the black work.

....those holding the ring, faces just peeking above the rims of those shields, fear running wild over their rough features....

He had a Name.

....he had to make an example of this one, of anyone stupid enough to challenge him....

He was a killer of man and beast.

....that choking and guttural scream ripping across the air as the man's body was being torn apart....

He was death.

....more mercy would have been afforded a fawn beneath the jaws of ravenous wolves.....

He was The Bloodied.

______________________________________________________

Not three days after the Spirit spoke of the one headed their way, a rider came North on a stolen horse, spouting news that supported her claim. The Named Man lived, and he was set on a path of blood and carnage. He'd been rumored dead for quite some time, so it was a shock for them all. Some headed off to different camps, from sheer fear of being in the man's presence, while others sought to perfect their belongings, gear and such.

The man coming might as well be Death, himself, but death was worthy of as much respect as life.

Brokk new the Spirit of Summer to be gone from his midst, away helping others. He found himself feeling the loss of one entity and yet the anticipation of another.

He would be there, soon.

[Deleted]

Part One: The Talk of Spirits and Men

He would bring death and blood across the lands purging it of any single life he sought fit.

Brokk thought of the possibilities that were his weeks ahead, given his choice to remain in his camp, stand for his group and fall in line behind a new chief. He expected it. Anticipated it. This was their way. He’d known hardship and war his entire life. This is what felt right to him.

For each day and night between then and The Bloodied’s arrival, Brokk would remain at the entrance of their camp, facing the direction from which the rider had said He would approach. He did not leave that post. Not to eat. Not to piss. Nothing.

He was armored, sided off by his weapon and two trusted soldiers, and simply had his mind set on task. But there was one thing added in to his effects that had never been there before. A gift from the Spirit of Summer. The dark woman. With the dark blue gemstone in his palm and the platinum wiring encasing it, and its leather braided cord woven through with a sheen of the Spirit’s own hair, he found a solid sense of Will. Brokk felt the magic left in that present—the enhancement that helped to clear and strengthen his mind. He felt sharper and more tactful.

While he was not a Zorcan that particularly cared for magic, the past couple of months opened his eyes somewhat. He was beginning to see the benefits, some of which were reaped in for his own benefit.. The Spirit had done so much for so many, and still she sought to expand her reach. She’d fixed weapons and armor, enchanted piece after piece of the same, refortified the fucking wagon, improved and repaired entire structures and had somehow stocked their healers with troves of assorted potions.

They had her favor, indeed.

Maybe Brokk felt stronger and sharper not from the gift she’d given him, that little bauble in his hand, but from the knowledge that the Spirit was still seeing to the needs of all Zorcans. That they would be even stronger and more prepared—more set for victory—it gave him a steeled resolve.

______________________________________________________

This camp was far more in disrepair than the one before it. Its people were considerably more at odds with the deeper chill of their environment, too. Sure, they were used to the cold, but there were extremes to everything. Now? Was one of those times. The snow fell readily, but it’d been falling for so long that the ground, trees, rocks and rivers were coated in a sheet of three-inch-thick ice, as well. Nothing could live here.

Nothing but the Zorcans.

Upon first approach of the camp, with Brokk's scout riding a small ways out from her own spot, they set up the trampled pathway and in to the view of ramshackle ways. Not only were their riggings defunct, every single piece of gear or blade bore the bite of winter. They lacked the proper personnel to upkeep their belongings properly, let alone to improve upon them in a beneficial way. It seemed they were also without a knowledgeable carpenter, too.

Having kept her promise to Brokk, riding in plain sight so that those present could see her, she knew what it was to gain their cold eyes as each armed person sauntered in to 'greet' she and her consort. The one who showed her the way, Geirr, was a trusted informant between this camp and the other, and so all looked to him for guidance in this moment, with the new face at his left.

“I bring the Spirit of Summer, at Brokk’s behest, and news that The Bloodied is heading this way. Summer wishes our efforts well and is, according to Brokk, the Bloodied’s Harbringer. She has done wonders in aiding our efforts and wishes to do the same with you. All of you. Her presence is a blessing. See what she has done for me..”

At that time, he held out his arms and gestured his hands in and eyes down to the work she'd done on his armor. He pulled the axe free from his back, gripped its handle firmly and sent it flying, end over end, towards the fire at the center point of the area. It thunked across the way, landing hard into a tree’s trunk and then pulled and followed the path back to Geirr’s palm, caught firmly. Eyes went wide.

“Any blade, armor or trinket, bring them to her. She can aid you with all you need. Get you ready for what is to come. You need only welcome her and will it.”

Some eyes were appreciative. Others? Skeptical. But none stepped forward to shun the Spirit in solid form, the seemingly normal, somewhat slender stature of a dark featured woman in Zorcan clothes. Brokk’s word was as good as gold here.

______________________________________________________

That night, she sat not far off from the fire, accepting visit after visit from warriors needing her aid. Chest plates, leather padding, belts, boots, scabbards and blades, axes, hammers – all of it, started to accumulate in the area around her.

In the prior camp, these things were done little by little. Here and now, the pile was all at once. It leant towards the overwhelming, sure, but this would not deter her. It could not. She had spoken of favor and that she would give.

Her work began again.

______________________________________________________

--- Fenris --- Gunnarr---

Straws had been drawn and roles assigned. This afternoon, The Tribunal, those wicked sisters, had found it fitting that Astrid ride deeper into the forest in search of game, while he sit and prepare their camp for the coming night. It was routine work, mindless work, like a mule that has drug the plow across the same acre all it's miserable life. Fenris' moved about the small area making it suitable for their needs. An area cleared and dug, lined with thick stones to keep the fire contained. Wood gathered, split and stacked in a pile both inside and outside of the fire pit. Horses tethered, gear out, supplies ready. When his trial was complete, he found he still could find no sign of the female. With a grunt he took to a seat down upon a log, elbows propped on the tops of his knees, eyes looking to the ground.

The sound of a rider could be heard echoing and rolling through the trees. The sound of hooves turning one way, then doubling back before stopping once again. The sound of a rider lost within this twisted place. Looking up, wondering why Astrid was having issues finding the camp she had left only hours before, Fenris' eyes narrowed. It was not the flame haired female that now walked toward him. Rather it was some unknown man dressed in leathers and with a sword upon his hip. He had a big grin on his face, just as friendly as you like, but that meant nothing. Fenris knew many men that could plunge a dagger into your heart, smiling all the while as they kill you.

