favorite find

  waddling through the throngs of ivory snow, large paws left rather small imprints. stubby legs forced themselves to trudge forward, to put distance between himself and the overly crowded den. as a boy from a seemingly large family- he enjoyed the peace that the silent forest brought. just like a river, he never stepped into the same forest twice.

  months have since passed, and the youngster was *finally* six months old. old enough to be considered a man, truly. or thats what he believed. it's how he managed to find himself fo far away from home. to lurk along the borders. if his parents found out how far he'd gone, he'd get his butt chewed out. they would drown him in chores and force him to look after his younger siblings. *ick*. no thanks.

  as tawny meshed into darked earth tones, start charcoal black added an interesting texture to the boys appearance. he was tall, but a bit pudgy - clearly not fully grown into his size and extra skin. his fur was thick and long, which added a much needed blanket to fight back against the north wrath. so when his eyes, eyes that did not match his family's, landed upon a smaller frame, he paused.

  poking out against the barren backdrop, was a honey slicked... girl? draped in dark hues of melted gold and a rust laid the most gorgeous gem he had ever seen... not that he's ever really seen a girl.

  based off first glance and smell, she was not from his home, not from his pack. she did however, smell heavenly. twisting his nose to the sky, the young man took a few initial whiffs before letting himself almost savor the flavor. pineapple, cedar, and... another miscellaneous scent all sent chills down his spine. how could someone so young smell so... good? was that weird? didn't all girls smell good? surely she would not be the first, and she would not be the last. but she would be his secret favorite.

  "hello?" fjórir finally spoke. his voice was soft, maybe even a bit hoarse. his gentle nature came from his mother, while his fury and vigor was rooted from his father. though it was a mix of them that told him to move closer. so, he did.

  inching forward, the boy got close enough that there was a few feet between them. enough room for both to breathe. enough room for him to recognize if he took too many steps, he would be outside the border. he would be.. out..outside the border. OUTSIDE. THE BORDER. *wait till he rubs it in his siblings face*. the first to break free of the group. suck on that, losers.

  remembering the task at hand, his pale, almost lifeless green eyes roamed over the girl before seeing... seeing what he thought was blood. "are you allt í lagi? (okay)"
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Ylva was the troublemaker out of her litter, the boldest pup despite her inherent weakness as the smallest pup. She was the runt, scrawny despite her thick fur and lanky like all youth still needing to grow into their extra skin were. Where her parents expected her untimely death, the little girl defied all odds and instead thrived. She might have been small, but she had the might of all her ancestors before her.

So it wasn't a surprise when the six month old pup grew bored watching her siblings fight and instead sought her own adventure, ditching her important life lessons for exploration instead.

What she hardly expected was the hungry bear that just woke up from hibernation to come around the corner and chase her down to a sheer cliff edge. The way she saw it, she could jump to her certain doom or face this starving boar in an effort to slip past him and run for home. However, any rescue let alone hope for escape was slim to none and that was only further proved when the bear grew tired of the wait and made the decision for her. What neither one expected was for the great bears weight to cause a collapse of the shale and send them both spiraling to the mountain side.

A rogue swing of the bear strikes her leg, a pained puppyish yelp leaving her lips from the sudden and visceral agony tearing through her at the severing of flesh as two inch wickedly curved claws dug into the meat of her leg. What was, but a brief moment in reality, felt like an eternity before the aches and bruising pains of tumbling to her death registered in her brain.

And then there was darkness.

Only for the sound of a voice, both high pitched in its youth and undeniably boyish, reached her ears and pulled her brain up from the fog of unconsciousness and back into awareness. Slowly with time —the boy sounded worried even as he spoke in a foreign language mixed with her natal tongue— her brain became awake and with it brought forth the unpleasant sensations of her mortal body. The throbbing sting in her leg was proof enough, the golden fur caked with both rock dust and blood. Her body aches with every bruise she undoubtedly acquired after her tumble down a mountain, and her head pounded as if a herd of elk were trampling inside it. What's worse is when she tried to open her eyes only to be blinded by a bright kaleidoscope of colors that sent a stab of pain through her eyes and into her throbbing cranium which only triggered a nauseous feeling in her belly that had her mouth salivating.

