I see no reason to wake up

Time slipped by without notice, without reverence, without acknowledgement.

Where he had been, he couldn't remember. There were vague memories, hazy, covered in a mind fog that he could not be bothered to sweep away. Flashes of something in the ether, of his brother, of his raven-friend. Stretches of dark, of ice and snow, of battle and blood.

The Halls of the All-Father?

Perhaps.

---

He stood, a feral, unkempt looking thing, plush fur windswept and mottled here and there by scars that he didn't remember receiving, a taste of blood in his mouth that he didn't remember taking. The stain of crimson across his muzzle, the drop that fell to the snow beneath his paws, matched the color of his eyes — fresh enough to drip, old enough to pull at the shortened fur of his face in a just-this-side of uncomfortable manner.

Those same eyes blinked closed and opened, a sharpness to his gaze that had always been present, though not quite as honed. Familiarity stuck like lightning, hard and fast, though it did little to shake him or the stern look that held his countenance. He knew this place, a distant memory pushing through the fog to show him how and why, though more quickly followed.

Ice. A wakening. A fire-spitting dragon. His brother, the warrior. His sister, the poppy. His brother, the envious.

As if the memories called it forth, a breeze pushed across the grotto before him, carrying a scent that finally drew a reaction from the statuesque Northman. It was small, imperceivable to those who weren't watching him closely, a simple flick of an ear, a twitch of his tail, but it was a reaction all the same. It was also a catalyst to his next movement.

His head lifted, a short call seeking her rising and then falling just as quickly. His posture resumed, the same unmoving statue that he had been this entire time.

---

Stjor has simply reappeared, as if it was his first post on Canis! please treat it as such <3 Tagging the mentions! ily all. @"Thalia" @Solpallur @Rökkvi @Valmúa

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Thalia had no reason to be territorial until now. She simply didn't need to unless it was just being territorial over her own damn personal space or some piece of flesh she was still eating, but ever since they had arrived to the grotto for a place to settle until another place more suitable came along - she patrolled. Regularly so.

Thankfully they were relatively secluded here. Few passed by the smell of things, and now fewer would do so with the scent of a small group of them laying claim.

Light from above filtered through the ice, illuminating the caverns in a dull blue light. She wasn't one to really appreciate beauty and so it went mostly unnoticed. What the dragonness did notice was a certain stench that tickled her senses. No fucking way. She thought, raising to pad her way toward the entrance - pace quickening as she heard a summons.

“Well well well —” She had a whole speech ready, speaking and letting the echoes of the cave carry her voice further and deeper, only to be cut short as something else came blurting out seeing something she wasn't expecting. “The fuck happened to you?”

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Movement drew his gaze, cold and wild like the blizzard-heavy wilds he was born of. The wind died and ears shifted forwards to catch her words, her voice, her attitude. Like she was pulled straight from his memory, she came to him now, her inner fire no less bright, no less magnetic to him than it had been before.

Still, he made no movement, save for the smallest tilt of his head as he thought how to answer. Was there an answer? A better question might have been did he know how to answer her?

Jaws parted, a low and rough gravel to his voice that spoke of its lack of use. “Ég veit ekki.” He was slow to remember that the dragon did not speak his language, and so shook his head instead, trying to recall the words of the common tongue. They were distant, more distant than his memories of the last few months. “Do not know,” he would answer her finally, frustration flickering through him as he struggled with the words.

“This place —” Maroon eyes looked behind her to the caves they had clashed at before, so many moons ago, before they returned to her strong form. “Þín? Yours?”
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Someone looked like absolute dog shit and Thalia was certain it wasn't her out of the two here. Stjor here looked like not only was he swallowed up like the mountain he and his folk claimed earlier, but was shat out as well - and not in a good way either. Like the shit was dry and of the constipated type. Very low on the satisfying scale.