He had done it. More than once.

Turning his body slightly, letting his right hand drop out of sight, fingers curling as he balled that hand into a tight fist. Looking around, slow and easy, Fenris checked to see if there was anyone at his back. Though his beryl eyes found nothing save the empty spaces between the trees. Booted feet shuffled slightly as he rocked back and forth once, acting as though he was adjusting his sore ass on the rough top of the log. All the while he had only moved his feet into better position, granting him better balance. Fenris remained sitting, outwardly looking as if nothing worried him, all the while hidden beneath the surface every muscle was coiled and ready to spring.

"The name is Gunnarr." The man had stopped not more than a stride away. His hand resting calm and slack on the pommel of his blade, while the other hung loose and empty.

Fenris' mind worked backwards, flipping and racing deeper across the history of his life. Seeking the names of men who he had hurt, who he had fought against, who he had a reason to feud with. Those that still were breathing that was. Gunnarr. He could not find a notch for it, no hole set for that name. That fact alone did little to reassure him. A score of Bards, each with a score of books, could not find the room within those pages to list the complete count of his enemies. Their tongues would leaden had they made an attempt to coalesce those names. No record could be kept of those that would have a reason to want Fenris dead. The man before him my not have any true reason, other than to attack him to try to make his own name bigger.

"Can't say I recognize it."

"No, reason that you would. Your dozen always tended to get nearer the thick of things, mine tended other matters."

Fenris gave a dismissive shrug, beryl eyes still watching for the hard move. For that hand to close about the weapon and draw steel.

"We all thought you was dead. Back to the mud folk said. Back to the hell that you crawled from."

"There a reason you're in my camp?" Fenris' words spoken in a harsh and grating whisper, like a blade being drawn across a whetstone.

The man took a step backwards, audibly swallowing the spit in his mouth. The hand Gunnarr had wrapped about his sword's pommel coming off as if the weapon had been made of molten steel. both hands held out in front of him, patting the air as he took another step away.

"I meant nothing by it. Not at all. I ain't looking for trouble, not with The Bloodied. I was at the battle of Felsward, on the opposite side of you. I stayed well clear, I'm man enough to admit that. I ain't ever seen anything like that...what you did....what...I ain't seen it before or since. I just wanted to see with my own eyes, that you're back. Had to see that Brokk's Spirit wasn't lying is all."

Fenris canted his head to one side as his brows drew downwards to cast shadows over hard eyes..

"The Spirit of Summer. Says she's your Harbinger. Says you've come for blood. That true?"

Fenris gave a faint nod, though a few words in the right direction had done little to open his hand away from that fist he had hidden by his calf. Still couldn't shake the feeling that he had to watch his back.

"Aye. I'll be gone then. Just..." Gunnarr began to back away as he finished speaking "....glad you're on our side is all." With that Gunnarr lead himself back to his horse, then out and away from the sight of Fenris.

It seemed that he had let himself forget what Alzorc was like. Or maybe he had simply let himself pretend that it would be vastly different when he returned. Now, clear as the scars on his hands, he saw his mistake. He made a trap for himself, years ago. He'd made a great heavy chain, link by bloody link, and had bound himself up in it. Somehow, he had been given a chance to escape, a chance to be released, one that he did not come close to deserving, and he had blundered back into this. Now things were apt to get bloody.

He could feel it coming. A great weight of death, like the shadow of mountain of falling on him. Every time he said a word, or took a step, or had a thought he seemed to only bring it closer. Drawing it ever nearer to him. Drinking it down with every swallow, pulling it deeper with every breath. Fenris hunched his shoulders for a moment, before letting them drop. He should have stayed where he was. He should have clung to that like a child does to their mother. How many halfway good things had life set before him? Things he had pissed on or let wither away. He sucked his teeth and spat sour spit upon the earth as he rose.

There was no time to wallow in pity like a pig in filth. He had no time for it. Already he thought he could hear the sound of horse's hooves getting closer to him through the forest.

______________________________________________________

--- Styr "One-Eye" --- Saga "Dreaming" ---

The horn was raised and brought to his mouth, lingering but a moment as he tried to sort through the thoughts of what he had to do. The melliferous odor wafting up helped stem his wild and chaotic thoughts, that sweetly soft honeyed scent of properly crafted mead helped to harbor his mind. Pulling it in from the wild torrent of emotion that had acted like the sea, twisting, shaking, tormenting the man until he could not see haunted past from wicked present. When the last bit of that deep amber fluid raced down his throat and some down the side of his mouth and through the stubble on his face and neck.

A deep hiss of air released through gritted teeth as the horn was set down upon the table before him, freeing the for the other task he knew would help in times like this. One of his axes, Havardr, picked up from where it lay upon the table. The handle and blade alike notched and worn with use, in several places along the wooden haft one could see deep stains. Blood. It never comes out. Spitting down upon the stone in his other hand, One-Eye slowly began to run it along the edge with a slow and methodical swipes. Putting a razor edge once again back on that instrument of war.

The rumors of men with large names often found the ears of others. The North was filled with the tales or song or even lies of deeds done by men. He, himself, was a Named Man. His own deeds and his own name carried about by fire and hearth. Though his name, weighted as it might be, carried not half of the one he had heard about again.

Back to the mud. Long carried away by the Vörðr and thrown into the next realm. Some even said he still wandered the lands where he was born, seeking to exact further revenge. Others claimed to have seen him far to the south. All of these tales, were spoken in hushed tones. as if simply saying his name would bring his wrath and fury upon them. Setting down the axe and the stone, his one remaining eye looking once again to the drinking horn. His mouth parted to let slip the words the one rider had come and spoken in the hall.

"....The Bloodied is back in Alzorc....."


She'd had a rough fucking night, but not as rough as the Vaekur strapped to the table at her right. The Hall held the scent of blood from his open eye sockets--their former occupants then rolling around in her bloodied hand. Dreaming? She rested on the table next to, her ass on its top and bare feet on the seat itself, her free hand spent in the task of dragging a bit of string through yet another would-be scar. The bastard and his damned boot blade had made hell of the top of her foot. He paid for it, too.

