Worlds Away

Things were still unbelievable to the fallen king. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the reality that he was where he was. Emotions were high, running through the beast in rivers. Blasting waves at him like tsunamis. Flooding him from the inside out. But what usually came of it was just anger.

Evident by the sneer on a finely chiseled, marred face as he sat by the frigid waters, choosing a large enough rock to perch upon. The wind was bitter, the night was young. His exhales blew out in visible plumes of carbon, his one working eye glaring down at his rather regal reflection.

A warrior king. Now alone, now dismantled. Everything he had worked for, everything he had fought for, was gone in one instant. It made it all seem so useless, so worthless. Deep down White Timber knew it wasn’t, but it was still that overwhelming emotion of - he’s lost it all.

And it pissed him off.

A low growl bubbled deep within a broad chest and rumbled audibly in the otherwise silent passing twilight hour.
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Laith had yet to leave the strange lake they’d woken up on. It was as good a place to think as any, he figured. Pacing around the shoreline got him nowhere, but where else could he go? He could remember nothing - even his dreams were muddled and confusing.

His name was Laith. He was helping… someone. That was all.

They sighed softly through their nose, still strangely grateful for the clean air filling his lungs. As though his body remembered something horrible that his brain refused to acknowledge, and he supposed that was a blessing in its own right.

It was a nice night - cold, yes, but clear and quiet. Laith had paced the circumference of the lake over and over by now, their paws raw and cracked and stinging beneath them. They’d have to figure out something to put on their pads sooner or later, but that wasn’t their priority right now.

He paused when the silence was suddenly broken - a low, threatening growl that halted Laith in his tracks.

It seemed he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

A hulking figure, much larger than Laith himself, hunched by the water. They were little more than a silhouette in the darkness, and the sheer size of them, coupled with the depth and volume of that growl, struck a chord of fear in Laith’s chest. But it hadn’t seemed to be directed at him, and perhaps this wolf was just as lost as Laith was.

Steeling himself, he approached the figure.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” they ventured, halting a few meters away from the stranger, just in case.

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A voice was heard but it was not acknowledged right away. It said that they had hoped they weren't interrupting anything. Unfortunately, the Fallen King had no idea if they were or not. He kept his one working eye on his reflection though, watching intently as his visage did not change in order to speak to the individual who had come upon him. His eye was still blank, perhaps slightly angered with the furrowed brow above it, but his expression remained painfully stoic. As was per his usual. After a few moments, a low rumble reverberated from deep within his broad chest as a means of regarding the stranger before words took form. 

"Not interrupting. Join me."

Baritones leisurely spoke, and though the tone was drone-like and prone to previous regality, his expression was still the same. However, deep down he did feel like maybe he was thankful for the company. How long had it been since he had hosted anyone? How long had it been since he even entertained the thought of conversation? Too long, really. So much so that the Once King could not remember when the last time was that he held any kind of interest in someone else. He had been wallowing, and with that fact came its own package of pathetic shame that he had to deal with. 

"What's your name?"

It was a far cry from his usual bidding, his normal temperament, his regular commanding of those around him as he is accustomed to. But the day was different, the era changed. He was no longer in his home where he sat the throne and wore the heavy crown. Here - he was no body. Here - he held no such commands. And he wasn't sure he was willing to rebuild after all those years wasted. 

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For a moment, Laith wondered if he’d even been heard at all. The massive stranger didn’t so much as angle an ear in his direction, didn’t lift his gaze from whatever he was seeing in the mirrored surface of the lake. And then, another rumble - acknowledging, this time, rather than angry.

An assurance and an invitation. Laith felt themself relax significantly, shoulders dropping into something more neutral and less guarded.

Slowly, they approached, and took a seat near the other man. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look into his own reflection - something in him wouldn’t allow it - and busied himself with alternating between studying the stranger and their surroundings. Up close, they found that he was concerningly scarred - a battle seasoned warrior, it seemed. Older, as well, and visibly deep in thought. Laith didn’t allow their eyes to linger for too long, not wanting to make the man uncomfortable with prolonged staring, and turned their attention up toward the sky instead.

What’s your name?

Glad to be asked a question he had an answer to, the healer offered a polite smile. “My name is Laith,” they responded. At least that they could be confident in - at least they still carried a name with them. Brown eyes flicked back over to the scarred man.

“And yourself?” he prompted, tail sweeping once behind him. “What should I call you?”

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