where the mountains listen

The ascent was slow, but not difficult. His valley had hardened him to unforgiving terrain, and these mountains were no different—just another kingdom of stone waiting to be tested. The wind here carried a different weight, thinner but sharp, whispering secrets of those who called this place home. He intended to listen, but more importantly, he intended to be heard.

Moving with purposeful stride, his amber gaze swept across the landscape as he took in every sign of life—footprints in the dirt, the distant scent of wolves, the faintest echoes of voices carried on the wind. He was not alone here. That was expected.

At his back, jaggedspine had already been claimed, but a kingdom was only as strong as its reach. Others needed to know—not simply of his presence, but of the inevitable shift in power that followed wherever his shadow stretched.

He exhaled, slow and deliberate, his voice carrying through the thinning air. “You are not unseen,” he called out, his tone calm, edged with something that left little room for misinterpretation. “And now, neither am I.”

Let them come. Let them listen. Let them understand. The Covenant of Sin had rooted itself in the valleys below—but mountains, too, could learn to bow.

---

@Stjörnuáti :3

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The call beckoned him in a way few did, demanding and proud. What a way to be requested upon his own borders, at the foot of his mountain. And still, Stjornuati was mostly unruffled. He had never been a wolf to demand acknowledgment, feeling it far more important to earn such respect rather than expect it. But not all wolves were built the same, nor did they operate the same. To him, displays of dominance were used when one was not confident in their status or position; others thought differently. The wolf at his borders seemed to be the latter.

And so the man descended, one of his children in tow. They were old enough now to learn their ways, beyond how to be a wolf but how to be a functioning member of the pack. With an instruction to remain silent in the presence of this outsider, Stjornuati explained the call and answer, and explained why it was important to protect what was theirs along with shielding those within the reaches of the mountain.

Once within earshot, stjornuati ended the verbal portion of his lesson. The wolf on his borders was as he imagined. Proud. Confident in himself. Audacious to present himself so beneath the Watch of Ravens. Slowing to a halt, the stareater Met the man’s eyes and waited in silence for him to announce himself and the reason for his presence here.
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  the boy had been proud to walk alongside his father. to join him in this journey. ever since he left the womb of his mother and took his first breath, he had wanted to do something like this. being able to directly learn from his father was a massive opportunity. it didnt matter if fjórir was in the right place or the right time, or if this was a matter of sheer luck - the boy was excited.

  he was going to rub this in everyone's face. ylva's too.

  however, for the time being, the youngster diligently and obediently listened to his elder. it was the first time he would be answering a call. which blew his mind. someone was brave enough to summon his father. that wolf must have incredible brain power. something he wanted to learn from.

  today was going to be a very good day.

  as the two approached the outsider, the golden flecked pup stood just behind his father. close enough to be protected, but daring enough to show himself. if his father was unbothered, then he would be too.
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Sinister was still, but not silent. Much unlike this stranger. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of expectation pressing against the moment. They did not speak, did not challenge—only waited.

A smirk ghosted at the corner of his lips, amusement flickering beneath the ever-present menace in his expression. “Silence is an interesting welcome,” he mused, his voice smooth, even, yet edged with something unreadable. “But I do not make a habit of introducing myself to ghosts.”

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, letting his presence settle like a shadow over the space between them. “I am Sinister, Grand Sin of a new, uprising covenant.” His tone carried no arrogance, only certainty—a name spoken not as an offering, but a fact. As for the purpose in which he came. “And your land now knows my footsteps.”

His gaze did not waver, the smirk fading into something more calculating. “I have come to see what lies beyond my domain and to ensure that those who dwell here understand one thing—jaggedspine valley is claimed.” A pause, just long enough to let his words sink in. “If that is something you might wish to contest, speak now. We will not accept tresspassers. Be it that any of your kind wander, they will be met with teeth and blood.” For they were not a kind people, even to those who sought refuge among their numbers.

His voice alone, while eerily collected, carried the unspoken truth: silence would no longer be enough.

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It did not matter if she had an invitation, Tveir was not going to ignore the sound of a stranger at their borders. And one with such audacity! Tveir's tiny body bristled up in indignation as she trailed behind Father and Fjor, tracking diligently through the snow until they came across the man.

Golden eyes narrowed as she crouched in the brush nearby, though the rest of her face remained impassive as always.

The nerve of this man, coming to their home as though he owned the place, speaking of himself so haughtily! Tveir would meet him with teeth and blood if given the chance.

Who would want to wander to his shoddy little abode when Hrafnsvaktin was the greatest home one could ask for? Tveir would, if only so that the ground there would know their footsteps as well.

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Fjórir's presence was silent, as the stareater had bid it; but there was another silent attendee as well, one he'd known to be tracking them as he and his son had descended down the mountain. Young Tveir was learning, putting to use what Stjörnuáti had taught her. Track, stalk, hunt. Lie in wait. And so far, she was doing a decent job — something he would commend her for later. After this was handled.

The comment on his quiet nature went unacknowledged. How a wolf responded to his silence spoke volumes of themselves that they might not have otherwise presented. This wolf, however, presented everything upfront about his character that Stjörnuáti needed to know. With dark eyes, the Jarl watched and listened, soaking up the information given, verbally and otherwise.

