Tsöllög

 Qachuli did not lack courage, for all he had come to despise of him. The horsemen had rallied around their young khaan. Jin had heard their shouts carry into the mouth of his ger. Even Nergui, the wife of his brother he’d so envied— lusted after. Qachuli need only curt words of command. Jin saw the moment had come to ride. Blood brothers and bondsmen, lovers, the best of their tribe, all had turned to him with bared fangs. Jin had earned the precious furs he wore, clad with the blood-mark of the khaan. He knew when to fly for battle— and when to concede.
 Far from the majesty of the steppe is this bitter, frozen shore on which he’d awoken. The wind is a roaring devil on the ears though he shows no discomfort. The horseman had borne it for so many months he cannot be sure he feels it anymore.
 Hauling to weary paws, he roots along the shore. Painful memories are idle noise when his stomach is aching.

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He did not wake.

He did not appear.

He did not wonder.

The pale man had never left, never vanished from his mountain of ice, had never strayed from the stretch of forest covering the mountain’s slopes. Every night, he had come home. Every morning, he set out.

This morning had been different. Something was different. He’d known as soon as he woke and pulled himself from Kajsa’s side, from the tangle of adolescent limbs belonging to his brood. Looking out from the cliff he’d stood upon that morning, Stjornuati had taken note of the work of the gods, looking out at the lands that had shifted and changed. Even there, upon his mountain, he could smell the sea, and it was she that beckoned to him now.

Without waking his woman, the Northman descended from his kingdom and set out, his pale feathered companion taking wing above.

How long he roamed, the pale one did not track, but he did eventually reach the sea and her salt spray smell. A deep breath filled his lungs, a simple pleasure taken in its scent. But there were other scents too. Faint. Fresh. But they were there, a pair of them, easy enough to follow in the crisp breeze.

It wasn’t hard to find them.

It wasn’t unlike him either, to watch from a distance, dark eyes tracking one, and then the other before flickering back to the first. Overhead, Synin let loose a firm caw!, as if announcing his own presence. Was the bird right? Had his hrinja led him here?

Only time would tell…

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Stjor can be skipped over! unless he’s directly addressed, he’s hanging back for the moment!

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ty both for joining <33

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 A calloused nose ceases its prodding to examine the air’s scents. Wolf, here. He is not alone, and Jin thinks first that it is the blood riders who have found him. Fitting, then. He is a khaan’s son and death is his constant companion.
 Mounting the craggy sea-wall, wariness lifts in the glimpse of a volcanic pelt. He looks on for a moment, regarding the traipsing figure with eyes that shield from the light. An aching stomach is idle noise when a woman is nearby...
 “For what?” The horselord grunts to her, dropping down into the frozen dell and drawing a half-circle around the woman. She’s a dusting of fulvous, not unlike the women of the steppe, though she is no mare. A sidesmile raises his lip, pale gaze singular even when a distant avian caw summons his attention.

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 “Apologies. No other way to walk,” the horseman docks his stride to regard her warmblood visage, made brighter by an appealing smile. Nostrils flare the air, searching among the scents for an implication of her readiness to take a mate.
 No land, no ger, no riders fell alongside Jin. He had nothing to offer a wife, and still his heart beats fast in anticipation, a youthful haughtiness brought about by the winter’s cold and the desire to warm it. He steps forward, ears shifting between bird and the buckskin filly.
 “What’s to get back to?”

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 Gentleman! He’d have balked at the idea if only he’d known the woman’s mind. No horselord was a gentleman, least not Temujin. He paced forward even as she maintained a civil distance.
 “Temujin,” again he halted, leveling his own against the gold-bronze gaze. A priestess she might be, though not of Sky Father. Amusement streaked through him at the imaginings of this delicate woman dancing upon his unrelenting plains.
 “What else does your soul know, Lyra? The direction to the mountains, perhaps?” He teases from a crooked grin. “The salt does nothing for my lungs,” Jin explains absently, jade eyes threading the copse ahead. He didn’t intend to stay. He also didn’t intend to leave this lone woman here in the height of winter— though not for any gallant reason.

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he watched them, both interested and not, if such a thing was possible. it could even be called an dis-interesting interest. he enjoyed observing others, watching them interact and live their lives as if he weren't there. perhaps that was why he had bonded so with synin.

the raven in question cried out again, before wheeling away and further towards the cliffs, away from the pair shaking the slumber from their furs. stjörnuáti followed, turning where he stood to ease into a lazy, smooth lope.

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Stjor exits~ MWAH TO U BOTH

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<33

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 She was flirting with him.
 Dangerous game to be playing with a horseman evicted from his herd; who’d toiled honestly across the steppe with no meed waiting at the end. His eyes took a shade darker, moving briefly from Lyra to the near tree-line.
 “No woman should stay alone on these cliffs. Come with me to the mountains,” he spoke in invitation, bannering his tail in the tradewinds. Once more did his eyes rove her, then he pushed out into the dancing lea, each step from the sea a welcomed advancement towards a new home.

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 Temujin senses Lyra moving beside his shoulder and he leads them into a steady trot— though muscles groan under his weight and the rider wishes to test if he could still devour miles of land. The woman’s voice is picked up by the wind and he allows himself to recall the steppe with a hollow longing; the plain’s spring grass, rivers rushing full, horse herds grazing the first touches of green, showing through the bones of the hills. A contained smile plays at the horseman’s lips. He pulled his trot into the woman, sage side-eye fixed upon her.
 “Y’ever tried mare’s milk before, Lyra?”

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