The guided man spoke and she frowned. Ready to chew him out for speaking that fucking language he knew she didn't understand and it was what had her leave his mountain in the first place. Thankfully he corrected himself before she could spit hot fire his way. “That makes two of us I suppose.” She said with a smirk. Found just a little bit of humour in the sight of this poor sap in front of her.

“It is now.” A proud declaration as she lifted her head high above her shoulders. Feeling taller than he judging by their own postures. “You called, so what do you want?” She was a friendly as Thalia could be. He hadn't been completely unpleasant to her and so she took it one step at a time... ready to chase him off if necessary, but ready and willing to hear him out.

And if he was lucky, maybe lend a helping paw if he needed it. Maybe. Thalia wasn't going soft any day soon after all.

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He huffed at her comment, hot breath furling in the cold air between them. Tongue swept across his muzzle as he contemplated her words, ultimately leaving them to fall away in the quiet morning. With the sun just beginning to breach the horizon, the two stood seemingly at odds, though they had always been that way in Stjörnuáti's mind. She was of the fire, and he was of the ice. Perhaps that was why they acted like they did to each other, though that did not explain her draw.

A smirk pulled at one side of his now slightly less dirty muzzle, pride glinting in those cold eyes as she proclaimed her status. It suited the untameable creature before him, to lead and claim for herself; he would have been surprised to find her allowing herself to be beneath any other. Even him. Although...

The smirk widened, the impure thought flashing across his mind in response to her question. Never had they come close but not for lack of wanting. The Northman was not impatient, and would sooner wait for the right opportunity to present itself rather than rushing headlong into the fire.

“To see a face familiar,” He ground out finally, coat rustling as the breeze picked up for a moment. The answer was incomplete, however, and while he was feral and savage, Stjörnuáti was no fool. Right now, she was all he had, and while he was strong enough by himself, there was no point in remaining alone. “Shelter. Food.” He knew what he was requesting right then, and knew that she would surely make a show of dominating him. Something he wouldn't necessarily be opposed to, under the right circumstances.
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As much as the cream-coated man annoyed her, burned a fire into her soul brighter and hotter than anyone which made her want to lash out furiously - she was intrigued. He kept coming back. Sniffing around despite their shared teeth and venom. He was equally a challenge to her as she was to him. Neither willing to buckle under the other or give in to their status.

Nor did he flee at the challenge as most men did. For that, she had to give him some points where others lacked.

He cracked a smile and her eyes were drawn to it. To that mischevious grin and she was suspicious of what was going on in that thick head of his. What was he up to? Unlike Pike or Tennessee, he was unpredictable in a dangerous, but intriguing way.

While he grinned she frowned. Tilting her head to observe him with a sideway, one eyed glance. Then she smiled. Again, finding how the shift between then was just so damn funny. “I suppose you can stay.” Shrugging, he did allow her to roam on his mountain previously after all until she stormed off. “But you'll be our Delta. Not some freeloader. You won't be stuck here but you will pull your weight so long as you are using our resources.”

Carefully she watched the man... wondering if he would take it or be too prideful.

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Gamma. The word meant little to him but the gilded male had enough knowledge and context to figure out what it was that she was saying. A snort, a lash of his tail as he weighed the opportunity before him. She knew him to be no freeloader — he was almost offended at the thought — but she also knew that he was not one to take anything lying down. Not even her bullshit.

“For now,” He answered, cryptic in its intention. Was he implying his stay, his rank, his consumption of their food? Stjörnuáti did not elaborate.

“What does lítill dreki call her clan?” It was the first full sentence he had spoken, the ease of it surprising him though he masked it well. The question, the banter, though spoken in rough tones, was just as familiar as the woman before him was. Perturbed, the man shook the settling snow from his coat before resuming his stoic posture, blinking intelligent eyes at her.
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The man's reaction to his given title didn't go unnoticed. Autumn ears fell back ready for a challenge to be issued here and now - but none occurred. He was planning something, she was certain of it. Especially with his following response of for now being uttered with that accent of his. A part of her was certain she had misheard him thanks to the undertones of a foreign language lacing his answer.