Hearing the slosh of Styr's horn, she need not look his way to know his exact stance in these moments. That he was silent for so long only left her to wonder what bounced around behind his eye, teasing all the little nerve endings in his horrible mind. It was enticing to ponder on, really, and the endless possibilities had Dreaming's imagination running rampant. The thoughts were quickly by, enough to get her fingers and palm working the pair of eyes in her grasp, turning them on one another as if they were an ornate toy meant to bell together with each passing. Well, they kind of did.

Having spelled the drugged-fucker's eyes as she had, he could still see through the ugly brown things--catching little glimpses of himself strapped to the table, of her scarred, beautiful face and its malicious grin. Each turn around in her hand had him wailing softly, wanting to cry and moan with the queasiness that came with. The cacophony from his lungs was dreadful. Like some injured cat in a tree, begging for a savior.

When One-Eye brought up what he had, the turning about of orbs in her hand came to an abrupt halt. She tensed and took her jaw in a crooked way to one side, letting its hinge sickly crack. The Bloodied. Heh.

"It is not like stories have not been twisted up by children about campfires before. Could be talk."

A lungful huffed out her nose, but she'd take her eyes towards Styr all the same.

"You believe it?"

As if some snack for her to munch on while enthralled in a topic or show, she took lifted one of the eyes up level with hers. Vivid green gazes watched forward at its pupil, gaining a gasp out of the Vaekur's dry, panting mouth. Smirking slowly... and then moving quickly! The Zorcan popped the eye in to her mouth and bit down, the black water of its innards coating her teeth as she chewed nonchalantly... even as the shrill screams of pain and horror sounded off right next to.


The sounds filling the Hall's interior echoed off the high ceiling and the thick wooden walls, so that it sounded like he was seated within the confines of a lowly damp prison. the cries of pain and despair from a dozen different tongues finding his ears. His one remaining eye rolled slightly as he pushed back against his seat, the legs creaking softly as they drug across the planks below. As he rose he scooped up the drinking horn and made his way back towards the center of the hall where it's most valued treasure sat. A massive open keg, large enough for a man to bathe within, crafted wholly in Blue Ice. It's masterfully etched sides lined and filled with etchings of ancient battles, runic symbols telling of heroes past and present, the icy metal shining like diamond dust, wisps of fog rolling from it's sides.

Dipping his horn into the amber depths, his one eye lazily watched the horn fill before he withdrew it. Walking back towards his seat he stopped beside the table where the Vaekur was strapped. In a flash his free hand snapped down and landed solid on the throat of the struggling man, crushing his windpipe and only allowing for wheezing gasps instead of those screams.

One-Eye was a vicious fighter, though even he had his limits. Torturing a man for the sport of it, was just on the outside of what he liked to do. More times than he would like, he and the others had seen what work that mad bitch Dreaming could do to a man. Each time, behind that stoic composure, he was thankful that he had not been under her lash. Curling his upper lip in disgust when he saw her black-lined smile, he nodded towards the door.

"We have a barn and land for your dark work. I'll not remind you again."

In the time since The Bloodied left, One-eye had taken the mantle of Chief. He had filled the role as best he could, followed the old way. A way that almost everyday he was reminded was dying off, that he and those like him were a breed on the very edge of extinction. A deep draw taken from the horn before he looked back to Dreaming.

"They get stories wrong, that is true. But lately.....everywhere you turn somebody is saying that he is back. There is even a bounty out from some Svek Duke asking where his mining company has gone. How much does that sound like the work of him? I have heard it said now more than once, that this time he has some Harbinger. One of those Spirits sent by Rig and his clan. It does no harm to think that there might be truth to this."


She kept her spot, watching Styr about the room as he went. When her 'treat' was down and gone, Dreaming went about trapping the pad and nail of her upside down, bloodied thumb between one side of eyeteeth, feeling the pinch of each point. Gnawing ensued, occupying the her mouth despite the amused curls at either of its corners. The barrage of sounds pounding in to her ears was enjoyable to her--but not all had an appreciation for suffering as she. However, try as One-Eye might, his action to stifle the cries of her Vaekur captive only seemed to entice the russet-haired female more, enough to let a snicker twist out from her scarred up throat.

Ridiculously bright green eyes kept on after the chief, her grin remaining in place then. She caught his disgust there. It translated to something else for this particular woman, though--it brought enjoyment and pride. Styr likely wasn't trying to boost her pride, but he damned well did.

"Next time, the barn then."

Didn't mean she was moving this particular captive, at this particular time. Winking, she eased back a bit more, still fiddling with the single eye in fingers and palm. The topic of The Bloodied far outweighed the tabled Svek, however.

"That does sound like the work of him.."

Chewing her lip a small bit, Dreaming shifted forward, hunching her terrible posture forward on knees.

"I think we should find our old friend and welcome him back topside."

She could always get away with so much more when Fenris was around, too.

[Deleted]

Part Three: Revelations

There were a few simple pleasures one could still find in a life such as his. The heat of a campfire, the smiles and tales of those one may count as friend (if any still lived), a full meal, good drink, the soft touch of a woman (if they did not just turn and run). Fenris stood looking up at what could be one of those unsung treasures of the northern kingdom. The sheer rock wall went straight up before him, curving and reaching out slightly to form a thin shelf near twice his height above him. The weather had taken a warm turn lately, barely above freezing, which caused the ice to loosen and the water beneath to run free again. From a deep fissure in the rock face down poured a steady stream of frigid water, a small waterfall splashing down upon the rocks below.

Fenris could feel his efforts of the night before upon him, the sweat, the dirt, the blood the ash. All of it caked and dried and crusting, reminding him with every movement that he needed this. Perhaps here, he could wash away not only the grit and the grime from the night before, but maybe something else. Maybe, by some act of divine intervention, those cold waters could run deeper to purge from his mind the weight and the guilt of losing yet another friend. If he were lucky, maybe as he rinsed his body, so too would the memory of that hall erupting into the night sky would be carried downstream and away. No more would he have to play over and over the memory of him seeking out a ruined corpse with red hair, and finding only ash and bloody fragments of meat.

