✧ bury me shallow

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I haven't played him as an adult yet, so I apologize if I'm rusty figuring out his flow!

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It was a day like any other, or so far as young Runar could tell. Admittedly, his memory was foggy upon the morning's light, but he thought little of it. As High King, he had more responsibilities than he could count, and it was his mother who urged him to start his days in the break of new light. Patrolling was one word for the task at hand, though his father preferred to call it a stroll. He was alert as he walked, senses focused, listening to the cries of Mother Earth. Even in the crisp winter air, it was a beautiful day.

Perhaps he could spare a few hours by the lake in the run below. The river had yet to freeze, and if he was lucky, he might spot an easy fish or two. Unfortunately, his meal endeavor would have to wait for later. It was something else that caught his eye, still and dark, breathing against the rock and grass. A woman. Runar turned on his path and bounded quickly; heavy paws thundered the narrow paths underfoot with an ease that only came with experience. “Miss— are you alright, Miss?”

He'd allow her to keep her personal space, but Runar would still loom overhead, hesitant to lower his muzzle and check her should he be met with fangs.

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She shifts, and something inside the High King relaxes. She was conscious, good. Her answer, on the other hand, raised his brow, confused. “Loud, I might be, but that is no answer.” Yet his voice would soften at the unspoken request. He sits, prompted by her question to puff his chest, “Runar, Miss. High King of this very mountain.” His paw shoots out, almost as if to steady the woman, but still he refrains from touching her. “Ah— N-No need to rush, you may rest if needed. Runar is not concerned with you being here. ...Might you have a name, or something to call you by?”

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The night-clad man's brows drew upwards at her expression as if his mother had just scolded him. He could not comprehend her reason to glower and pout, so instead he tried to move on to her questions. “Ahah...It was my chosen birthright? The role my mother wished for Run— for me to fill.” A role come too soon some may argue, but dear mother could only take so much, even for such a powerful woman. Ever since father died...

“My family has lived here for years under my parents... until recently.” Runar would not let the somber tone scrape his voice, but it was visible at the corners of his eyes, where they crinkled with sadness. His paw drew back to his chest before settling on the ground, “If I have offended you, Miss, I assure you it was not my intention. I only wished to help. ...Does Tylwa have a home? If you are lost we have lived here our whole lives. My brothers travel more than I; they may be able to help you.”

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Runar blinked stupidly at the words that fell from her mouth. They were without hostility, without judgment, a question, but took him by surprise anyhow. Quickly he'd shake his head, a stutter at his lips, “N-No, at least Runar hopes not—!” His brows drew with concern and authenticity, then down with something more somber. “My family is here, only... we do not all walk this realm anymore.”

Where his father had gone, he was uncertain. Perhaps Hel, living amongst them here on the mountain. He had gone peacefully in his sleep, but there was still the chance to be selected for Folkvangr despite not passing on the fields of battle. Runar must have misled her into a confession that no longer shared common ground. The High King swallowed, “They are good people. The mountain has been kind to us, and the forest plentiful.” Then a spare glance to the day sky. “They are gone for now, but the stars are here too. You could have a home. Maybe a family.” He could promise she'd find those here, but Runar knew better than to fill her with hope if this life was not meant for her. Life in Vanderfell was wonderful— he was biased, of course, but it could be hard. It was not for those soft of foot.

“Do you have any special skill? Something you pride yourself on.”

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Mm, a good question. Runar couldn't explain the way the world worked, only what he had experienced. His mother was much better in this realm of knowledge. Her generous reminder, however, would bring a faint smile to curl his lip. She wasn't wrong; he had misspoke. His father was still here, in spirit, in memory, in body, even if that vessel was empty and buried in the earth. Vanderfell would not be the home it is today without the old High King. Still, he wished it was easier to speak with him now that he was... 'hiding'.

“Like you said. The stars are above us, never gone, just hiding. We have beautiful view from the peaks. A lookout. Usually, it is for ceremonies like wedding, but Runar likes to clear his head there.” She seemed surprised by his offer, but it only felt natural. Vanderfell was a family pack built for new beginnings. A chance to find yourself if you are lost. “I am offering home. Rather you choose to take it or not is your decision. You can pull your weight so you can help feed. But, personally, I would like to hear some of these tales once you have settled.”

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“Wedding like love binding! Like offering Runar suppose, but to each other.” And the Gods, but that was a whole separate thing. “Ah, you know, mates?” Surely she knew what a mate was. “I have never spoke to stars, but perhaps they would like that. Fate's Summit gets quite dark, and when it is dark, stars shine bright. Sometimes you can even see great wolf in sky! That is what Runar likes most.” A...what did Father call it, constellation? Sometimes it even looked like it moved, but Mother insisted that the stars do not do that.

Ah, finally. A smile! Runar beamed as Twyla accepted, “Excellent! Come, come, while there is still daylight. Runar will show you everything. I think you will like it, no? Just as I will like your 'tellings'.” His tail wagged at his hocks as Runar turned back for the mountain path. Once it was clear Twyla was following, he would continue, pointing out various landmarks and explaining the culture that made Vanderfell thrive.

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