A high pitched groan of pain and discomfort left her lips, nose and brows furrowing in obvious signs of discomfort as she slurred out almost drunkenly, "it hurts…"

---

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  the decadent scent of metallic danced through the air, and the painting the young girl left behind was abstract. it was vibrant and it was clearly unintentional. from her wound, which was the most gruesome thing he had yet to see, was leaking pools of plasma. just the smell alone was overwhelming, but he couldn't pull back. instead, the young boy merely stared at the body. along the heartiest part of her leg were long strips of mangled flesh, ripped to tatters by what he could only assume was a large predator.

  the north was harsh, and his family knew that best. they lived and thrived along these powdered peaks, creating generational wealth and prosperity for their pack. though it seemed this girl had some determination herself. not many pups survived any type of attacks. they were still clunky with their mechanics and their bark was far worse than their bite. yet, this welp was fighting back tears and instead groaned out it hurt.

  snapping back to the task at hand, fjórir wasted no time in reeling in the distance between them. his broad and chunky build loomed over her small and seemingly frail one as he lowered his skull to gently tap the girl. "dont move," was her only warning before he jammed his snout under her side. clearly - he was not graceful. even with sisters, the boy didn't normally handle others with much care. he was a brute, through and through.

  barreling through her, he finally found the other side and scooped her up. at this point, she would lay along his back, her face facing the floor as her paws dangled on the other side of his flank. "laga sjálfur (fix yourself)," he said with a surprisingly soft tone. she was a stranger who was in pain, he could recognize that. there also seemed to be a language barrier that would prove to be difficult, but from her accent alone, he was sure his mother could speak to her.

  a bit uncomfortable with the sudden weight that now pushed down against his spine, fjórir began his trek back home - one paw at a time.

  "who... are," he fumbled for a moment, his brows etching closer together as he tried to find the correct word, "you?"
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  maybe he should leave her, the boy thought as he hauled the girl through the layers of snow. the movements were far from graceful, but the young one did his best to keep from jarring the golden crusted girl. not that it would matter - so it seemed.

  the pudgy pup had hardly made it a few measly feet before the stench that rolled off her tongue made his stomach clench and pucker. he had no time to react before piping hot liquid rushed against his neck, searing and seeping into his puppy fluff. chunks of gods knows what - no.. he did know what, clinging to his roots. the smell and the sensation alone made the contents of his stomach swirl in protest. they barged against his stomach lining, threatening to surge up his throat. but he forced it down.

  the boy's entire body went rigid. what muscle there was grew taut like a notched arrow, ready to be set free. the northern winds, seemingly in a playful mood, decided to decend upon the pups and remind the poor boy just how cold his home was. the once intensely hot spot where she rocket shot the most vile projectile vomit none of his siblings could rival, turned to icicles of puke. oh - he was going to need a bath, and this girl was going to owe him a massive favor.

  just as quickly as he stopped, fjórir pushed forward again, heading in the direction of his den. however this time, he made sure to be a bit more mindful of his footing. the last thing he needed was layers to his chunky and hardening fur.

  "where is your hurt from?" he questioned, trying to find the right word for wound. if they did not get back to his den quick enough, he worried she may die upon his spine. worse - the blood she's leaking leading unnecessary predators to their paws.

  at least she was warm.
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It had been some time since the regal man had last drawn breath, remembering a full life in which he lay for his last sleep between his beloved and perfect wives. Even in the beginnings of their triangular puppy love, Eidur had known that his life lay with them, cradled between their gentle paws; that deep, thrumming call that pulled them all apart eventually.

And pulled them back together as well.

His waking was nothing special aside from the obvious conjuring of a bear-like wolf. The wind might have picked up a touch but really, that could have just been him noticing that he could suddenly feel what could have been the caress of an old friend.

Was this Valhalla? Was this where his father and his father’s father had been received after their victorious, honored deaths in battle and war?

Eidur could not be sure.

The only thing he was sure of was that his nose was boxed with the solid paw of scent; a pungent, foul scent draped over a softer smell that could not be ignored. A sick pup was never ignored, his or not. His wives would have had his head if he left a child in need out on their own.

Great paws carried his weight forward, an uncanny feeling lacing his first steps in this new world. The feeling would dissipate as he drew ever closer to, not one but two young wolves, the boy doing his best to carry the sick one.

“Þú þarna. Strákur. Leyfðu mér að hjálpa. — You there. Boy. Allow me to help.”
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  words that shook the very foundation he walked upon forced the pup to snap his puke covered skull in the goliath's direction. his body was forged like a mountain, sculpted from bronze and stone. he was a man of the north.

  but a man he did not know.

  fjórir felt his heart surge as the fur that lined his spine reach for the heavens despite being slicked down by either a body of frozen contents. a thunderous, or what he assumed was a thunderous and menacing growl, rattled against his ribs as he slowly positioned himself in a way that would force the elder man to take him head on. his movements were slow, cautious as he backed away, keeping in mind of the girls placement. he needed her flesh out of his way, and discarding her in a far enough place while being able to take his foe head-on was the best he could think of.