Without hesitation, the Northman simply walked beneath the waters. Letting it rain down upon him, washing over his clothing and his body. the sharp bite of those cold waters had him growl and shudder for a moment. So long had it been since he enjoyed something such as this. Shaking his head as he began to pull his belongings from his body, washing them as he could before tossing them out upon the snow. Shirt, trousers, belt, boots, even taking free the others items that he never removed. He stood there with arms outstretched, his hands upon the cliff face, head lowered down between his shoulders as his eyes closed, standing still as a statue as the waters ran down his naked body.

Wanting for these cold waters to baptize him, to welcome him back to his homeland, Alzorc's frigid touch like a mother's kiss, welcoming her son home. Or perhaps it was her tears for the loss of one of her daughters.


Months in this frozen home of The Bloodied had left little memory of the simple pleasures in life. Everything here was frozen and unforgiving, at least to a creature as she, but she persevered. The crafty female worked around the cold, toughening her own hide in order to remain here, to live, even if it was quite uncomfortable at times. The chill at her spine, the bite of snow about the toes of boots, the soft chapping at her cheeks and much else meant little in comparison to one thing. Him. He was still hers. Given her current placing, it was ever more obvious that she was the same as he. Doomed.

She'd taken nearly ever measure, every opportunity in her grasp and molded it in to her favor, setting the path for all that was--that set the timeline for her journey North. Some things were planned, surely, but a handful were outside of her coercion. .. This is this, now. Watching him from the invisible way of hers from off and up high in a dead black tree. Silent as any skilled predator, the dark creature observed. She watched his every action, heard his every sound.

When it was that Fenris stepped beneath the spout of water, she'd ease up from her perch and quietly made her way down, invisible still. With levitation as one of her abilities, the crunch of snow or snap of twig was hardly a factor in getting closer--to the point where she could smell the blood and soil as it joined with the water and ran to take away the innocence of freshly packed snow. Eyes took in all there was to see, along with all of the new scars covering him over, the count of which had her mouth in a down turn. They might have been like trophies to Zorcans, but that did not mean she had to like them.

Piece by piece, each one tossed her way, she had to move to avoid being pummeled. It didn't take much, and she lingered in closer again once Fenris stood as he hand. Hands to the wall, head down, eyes closed. There was no movement to deter his wish to enjoy that moment, no, but her eyes did catch on the ring he'd placed atop a flat, frozen-topped rock not far from his effects. She knew the ring well enough. Picking his things up gently from the ground, the stoic woman sorted, folded and piled them neatly, quietly... and then leaned to pick up the ring between delicate fingers.

At first, she only held it in her palm, noting the size of it.. how huge it was in comparison to her palm. She could still feel a little heat from his hand in the metal, too. It made her sigh softly, without thought.. it made her seek a connection with it. As her mind flooded with information related to the band, the invisibility dropped away...


Months ago, that ring would have simply been his. A piece of hard cold iron long ago forged into it's shape, the image of a runic hammer upon the front and deep etchings in some long dead language around the thick band. That was months ago. This was now. The writing may be lost upon her, but all things ancient eventually find themselves that way. the great wheel turns to grind those in the past to dust and rise those in the present to light. A'kana would know the difference in that ring as opposed to others now. She would understand the significance of what that image was. It was the mark of The Bloodletter. The casting of The Thunderer. It was the emblem of Sverrir, the Zorcan God of War and Vengeance.

As her time spent in her affairs; watching, listening, learning....she would come to know the gifts some claimed this God bestowed upon his favored. Strength of arm and glory upon the field of battle chief amongst his blessings. Few speak of that gift which is his greatest, that which is both boon and affliction, that which is blessing and curse. The Bare-Sark. They say that a fragment of Sverrir's own essence runs in the blood of those damned few. That beneath the scarred and rough flesh lurks the man, and an abomination. A terrible, raging, murderous thing bent only upon spilling the blood of those standing before it. Friend or foe.

A'kana's deep green eyes would begin to drift backwards, her flesh would prickle and the fine hairs along her body would stand on end. The whisper soft tingle of electricity flowing out to consume her body, that ring, that piece of metal suddenly vibrant with life. That ancient writing glowing deep orange, red, yellow, white...like molten metal it ran wicked through it's engravings. The life of the man that now wore it beginning to flash backwards. The line of his fate spinning wild and chaotic in reverse. The man, the adolescent, the youth, the babe cut from his mother. The man that bore his mother his seed, his youth, it kept flashing backwards, racing faster and faster. Images pouring out like water through a sieve. She was closing up the horizon. Understanding burning just beyond the edge of her sight, waiting, raging white hot like a summer sun, eager to erupt and fill her with.....

.....blackness. Everything slammed brutally to a halt. Her body burning as if stricken withe fever. All save her hand and the upper portion of he forearm. Opening her eyes, she saw the reason.

Standing there before her, frigid waters dripping off his massive frame, one hand wrapped around her forearm, the other pulling his ring away, stood Fenris.

Perhaps it was a trick in the light and shadow, but as he released her arm and slid the ring back into place, she could have sworn she saw lightning dance across his eyes.


She did indeed come to know a bit more of the Zorcans over the past few months. Brokk certainly helped with that, and Gunnarr, after him. The two seemed to 'like' her enough. Even if the term was loose. She considered them worth more than simple acquaintances, surely, but never allowed them to know who she truly was. Their assumptions of Spirit of Summer remained in place. Knowledge given by them was appreciated, though--as was any sort to this particular woman--and so the string of information from the ring in her hand proved to not only be worthwhile, but priceless. This was related to Fenris, after all, more than any Pantheon, or so she assumed...

... and then the trail of imagery made its way through her mind.

In that matter of moments, there was not a flutter to her eyelid, not a breath gifted her lungs nor a twitch across her skin at the effect of cold. Nothing, save the focus on that ring. Just when the bloodlines started to ascend in that curious way, taking up, lifting off.. it halted abruptly. With her mind having gone through the torrent, picking up 'speed' in a way, paired with the coming of this view or that, the sudden stop sent her thought process into a crash of a wall, so to speak. She reeled and jerked hard, gasping, then growled soft at the back of her throat, having to shake her head to try and cast off the spinning left in her head.

