✧ even nature must scream sometimes

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Thunder screamed overhead, beating down across the darkened sky as a torrent of rain descended across a piece of land to the west. Twyla, in the midst of the impending storm, had ascended the mountain. Though not completely; her future perch remained uninhabited, patiently awaiting her visit. No, she was sat a ways down the path, wistfully staring out as the rain swept down in heavy strokes.

Thunderstorms, though few and far between in her childhood home, were one of her favorite things. Caught between the battle of embracing nature and seeking out comfort was forfeit in the face of this—liberation, freeness.

A sigh left parted lips as the cold wind drew near, sweeping through her pelt and chilling the skin beneath. Soon, she guessed, would the storm either dissipate or inch closer. The wage of war would be something she took delight in, waiting and watching to see if the clear night sky might pull itself to the top.

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Just storm watching, anyone is welcome!

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A king's duties carried on no matter his mood, enjoyment, or weather permitting. With such a storm on the horizon, it was important to scour the claim. Ensure those less surefooted found shelter and that no path eroded or crumbled 'neath unsuspecting paws. The rain poured, howling on the winds between cracks of thunder. It was only as he began his ascent to the summit that he crossed another, Twyla, staring out at the horizon.

His paws slowed as he approached, gentle in step despite the size, “Fascinating, is it?” He stared out, letting his words sit between the rumbles before he would glance her way. “A mighty display from Thor. Fear not; he is ally. Protector.” It was easy to believe otherwise. In the heart of such a storm, it was easy to feel swallowed, not to mention how the clouds always looked angry.
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Twyla startled at the words of another. Though as graceful as she may seem, it is more often she is far too enraptured in something else to pay any heed than it is that she possesses any sense of grace or elegance. Far too often did she find herself afoot another and not even recall their arrival, or their place there to begin with. A haze, the world often was.

But who'd greeted her was not some stranger, nor was it the makings of a trespasser or a person needing a home, but instead a familiar face—Runar. His words resonated with her, but it was the name she questioned. Were there other gods within the sky? Did her night-dweller goddess even have family and friends? Figures that she did know of?

Twyla's gaze shifted to him, a question on the tip of her tongue but it was a name that passed. “Thor?” This ally, this protector. Was it Runar's alone?

“Twyla had always believed the Star Mother controlled the visions of the sky.”

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The mountain king nodded, a smile warm on his lips, “Aye, god of thunder, lightning, storms— amongst others. Symbol of strength. Fitting, no?” It was hard to argue with his prestige. Particularly strong storms were loud enough to deafen a wolf and leave one's ears ringing. If you were especially unlucky, then you might meet your fate at the strike of his bolt. Runar's mother had seen it once, though it was before he was born. A woman on trial, struck down at the height of her judgment. He could only wonder what she had done to anger him so.

“Runar knows no 'Star Mother'. She is god of visions?” He couldn't say he was told of one responsible for visions specifically, but there was Heimdall. Heimdall is no prophet, but he can sense danger. Had he been a woman, he might assume this was the so-called "Star Mother". “This is god you trust? Protector?” For as mighty as they were, not every god had concerns for the lives of mortals.
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“Strength.” Kustikāne. Yes, she knew the word well, but never had she thought to give it a name. To even presume others resided alongside her goddess—friends, family, just as she had. The thought of it was...surprisingly mortal. Twyla's gaze turned to the storm then, lips upturning into a small smile. “Do you fear Thor?” She supposed she did. How could she not when he wielded the strength of light and storm?

But was Runar not a pillar of strength, himself? He was a man, a leader, living within a mountain and carrying the weight and the burden of them all. She did not think she could do it if she were put in his position. Did not think she could rise to the task, or be adequate enough to ensure the smoothness as he did.

At the mention of her own goddess, Twyla's demeanor brightened. “She is of many things. She is...mighty much like Thor. In body, spirit.” Her eyes tracked the movements of the lightning, as swift as she was smitten with nature. “The Star Mother does not bend light, but she brightens when dark. Star Mother. She speaks with the stars. A guide. A home. Heaven.” A place for the many to fall when their feet grew tired and their mind worthy. A place to reconcile after a world wrought with pain and sacrifice.

Her stare fell to him then. “She is my everything. Proctector, yes. You have something like?”

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Runar tilted his head at her question. “Perhaps,” The strength of Thor was a might he never wished to face, “but he has only been kind. Mighty presence, yet no harm to Runar or family. Loud” He’d bellow a laugh as he tacked on the last thought. Ironic in many ways considering he was not know for being quiet either.

An ear twitched in Twyla’s direction as she spoke more of her mothering stars, the sparked glint of her eyes far from lost on him as something seemed to awaken. Runar knew gods could be of many things, but this star mother was a heaven? “Runar…is confused. Star Mother watches heaven realm or is Star Mother realm?” as far as he knew, there were only nine realms, none of which bore the name Heaven. Several dedicated to afterlife’s, some to mortals, and the rest were lands of the gods.