  “hver ert þú? — who are you?”,the boy stated with a steadiness his legs did not convey. he was young, clearly from the shag of his pelt and the lack of muscle that lined his physique. but like his father and his father's before him, he hoped, stood tall and brave in moments like this. the girl was in his protection. he brought her upon his back and decided to take her home. he needed to defend her.

  “þetta er lén sem tilheyrir Hrafnsvaktin. fara. — this domain belongs to Hrafnsvaktin. go.”.
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She'll be honest. Everything was starting to get weird. The feeling of weightlessness was disorienting and it made her skin prickle in a way she could find no words to describe. The words of the boy slurred together and she started to struggle to understand what he was asking. She did manage to parse together his question though which at this point, she would take. “Head,” she grunted out, before her eyes squeezed shut and she became nearly catatonic. The agony in her leg was minor at this point compared to the dizziness of her head.

And then she passed out for a moment before coming back to the sound of voices. The boys a d a deeper, more gruff voice. A mans. She was unaware of the danger they were potentially in, but she managed to stay awake long enough to whine out pitifully, "hurts."

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Icelandic. Hrafnsvaktin.

His eyebrow rose in the face of the boy's not-so-fearsome growl, both impressed by his grasp on the tongue of the northern reaches and his fearless protection of the girl and his home. Few were so bold at such a young age — clearly he was less than a year of age — but for this one to be even when faced with an uncomfortable situation...

His intuition was rarely wrong.

“Hrafnsvaktin, segirðu?” — Hrrafnsvaktin, you say?

He knew the name, fleetingly, but enough to recognize it and remember.

“Ek er kenndr við Eiður af Stormskýl.” — I am known as Eiður af Stormskýli. His head rose, proud and strong. “Vinur þinn er sárþjáður. Ég skal hjálpa þér að flytja hana.” — Your friend is in pain. I will help you move her.
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 the winter solitude that the boy had grown accustomed to seemed to be deteriorating at the seams as the elder spoke. his eyes grew wide, charcoal pupils flooding to the outer rims of his jade orbs. panic, fear, and a blooming curiosity flashed across his facial features in an instant. the boy was breaking himself piece by piece, as if trying to make the added information fit into his mental picture. yet, no matter how hard he tried, twisted, or turned the puzzle, Eiður af Stormskýli did not fit. fjórir's mind physically and mentally could not picture the man. so when their eyes met, the boy let our a small squeak before puffing up his chest in defiance.

 his lingering curiosity remained at a simmer, but the panic and fear eroded into boisterous confidence. "“Eiður af Stormskýli? Það er afi minn sem er löngu farinn. Ekki móðga nafn hans. — Eiður af Stormskýli? that's my grandfather who's since passed. don't insult his name. ” the finality and warning in his tone crystal clear. it didnt matter that the youngster had never met his grandfather, no one got to name drop his grandpa like that. it was insulting to not only the fourth eldest, but also his family's line. honor was at stake!

 furious, fjórir began to open his maw again to lay back into the brute when a soft voice cradled the edges of his ears. the heat of her breath whisked past so quickly, the flare so suddenly gone that the bitter bite of the northern winds left him almost breathless. hurts. the pain in her tone caused the pup to lock his joints. how could he forget? the girl was injured! he had no time to squabble with old brutes. grandpa Eiður would have to forgive him for not teaching this dog a lesson.

 giving the older wolf one last glare, the golden pup turned on his heels and began to make the trek home. his main focus shifting back to the sagging weight that smelled sweetly of pine, cedarwood, and a fragrance he couldn't quite place. she smells nice, the boy thought before crinkling his nostrils at the dried out vomit that clogged his hair. a very quick and ample reminder that girls were foul creatures that always needed help. what a baby.

  “ekki láta snjóinn skella á þér á leiðinni út. — dont let the snow hit you on the way out.”.
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italics are icelandic!

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Grandfather? Eiður looked at the boy with interest renewed, golden eyes searching for some non-existent physical sign that this was one of his lineage. And yet, non-existent wasn't quite true, was it? The familiar almost-gold and blonde pelt, the almost-red-brown eyes...

“Mind your tongue, Son of Stjörnuáti af Stormskýli.” His voice was rolling thunder, deep and gruff as he commanded the whelp's attention. “I will carry her.” It was no longer a question, nor a simple offer.
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