Her eyes opened and focused on the close of his large hand about her arm, extending up the bulk of his arm until finally flicking over at his eyes. That spark there. It was then that her own realization hit home, and her proximity to Fenris considered. In something as short in time as a lash's flutter, A'kana disappeared from the rock and reappeared on another, putting a good forty feet between them. She might love him, but she did not know what his actions might be to her then, especially given that she'd just took a liberty by picking up that ring.

Kana watched him again, shaking off a bit more dizzy from her mind. And then she spoke... in Zorcan.

"I saw your life flash back.. your mother.. father... grandparents and back... and more..."


Fenris adjusted the fit of the ring as it slid down his right ring finger, twisting it so that the emblem faced outwards. His eyes snapping in one direction then the other as he sought where the spellbender had vanished to. When she let herself be known, he locked his focus there. Like a feral dog having found a bone with meat still upon the edge, his attention so fast fixed, everything else seemed to drift away.

Beneath his immediate hostility to having been crept upon, there was a taint of confusion. Was he sleeping? Was this another dream? Already once he had awoken to find images of A'kana lingering there within his mind. Was this but a different occasion? Wasn't she far away to the south? Counted amongst those in the Obsidian Heart Inne? This had to be a dream, A'kana knew not how to speak his tongue. The side of his cheek sucked inwards slightly and the corners of his eyes narrowed a bit. A low grunt could be heard at the back of his throat as he opened his mouth and spat blood upon the ground.

Apparently not. The pain was little, but it had been real. As was the blood upon the ground from where he had bitten down upon his cheek.

Shaking his head to fling the water clear from his face, his hair longer now, wild and thick as it hung to his shoulders sending fat droplets off into the air. Bending down he gathered up his trousers and drew them on as he watched her. Unsure of exactly what her point was, and trying to figure why it was she was here. Or....how.

"My mother died as I was born. Our clan was attacked by Rumerian raiders." He turned his head to the side to allow for A'kana to see the notch missing from his ear. "They gutted her while I still lay within, pity them for not sinking their steel deep enough."

Leaning against the cliff face so that he could slid on his boots, he never once looked away from her. There was an edge about him, something hard and razor sharp. She could see it in the way he moved, in the way he spoke, in the gleam in those beryl orbs. Being back in Alzorc had put the hardness back into his rough features.

"What business is my past of yours? Aside from that, why......and how...are you here?" The corners of his eyes narrowing slightly.


By the time the spellborn found her bearings, she'd had to place a palm and splayed fingers across the surface of her rock perch. Her shoulders fell forward some, still garbed in the attire of this region. Zorcan clothing, heavy and durable. With the paler-way to her skin, she almost looked the part now, if not for her smaller, more slender build. When he turned to fix his eyes on hers, he'd find A'kana's green eyes staring right back at him. He might be hardened... but so was she. That warmth he once knew was merely an ember of its former existence. Near snuffed. There was a coldness to her..

She'd not look as the blood spat sounded on the ground, watching through his words that followed. The sight of what he spoke, of his mother's gutting, brought back memory of her own.. Memory of near half a year prior, on the beaches of Ale'vine. The trail of a thought had her free hand lingering in to her own midsection, resting the touch for a moment, to only drift it away. Had she been further along, back then, their child may have had a similar fate.. spilled into sands in lieu of snow.

It wasn't until he showed the notch in his ear that she looked away, off and down. A quiet thought spent there.

"It had not been intentional." The looking in to his past. She wasn't defending herself. Her tone, in fact, was a touch flat. Simple fact spoken there.

When he questioned her presence, she slowly rose her eyes towards him.

"Your forget your dreams, I take it?" A bit of a rumble rolled across her words.

In the next nanosecond, A'kana projected her own memories and thoughts onto the canvas of the world around them. Her magics, infinitely more powerful than Fenris had ever seen, had no issue replaying her last few months.. from the empty cottage and her suffering, through to his cold farewell before fast forwarding through the first Zorcan camp, Brokk's own and North through two more Zorcan camps... Every stitch and every forging, faces, names, places--all were there for catching.

"I have been here for a while."

As for the how, she flicked from view and appeared higher on the huge stone, and then lower, on ground level but fifty feet out, beneath her prior tree. "I go where I wish now. When. As I like. I have ways to exist here or anywhere.. This is where I choose to be. You agreed that it would be my choice."


Magic. Damn it's wicked ways. He had no want of it. Yet, there he was, standing in a forest of conjured images. Things taken from the mind of A'kana and thrown out to swarm him, to drown him beneath their shimmering translucent incorporeal bodies. It was a dizzying affair, like standing alone in a market and blinking only to find yourself pressed from all sides by wild and moving crowds of people. Snarling slightly as he swung an arm before him, parting the phantom image for a moment before it reformed and continued it's display. Memories were meant for the mind, or buried, not for this. Not to be out as if a reenactment of some gruesome and dark play from the depths of a twisted Bard's mind.

"Enough." Pushing from the rock face, he strode through the images. Swatting and swinging at them at first, trying to brush them away as one would a buzzing insect or smoke as it coiled about the eyes. Stepping into the nexus of those images, the sole living island in a wild sea of memories, Fenris swatted yet another as it came before him.

"I said enough!" That deep and baritone voice barked out the words, sending them high above their heads to crash and rebound against the rocks behind him. Echoing and doubling until his command meshed and rolled into one terrible sound, like a peal of thunder across the bottom of a storm filled sky.

He had seen her look away. He had seen the emotions so kept back from the surface. His own mind likely playing across the same memory. Dragged painfully across the same circumstance. Tortured endlessly upon the jagged rack that was that stitch in time.

"I remember my dreams.....I just.........I don't know."

She had gotten stronger. Far more so than she had ever displayed before. It struck two separate chords within his chest. the first was pride, how strong she had become. How like the forest burned away in a wild inferno, would grow back thicker, richer, more vibrant. She too was on the path of redemption. On the path of renewal. He had seen that ember there in her gaze, a soft coal that need only a stroke of two of wind to be set burning once again.