“Protectors, yes, some. Others wrathful, bear gifts to please and receive gods favor. Some asked for blessing like love or hunt. Mother always said gods much like us. They feel, think, hold grudge. Better to respect and hope respect back.”
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She would have to remember this Thor. Though her soul was tied to her Star Mother, perhaps she could find an offering to give also to the entity who could bend light. Another guardian, another god. She could do this for Vanderfell. do this for them. A smile broke still lips at Runar's next comment, the boom of thunder overhead only proving his remarks tenfold. Loud, indeed. But she did not mind.

Twyla's attention shifted to the tender words of her elders, to the lessons she was given as she grew from softpaw. She did not realize the difficulty of explaining her faith to someone who did not already know. She was used to those who shared her beliefs, used to those who taught her more of it.

Twyla's mouth parted but any words fell silent, falling flat on the surface of her tongue. “Both, Twyla thinks.” She did not know the true distinction between the two, but the answer seemed right—true. “Though Runar may have a different name.”

“Receive favor?” Many questions. Many confusions. “Twyla never think to ask of anything.” For what more did she deserve than the honor of knowing them at all? Of a purpose that transcended the earth? “Does Runar speak to mighty gods?” Does he hold their counsel?

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Runar tipped his head to the end of Twyla's answer. Another name, very possible, but which he'd never know. Perhaps it was the difference in how their stories were told, the familiarity of her people and how they viewed the gods versus his own family. Well know as the gods may be, who was to give them their name if not those who spoke of them? For now, Twyla's answer would suffice. It was not common, but Star Mother would not be the first realm watched by the god of matching names. “I see...” His thoughts bubbled out on his tongue as the storm brewed on, a gust of wind proving a swift reminder of the coming force.

The mountain king nodded once, “Request not always given, but asking never hurts... so long as tribute is sufficient. Weddings are not only a time for gifts to the pair but also for the gods to watch over them. That love will thrive, and should family begin, safe pregnancy. Come spring we ask Ullr for bounty in forest. Ullrcraig was named in his honor.” Another smile cracked his maw as he leaned Twyla's direction, “Runar thinks he liked that. Vanderfell has never a day of hunger. Winter brings less, but we still are fed.”

“As for Runar, depends. Directly? Not often, more in passing. The gods are mysterious, never speak directly. Runar finds confusing to decipher, so I live knowing they are there, minding my step, and hope they take Runar's favor in mind. So far has worked out...” The hint of a frown pressed his lips, his brows twitching a hair together as he spared the memories of those who have passed in the last year. Grandfather was old, his time had simply come. Renn was lost too soon, and his father? Runar wasn't sure. Either way, they had all found their place in the next life. Where they had ended up, he wasn't sure, but they were either waiting or watching, living what comes next.
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She wished she could provide more, slip around the terms she was so used to in her home language, and give him the answer he so sought. An answer she sought just as much to give. Twyla's ears fell to the side as she tilted her head at him, soft wonders slipping through curious eyes. “Difficult to explain in common. Twyla knows no strong or many words good enough.” A downfall for her, to be sure. She'd have to better herself if she was to spread such knowledge. She might have to better someone else so that she might have her own comfort and familiarity to fall back on.

And then the word again. Weddings. She did not know this word, but how he'd explained it reminded her of their own unities. Starbonds and Evervows. “Twyla's clan celebrated such. Not many love where she comes from, but honored few. Those who deserved love, found it. Even if such love was lost along the way.” Her father had lost the love, gained one anew through a power she would never understand. He had killed his child, his starbound, and yet, was he not still alive? Still thriving, somewhere, somehow?

Twyla thoughts fell forfeit in the face of Runar's words, his low comments pulling a soft chuckle from a warm chest. “Vanderfell is worthy. Not nūmāzma—mean. Worth the honor. Is Mighty Runar blessed with god name?” How many were? How many offerings had been children? Would hers, if she ever dared have them?

Twyla nodded lightly. “Perhaps listening, but busy—too busy for Runar. Actions are enough. Many blessings they have given.” The land was plentiful, the trees ever-growing and the water plentiful. Among them, Twyla had found no sour soul in sight. Even travelers amidst the outer territories had greeted her with kindness, blessed in their own sense for having survived. “Twyla thinks they favor King Runar. He has kept their land alive, his people safe. He is doing well.”

“Rōvēgrie jentys.” — Great leader.

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don't feel like you have to match this you're just giving me a lot to ramble about since im still feeling runar out :'^)

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This time Runar would fully allow his brows to furrow as he looked over Twyla's face, “Does Twyla believe not all are deserving of love?” He could hardly speak on the subject. Growing up with family meant he had love, but it was not the same as a romantic lover. He had never had a crush, never had the chance to fall for someone, as most wolves who lived in Vanderfell were much older, if not family. In their own way, he'd view them too as part of that family. A hum filled his throat before she might respond as he continued, “Runar hopes you find love. Whatever form it might take.” He was not sure what life was like in this pack of hers, but it sounded quite lonely if only few knew love. In all honesty, he could not fathom what a family was without love, but perhaps that was what drove her head back to open skies. A source of comfort she could not find on the ground.