What could have been either an insult or simple observation (ghost), was something he had been called before and took no issue with, even if it was malintended. A name and title for himself, a claim of exploration and of territory. All things that did not affect the King of the Mountain, or those who lived within. His wolves did not trespass; if they were foolish enough to do so, then they would reap their own consequences.

“Expected,” He would finally respond. “Know that your own will be treated same.” A flick of his ear, annoyance that his common tongue was still not smooth as Valmúa's was. “Hrafnsvaktin lays no claim on Sinister's valley.” As long as he left the mountain and its inhabitants alone, he'd have no trouble from them. But, this man did not seem to be a wolf that enjoyed leaving others alone.

Stjörnuáti fell to quietness once more, looking on in unperturbed poise as he was uninterested in saying anything more about his own pack. What more would the Grand Sin have to say?
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 the young wolf's features strained against both muscle and skin as the goliath spoke. his very words seared against his flesh, eroding the calm facade he was trying to impose. what is the flying duck was this male thinking!? it made him absolutely livid. furious. irate. everything told him to retaliate. to storm the border and claim his skull. but his father did not waiver.

 the young pups eyes glanced up to his father, watching and taking note of his posture, his words, and all the slight mannerisms. everything his jarl did, the young prince forced into his memory. however, on the opposite side, the boy also took notes on the outsiders confidence. while it was infuriating, even the boy could tell he only spoke facts - or what he believed to be facts. his sense of self worth was so high, that he too wanted to have reign over that kind of ego.

 refusing to be the one to break, the pup worked hard to keep his face and muscles still. he would not react. he would be a stone that would withstand the verbal lashing of a man far smaller than he.
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Sinister listened, impassive, as the mountain wolf spoke in his rough-edged tongue. The man's words were measured, deliberate—an acknowledgment, nothing more. No claim, no interference. A simple arrangement. But the Grand Sin knew well that simple things rarely stayed that way.

A slow exhale left him, misting into the air. “Then we are in agreement,” he said, voice even. “Your mountain remains yours, as my valley remains mine.” The implication was clear—as long as that balance was kept.

His gaze flicked past the man and child, toward the silent shadow lurking just out of reach. Another child. Young. Learning. A wraith of the tundra, much like her kin. He said nothing of her, though he had noted her long before the mountain man spoke. If she thought herself unseen, she was mistaken.

Turning his attention back, Sinister let silence settle for a moment, weighing his thoughts. “Your pack and the mine will have no quarrel,” he stated, a finality to his tone. But then, just the barest hint of a smirk ghosted across his maw. “Unless, of course, you seek one.” A challenge unspoken, laced with curiosity rather than threat.

He did not wait for an answer. Instead, he dipped his head in something that was neither submission nor respect—merely acknowledgment. “Until we meet again.” And with that, he turned, the shadows of jaggedspine valley stretching long behind him.

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Agreement. His chin tipped then, acknowledging it as so. Neither of them would seek to encroach on the other's land, nor disrupt whatever their way of life was. Stjörnuáti did not care what any other pack did, as long as they left him and his alone.

Embered eyes moved to a spot behind the blonde King and he felt his body stiffen on instinct. Hackles lifted out of second-hand nature, an unspoken warning that Sinister would leave his children alone. No other reaction was given in that moment, but it was enough that Stjörnuáti felt it was a good thing that the man decided to wrap things up quickly. He had never been one for spjalla — chit chat anyway.

He watched as Sinister turned and left, not moving from his post until the man was far enough away that Stjörnuáti felt keen to begin the lesson.

“Tveir,” He called. “Komdu.” — Come.

“Hvað tókuð þið bæði eftir?” — What did you both observe?
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Outside of the pure, unbearable arrogance, this man was not wrong. Tveir hated trespassers intensely, and would not begrudge someone else not wanting a nearby pack to encroach on their territory.

But he did not need to be so haughty about it.

Tveir held still as the conversation went on, her father impassive as the mountain itself and this Sinister as conceited as they come. After a moment, the stranger's eyes landed on her, and she bristled in response, though her expression did not change. If he was looking for a reaction, he would not get one.

Father called her from her hiding spot and she went willingly, fur still standing on end, eyes never leaving the place where the strange man disappeared.

What had she observed? Nothing she liked, for sure.

"Conceited man," she huffed in response, heading over to stand beside Fjorir as a protective shield, instincts on edge. "Father was kind to him. He was lucky to escape unharmed."

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  the boy remained still as the other
sin slithered further and further away from their mountain. he had come all this way to...tell us not to encroach upon his domain? what a very odd thing to do.

 "self importance is a dangerous cliff," the boy recounted. "the male came all the way to our mountain to spew idle threats." just the thought alone made his fur itch. however, so as much as his sister. one he didn't even realize had been trailing them. so much for rubbing it in the others face.

  when tveir sauntered to a spot besides him, he playfully nipped at her ear before returning back to the question at paw. what did he observe. "he is arrogant and seems to like battle. his head must be filled with hot air," the boy concluded. "but you were the opposite. you were very calm. how did you not get mad to be called upon by such ilk?"
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