The latter, was something closer to apprehension. What could she do now? What would she do? Magic was unlike a blade. He could not turn it aside, he could not break it, it would not rust or be left in ruin. It was something that he had no taste or talent for. Watching magic to him, as like the wolf watching the flame. Intoxicating for one moment, and setting him on wild edge the next.

"If you go where you want, then come here." His eyes flicked down to a place just before where he now stood, his voice holding a trace of a challenge to it's tone.


His barking order had ceased the images, surely, but it gained no look nor touch of fear from the misplaced Islander. All it seemed to do was push her gaze off from him again. Apprehension was not his alone to be had, for she harbored much of it. Kana had met many Zorcans over the past few months. Many that were respected, feared and whose command never went without being adhered to. Him? He was more domineering, impressive, awe-striking and terror inducing then all of those Zorcans combined, and then some.. and yet still there was something more that was felt for him. Something that no other being in the waking world gave her. The little ember he saw was the last of that feeling, striving to keep its light in her world.

Talk of his dreams gained no reaction of note. Nothing given him. Her eyes remained astray as he was -felt- watching her, observing. A'kana knew not how angered he was, now disgusted with her improved being, with her flawless, commanding way over the arcane. She knew she had a handle, a certain strength--but her path had brought her down. All of this hindered what life her spirit had left in it. Having lost everything, how could it not be as such? At least he hadn't forgot that dream... but did he remember the promise made there, in so crude a gesture as their hands came to know?

As Fenris called her to that spot before him, green irises turned that way. She viewed the spot, too, watching it for a long moment--and yet A'kana did not budge. While he might have known her older, confident way, there was a touch of survivalist in her now. The way her form shifted made it seem as if she wanted to move forward.. and yet the want was kept at bay. A touch of the cold and wild found itself in her now, something remnant of the first night they'd spent together, with her reserved and on edge that the big man with the big fists could do her harm. Could he?

Something told her yes.

Even still.. Kana hadn't advanced, but she hadn't backed away, either...


"You haven't traveled all this way, spent all this time, used all your efforts to come to this place, to stay on the outside. So.......come.....here."

Fenris moved slowly, walking with that same dominant stride. As if nothing, no man nor beast nor demon could strike him from his path. He had a look that bespoke of not a quiet strength, but a terrible, fearsome raging tempest of it. As if he held the fury of the northern storms there behind that pale flesh. He drew himself to a halt, setting his feet into the snow and letting his hands hang loose by his sides.

Green eyes would see where it was that he had halted.

Halfway.

"Come here....." His words now lacking the commanding tone, it was more of a request. "....A'kana."

His right hand, fingers curled, wrist bent, rose and dropped once in a subtle gesture.

Doomed.


As he began to move, her eyes followed along the snow and up his form. From advancing feet, along stout legs, torso, shoulders.. and finally back to his face. His eyes. The prismed greens, that touch of feline in her, stared across at him, all the while her form remained stalk still, save for the subtle prick of apprehension felt at the back of her neck. Had she been in her other form, her fur would have likely scrunched and rose in that same place, riding down her spine to tail.

A single huff fell out of her nose then, right as he stopped. Speaking again...

The loose way to his arms seemed to take a touch of the threat off, but not much.. not until his tone lightened and hand gestured their one fateful word...

It took her considerable moments for the first hint of movement to be seen on her shoulders, mocked in a way by a tension in either thigh.. finding a bit of a hitch in judgement she need overpower. She did.. slowly. The slight female stepped towards him slowly, her frame the only thing of her that gave.

She came to stop three feet away from him.. close enough that his arms could certainly connect if they wished, but far enough that she had a chance to dip away, if need be.


Fenris looked back over his shoulder, back towards the north. It was an odd thing for him to do, truth be told, for this entire time all he had been doing is heading in that direction. Now, the tracks that were behind him, had the toes pointing to the south. Near a thick copse of trees A'kana would see horses, one too many. Fenris had his horse and the two extras he had taken from the dead, but there was also another one.

That horse, belonged to Astrid. The woman who, by all accounts, was not around. Turning his gaze back around so that his beryl eyes focused upon her deep green ones, his voice spoke in low rumbling tones.

"It is not done, but a large part is. We cut the purse from them last night, broke the chain that held their anchor. The Night Crow still linger, but they will quickly leave once they see that no gold can be pried from a dead man's hand. They will move all the faster once I get a few names with me and we go tend their parting."

Fenris took a small step towards, A'kana. Just a small, half step, enough to close the distance between them by half.

"I do not know what kind of magics Randver had. I don't know what spell was cast, but the hall erupted as if it were built upon a volcano. I was outside. Astrid was inside." He gave a faint shake of his head, wordlessly speaking of the woman's death. One hand reached out and set down upon A'kana's arm, rough fingers kneading the flesh for a moment before he let her go.

"I am going south, to a Hall I once used with my dozen. If it still stands I mean to make it my home again." Taking a deep breath, brows furrowing, lips thinning, it took little effort to see that he was mulling something over. The death of an ally was never something that could so easily be swept away. It made a man want to take those counted as with him, and draw them all the more close. "....ours. If you are so damned determined to stay."


As Fenris’ eyes turned over one shoulder, her gaze followed along. She had to shift some to see the horses there, since the wall of his body was partially in the way, but the sight was still had. Yes, she remembered Astrid’s horse—the same one she rode in on, in to the old Zorcan camp some time ago, before their fight. While A’kana had no love for the woman, she found there was still no joy for her fall, especially given the circumstance. The red-one had fought for a cause. Ruthlessly so. Honorably.

That fact gave the Islander a marginal amount of respect for her. Even still, it'd only show in a nod. Having not known what Fenris was truly up to, his words started to fill in the blanks some. Talk of the Jarl and the explosion garnered many more questions—questions for another time. Right now? The feline still had a bit of an edge, one that left her little room for the back and forth of a true conversation. This edge could be seen as his hand reached, closing around her arm, kneading as it had. Her eyes in that moment were fixed on his, harder than ever. The touch birthed a faint bit of tension across her shoulders at first.. one that only just begun to ease when the connection fell away. When it did, the lack of a warm touch seemed to usher in a terrible cold.