His following question brought a more shit eating green to her face. Knowing very well the title of choice they had taken for their group was completely untraditional. Stupid even; and she loved it. But would he? The dragonness couldn't help but cackle as she spoke what group he had just agreed to joining for the sake of some companionship and shelter. “Enemies of the Sheep!” While he was stoic, reserved and poised - she laughed. Tossing her head up in the air, having no shame in the silly title they had given themselves and instead an odd sense of pride in how little care she gave in the seriousness of it all.

“Welcome to our ranks.” She said as if she was trying to twist some kind of metaphorical knife into his sides.

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His lip curled at the name, ears laying back against his skull in distaste. “Why.” He demanded this of her, snorting his derision into existence. “Name heimkur — stupid. Drekahreiðrið better. Dragon's Nest.” Anything other than that.
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His disdain was clear as day. It seemed he wouldn't quite roll over despite being currently on the lowest rung they had. While he frowned, she grinned. It felt good to be on this side of things. The one who was gleeful, taking pleasure from their frustration. “It's because you hate it, that's why we're keeping it.” Not to mention why name the pack something she couldn't even possibly remember how to pronounce. No, this was way easier.

And a lot more fun too if he was going to pout about it.

“This is my pack now, so we do as I say.” And she would slap on all the saucy sass as she spoke, how her decision was made. How she wasn't going to budge just because one of them complained. “Take it or leave it star man~” With that she'd strut by him to start her day. After all, she was famished.

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His eyes narrowed as she answered so simply. The pair of them had always aimed to dig in beneath the skin of the other and it seemed that, at the very least, had not changed. However he had ended up here, however he had come to stand before her in this moment, things were not so wildly different that Stjörnuáti did not trust it. Rather, some part of him was comforted that her bite remained as sharp as ever.

This did not mean that he wouldn't bite back. No, the drottning — queen was in for the time of her life if she thought he would roll over so easily for her. He did not do so for anyone, not even the fire spitting dragon-woman. This was punctuated with a sharp snip of his teeth to her flank, a familiar movement between the two but no less incendiary than his foreign words. He meant to bother, meant to irritate her, a familiar movement in the face of the uncertain way he had ended up here.
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She knew she didn't win this little verbal match of theirs. Just because he was silent it didn't mean it was over. No, even she grew silent when the threat was imminent. The calm before the storm as the weather prepared for the worst.

For once she had the upper seat here, and unless he was already so ready to challenge for a rank - he had best keep quiet and to himself. Head down and do as he was told least he wanted trouble to keep swinging his way.

The snip to her flank didn't reward a clash of fangs, not this time while she was in such a good mood. Instead with her feet she gathered as much as her toes could carry and flung it to his face. An act not much different than when a dog was burying its shit.

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He saw the movement moments before she went through with it, saw the way her muscles coiled, the way her nails bit into the lightly packed snow. Head turned, the groundfall and dirt peppering his coat with little impact. Of course, he didn't act as if it had little impact, instead surging forward to knock his head against her small flank before his teeth found the middle of her spine and nipped once, not so gentle before he moved again.

This time, it was quick, subtle; a sweep of his tongue beneath her chin. It was the only acknowledgement he give of her status above him in this moment, too perturbed and exhausted to continue on with their foolishness for the time being. Stjörnuáti needed a nap, and some time alone to gather his thoughts.

He attempts to exit
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She couldn't give two shits how tired he was. It was evident on his face and lack of interest in really fighting back this time, but that was only a sign of weakness in the moment that Thalia could not pass up. They would not be a cruel pack, seeking to be cruel to each other and anyone else near by - but they would not coddle either.

His little defiant nip would certainly go answered. Even his little lick under her chin should have been acknowledgement enough - but of course it wasn't.

Whipping around to catch him as he passed, she made the move to jump onto his back. To wrap her own arms around his hips and attempt at grabbing his scruff in a woman's way to mount a man. He was her bitch now after all; and she'd remind him of that with every little game he'd try to play.

Exit denied.

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