It warmed him to hear her next words. Vanderfell had never been mean, not in his eyes, but to know someone who was not birthed here felt the same, that they could find comfort and a space for themselves, it meant that they were following the roots of his family's foundation. Even with his mother's receding guidance and the absence of his father, Vanderfell had not faltered under his paws. “Nuhmahzah—” The word was butchered as he tried to repeat the foreign saying, “No, Runar hopes not. Never Nuhmahzah, but fierce if challenged. We must protect our own, and our allies.”

Blessed with god name? The mountain king's head would tilt again, “No, Runar does not think so. No god Runar, as far as I have been told. Means warrior,” He pulled a paw to his chest, “Keeper of secrets, wise, though this Runar still has much to learn.” He had to agree with her assessment though; Vanderfell prospered even in the face of their trials, but that was the life of mortals, was it not? Even gods had their plights, and they were far more mighty than any of them could hope to be. A flush kissed his skin at the compliment, a sense of falsehood swallowing him in accepting her praise.

“Runar...appreciates Twyla's words. But he has done little for Vanderfell. Vanderfell is product of parents hard work; it has only recently been given to me. But that is Runar's hope.” He wasn't sure what her words meant, but he could only assume they followed the rest of her sentiment. The boisterous man's voice dampened as his neck craned to the clouds nearing overhead. Vanderfell had not lived without its struggles, but they have survived. He only hoped that what Twlya said rang true, that they were blessed, that they might stay alive and well. That they would find safety so that no one else had to die. It was much to think about for someone so young, freshly thrust to the helm with sword in hand and a people to protect. “Storm grows close,” It was a safe change in topic, “Would be wise to seek shelter before it breaches summit.”
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you're welcome to reply again or we can fade here! <3

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Twyla's brows drew close but it was a gentle smile that hung loosely on her maw. How lucky was he to find disbelief in her words, to not know the horrors of things undeserved. She was glad for him, hopeful that he never would. She would think it might take away from his strength and confidence, that it might instill a cowardice for love. An anger he did not deserve. But she would be truthful with this, honest because that was all she'd received in turn.

A breath, “Love...found in many place. But love for another soul given...carelessly in Twyla's history. Father loved mother, and father killed.” She did not find pain in the recognition of her mother's death, nor her own; it was a blessing, an escape for them both. She only wished her brother could've found the same. “Love does not kill, King Runar. Love heals. Love in stars, love in person, love in duty—it is home, not threat.”

Many deserved love, but her father wielded the emotion and the word like a blade. If no one else, he was most undeserving of love. And unlike the fate he wished for her, Twyla had found her love—a purpose that set her soul alight. “Twyla has love. Faith is love. She is full.” She did not know if she could love another, if she could relinquish her stars enough to allow the space for another in her heart. Could she be supported in the demanding endeavors of her faith? Would it be a love even worth living when it was shared? Twyla didn't know.

Twyla's lips spread at his struggle, but he was close! A few lessons and the word would come easily, the enunciation effortless. “Nuu-mayz-mah.” She enunciated slowly for him, mirth sprinkled in her tone. “Twyla fierce. Strong too, she thinks, but kind. Words better than fight.” She had only once wielded such anger, a rage that pulled at the primal parts of her being. She never wished to feel that way again.

Twyla could linger on the cliffside forever, speaking of her home and Runar speaking of his. There were many questions she still had, yearnings to know why it was he that inherited such a kingdom and no one else. How it all worked, how he carried it even still. He spoke less of himself but his parents would not have passed him the will of the mountain if they did not think he was worthy of it, same with the gods he so spoke of. That alone was deserving of recognition even if he did not believe so.

But Twyla did not utter her thoughts. Instead, she heeded his words and allowed herself to nod reluctantly. Painful as it was to pry herself from the view, he was right. The land needed its rejuvenation, not she, and beautiful as it may be, she did not wish to plummet off the cliffside with a careless wind. And with Runar's warning, it would seem his gods did not wish to smite her just yet. “Perhaps you are right.” She hummed lowly, casting a wayward glance behind her at the impending storm before she slips toward their descent.

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I got interrupted like 10 times trying to write this so if its a mess or I forgot somewhing whoops thanks for the threaddddd

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A frown soured the High King's lips as Twyla began, her words vague but loud enough to paint a picture. “That is not love.” His voice was stern, barely rising above the rumbling thunder. Perhaps her father once had love, but you do not harm those you love, let alone take from them. But it seemed Twyla was of the same mind as she continued. He looked to her, almost like a child given an unhappy bedtime story, with brows drawn tight and pulled with sympathy, “Runar is glad Twyla knows love...even if she must endure false love.”

Runar huffed, letting the sour taste in his mouth disperse and the tension in his shoulders ease. A nod of agreement was offered as he found himself aligning more with Twyla's words. “That is what Runar said, no?” The icelandic hint that weighed his tongue caused his brows to furrow as Runar tried again, “Nuumahyzmah.” ...Well it wasn't worse, but he hardly saw the difference. Perhaps with time he could understand. The mountain king grunted, his next words muttered beneath his breath, “Runar try again later.” For now it was time to move and seek shelter.
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