The realization did not hit her until after he spoke—after he.. invited her with? Did he, really? She couldn't take words nor think them through right then. No. Why? Because in that very instant, the North’s chill crashed in on her, trembling its way across her bottom lip before coiling around each appendage. She shivered and blinked, looking down at herself, to this effect or that… and then back. Confusion lay on her expression, beating down that stoic way right there, holding it before she winced. The cold sank in to bite at the marrow in her bones. None of her magic-touched things worked anymore!

“… something is wrong.” Breathless, Kana started to back away from him, turning halfway to view around them, to try and spot something or someone that served as the culprit behind this. No one was there.....


Those beryl eyes that held a trace amount of hope, at her words, flashed over with anger. Rage dancing across his eyes like lightning across a black storm cloud pupil. She had followed him all this way. Had stalked him like he were some game. So when he finally thought to reach back for what had once been shared, he got that as an answer. That something was wrong and her immediate reaction was to retreat away from him. Had the dark tales of his deeds and past finally tainted her mind as well. Turning from her he stormed back to where he had dropped his belongings.

"I fucking know there is." Hot words growled out through grit teeth, the bones in his left hand cracking, leather like scarred flesh creaking as he made a fist. Hostility fueling his arm as it lashed out, iron hard fist crashing into the face of the cliff. The sound of that impact.....that deep terrible natural rumble....it was....had it sounded like thunder?

Loose snow from high above now falling down in heavy clumps. That terrible blow having shaken it loose and pouring it over the edge. Pulling his shirt from the ground and shaking it to rid it of the neat lines from her folding, he would jerk it down over his head and shove his arms through. He didn't look back over his shoulder. There was no point to it. Not again. He knew where he stood. Where his lot in this life was. When he finally moved towards the horses, a good thirty feet or more from where she stood. There was warmth again. She no longer felt the bite of Alzorc, which today was a good day, a slight bit higher than freezing.


She had a glimpse of the anger. It made it all the more colder and hopeless for her, enough to feel attacked by the physical and emotional chill. The ember lessened its glow..

“No.” She shivered and shoulders quaked, the blue cold already starting to take her lips. “Cold.. all cold again.”

Her words very well might not have reached him, what with his stomping off, let alone from the thunderous crack of his fist on the rock’s side. It shocked her, stammering even her body’s reaction to the cold, snapping her gaze up to view him.. to see him retreating from her again. Her lips curled back from the serrated teeth behind them, a silent snarl forming—one that filled itself inn, turned up its volume as the warmth fell around her again, as if some invisible being were then slipping a blanket around her.

“I did not mean something was wrong with YOU or US!” She nearly screamed it at him and started to step after the mountainous man.. only to find cold again. It stopped her dead in her tracks.

With wide eyes, Kana stepped back again, feeling the chill fall.. and then forward.. and finally, up to him.

“Something you have is fucking with my things! It is letting the cold in…”

The snarl fell in to a hopeless frown, eyes touched on glassy—but she pushed forward anyways, in to the cold and towards him. She’d come this far, she’d keep at it if she had to. As she forced her body’s tendencies down, keeping feet going, Kana stalked rigidly towards him.

“I want to be with you.” By the time she reached the general vicinity of the horses and the man, it couldn't be more obvious the chill was on her.


Fenris turned and looked at the woman that was snarling and spitting venom towards him. Dark shadows concealed the eyes beneath as he stood motionless, though his entire frame had the feel of a coiled trap. As if he were but one small step or signal away from springing into violent motion. His brows rose slowly as he watched her begin to walk towards him, stop, step back, walk towards him again.

"...the fuck....." Muttered to himself at the strange half dance she had done.

As she spoke once again, he struggled to try to understand what she was getting at. Letting the cold in? He looked up towards the bright sky, felt the sun shining down warm on his face, could hear the soft cracks as ice broke in the creek and the gurgling water rushing past. It was spring. The day was not yet near the hottest portion, but nor was it stuck down in it's coldest. It was not even freezing! Fenris furrowed his brow as she closed in upon him, now standing right before him, invisible hackles up between her shoulders. Despite it all, he could see she was cold. That alluring little island temptress was still not one for the cold. If she meant what she proclaimed, she would adapt. For now though, she needed his aid.

Walking to his own mount, a terrifyingly large horse that stomped and pawed the ground, flashed it teeth, and overall looked all to eager to bite at the horses around it, Fenris dug into one of the packs. After a moment he removed a thick, heavy looking cloak of bear pelt. He made to turn and walk back, but stopped and turned back into his pack. The cloak now dangling over his right shoulder, his left hand patting the stallion that seemed for some reason to calm when Fenris was near, and his other hand rooting around still in the bag. Muttered curses still in his native tongue rolling back to find A'kana's ears. With a final jerk he removed something else and walked back towards Kana.

"I don't have to walk away and leave this on the ground this time do I?" Fenris offered her one of his thicker long sleeved shirts, a length of cloth to wrap about her face and neck, and finally a truly large, thick, double layered bear cloak. While she was adding the layers that would get her back to being warm, Fenris thought over what she had said.

"I told you, I do not know what magics Randver had around his Hall. The way it blew apart like that.....I.....I have never seen anything like it. I don't know if maybe something still lingers on me. The whole place.....something......it was just wrong. I'll need to find a healer to see what might be on me still."


It took a great deal of her determination to keep in the chill there, right before him. It might be spring for Fenris, but Alzorc was all winter for A’kana.. and she never truly knew winter before him. To think she, at one point in time, wanted to see her first snow with Fenris, too. Instead? She experienced it alone in an empty cottage at Pincer. That time there took the fire out of her. It helped leave her as she is now.

Watching him move from her, around and to the saddlebag, she never once looked away. In that particular moment the woman believed he had every intention to leave her behind again, to go off alone and push her out. Her throat felt tight, filled with the rising feeling of her heart, and little could be done to breathe. It took until he came back around, cloak, wraps and shirt in his clutches, that her initial belief started to fall apart. The words he gave her cracked the ice and broke the tightness in her chest. No, he didn't have to leave it on the ground this time.

She actually gave a soft, near silent sound of amusement, spending it on a breath towards him, clove-scented as ever. Rolling her lips in to let her tongue warm them, tattooed fingers reached to ease the shirt from his grip. She immediately slipped it over and down, its size more dress-like on her smaller frame. The cloth wrap was then spun around her neck, and the cloak followed. Hands lifted the length of significantly longer, near-black hair free from the lot of it. It'd take her a little time, but the warmth would set back in. She nodded her thanks, spending a thought in looking down, then back.

“Do you still have it?.. the stone?” The little blue, rounded reminder she'd given back to him…..


She had changed. There were things about her that were vastly different than what he had once seen in her, yet at the same time, he could see parts of what he had known right there below the surface. Fenris was not ignorant in thinking that he had remained ever the same. He knew that he had returned to what he had known, what he had been, what he was. Yet what did not change over time? Even the mountains, tall and invincible as they were, over time would shift and change. All you could do was adapt. Take each blow, shoulder through, carry on and take shots back when you could.

When A'kana had dressed herself, or rather, over dressed herself and had that long ink colored hair out and free, he stepped partially nearer to her. This woman, this creature that owed him nothing, had endured hardships that would make any simply give up and die. Nothing from what he knew of her had been easy, and he surely had done nothing to help ease that. His hands reached up to close around the shoulders of her lithe frame, running up and down as he rubbed the warmth back into her.

Hearing her words he gave a slow and soft nod of his head. Pulling his hands away from her, letting her free once again he dropped his arms into the space between them. Holding his left forearm parallel with the ground, he used his right pointer and thumb to dig beneath the leather bracer. Cautiously, like the assassin withdrawing his blade in the shadows, he pulled free the stone he had tucked away there. The small blue crystallized soul stone, it's colors always shifting to him. Sometimes it appeared in the shades of light swirling blue that were akin to the sea in the island home of A'kana. At others, it appeared dark and hard, the colors of glacial ice. Swallowing back his own pain from that time, he held the stone out for her. Unsure if she wished to carry it or simply wanted to see it. The tips of his fingers going white from where he held it so tightly. He would not allow for her to swat it away as she had before. He had been a fool once, to hurl it into the lake as he had.

But this sin, as with all his others etched down into his thick hide, was one he would carry for the rest of his days.


A’kana was not naïve to the changes in Fenris, either—granted, he was something of this version of himself (the one here now) when she’d first met him. Hard and cold. Brutal. Unyielding.. but there was something of value deep at his center.. an element of his life and person, of the warmth that wanted to be, compacted in to some treasure there. She never believed him to be an empty, cold brute. Now? Even after all of this.. she still did not believe him to be.

There was a darker side to him, of course, much of which she knew nothing of, but Fenris let her know.. he was still there. Doomed. This time when his touch reached out towards her, this time in the form of both hands, the tension of her shoulders did not rise to meet him. The contact, the running of each big mitt up and down picked her spirits up some as well as her warmth. It helped the lines around her eyes soften and brow ease. When he moved to pull the little stone free from its place, she did not immediately look to view it. Kana kept her eyes on his instead. There came no swat or growl, no glare or grumble… just a steadying of her lung’s pace.

When she spoke, it was in his tongue again. It was with her eyes dropping, finally, to the little treasure between his fingers. “… we need to lay her to rest…”

Her. Kana’s hands rose, inked things that they were now, and the pair of them laid over the top of his one hand, enveloping fingers and gem in a warmed tent. Thumbs trailed together, taking one pass up along his fingers and her eyes closed. It was only a moment. A moment then gone. Looking back up to Fenris, Kana let her hands fall. She eased around his extended arm and in closer, tucking her face, chest and arms in to fit against his front.


A'kana's words sunk down beneath the scars and muscle, deeper than blood or bone, the chime of her words like a hammer in a bell striking and ringing sharp and loud against his very soul. Lay her to rest. The thought had crossed Fenris' mind many times, over many miles. Each time he thought to bury the stone, he could not. Something stayed his hand. Something kept him from removing the precious object from where it bit and burned and scraped at his flesh beneath the leather bracer. Where was to be the final resting place? In some deep lagoon hidden away in dense jungle upon an uninhabited island? Tucked down in the belly of some monstrous glacier floating out upon a frozen sea? Beneath a mound of dirt along some winding travel road? Fenris knew not where the stone need to be laid down for the last time, but he knew that neither of them should continue to carry the weight of it. Long enough have they both suffered the loss of a child that they had conceived but both had been unable to protect.

As she curled herself inwards and stepped against him, he slipped the stone back away where he had kept it. The feel of her body against his, the way she curled tight and close, it had his own frame moving of it's own volition. Thickly muscled arms coiled around her and pulled her closer. His body bending down slightly for a moment as he readjusted his grip upon her frame, pulling it tighter, needing to feel more of it against him, standing so that he now held her aloft. Enfolding her in an embrace that had her touching nothing save his own body. His head dropping slightly as he buried his face down into the side of her own. Letting that long raven colored hair wash down over his rough features, the silken strands caught and mixing with the stubble on his face, or the length of messy hair that had grown atop his own head. He pulled down the heated scent of her, letting it fill his lungs, sharp and clear. Such a contrast to the bite and cold of the natural scents of his homeland. He found no use for his voice in those precious moments, no need for an utterance of any tongue. He simply stood there, holding A'kana against him.

With so much that had been lost or damaged or ruined, maybe, just for once, he should try to hold onto something.


Kana knew where the babe should lay. In the same place she was likely created.. the warm cavern spring nestled in the frigid mountains where her parents truly found one another. The place was a touch of both of them. Warm and welcoming, and yet cold and hard. None would ever disrupt her place there, either.

While she might have had a mind to tell him the idea, the movement of his arms, the glorious feel of them curling around, encompassing her, made all the world go away. Every thought, right or wrong, every angry way or vengeful tick, was gone. There was nothing save him and the way she fit in against.. nothing save the way she was collected and set where she felt, beyond any feeling whatsoever, that she belonged. This was it. Buried in to him as she was, the warm slips of tears slid from the glacier of herself, finding their way free from the cracks of what had become her stony way. He'd feel her fingertips curl into his shirt, pulling the material in to either palm, craning it down more as wrists turned in. Perhaps in trying to hide the light euphoria on her face, she nestled it in to his shoulder and neck even more. Once there, she made no move that said she'd ever pull away again. He spoke her going where she wished.. and there was no more wished for place than right there.

--- Fin. ---