Horizon bound

Deep within the mountains did thunder quake with his every step. Stones parted their paths to fell behind within his tracks . Heavy was his breath—ragged and snoring like that of a ferocious monster.

A large figure, cloaked in darkness and hunched over did he resume. Amber eyes squinting against the cloud rest among the boulders and cliffs did little to mark his way—Long was he lost by sight- but not by heart. Steady did he hear it pumping within his chest—pulling him yonder and skyward for search of the unknown.

That was till scent had caught his attention. Amble did he move, overly cautious and nose pointed towards the earth as he followed till a solid line stood his way. A warning plain as ever. Keep out, go no further.

A sound echoed within the confines of his throat as he peered half-lidded, head tipping and paw reached out as he called loudly into the unknown. Far did it travel, bouncing from stone wall to stone wall only to die on still air.

Steady would he wait, a stone in the mist.

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note for self takes place before the council

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Rare were visitors, even more so within the heights of the mountains she called home. Most straddled the range, preferring the peace of the Run or west facing plains, but the call was clear as ever. The deep tone would reach her ears, unfamiliar yet powerful, as it traveled the stone and beckoned her forth. It was early, and the morning fog tempted lost paws to wander unto fatal depths. Fortunately, she was no stranger to the jagged paths and took them swiftly with grace.

The man in question was slow to decipher, his frame and coloring assisting in his blend with the mountains surrounding. She would see him however as the fog parted for the amber of his eyes. “You stand before the domain of Vanderfell Woods. What brings you, Traveler?” She would waste no time jumping into the heart of things. He had called and she had answered. What came next depended on him.

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A specter through the mist he spots- tall and graceful yet powerful beneath such a guise, much like the mountains around. A poise that demanded attention— no less.

Though shrouded in fog he sees the goldenrod gaze, and bowing gracefully with heavy breath the beast stills upon the alter of this land. Whisps of fur, once tidy have become undone from their place, hanging loosely within the air. It was after a few ragged breaths would he draw back, returning to his towering height to stand amongst the stones. Amongst the stranger.

He thinks on how to respond, the dryness of his lips cracking with every movement before a tongue darts out to moisten. He's buying time. I am looking for something. I am passing through—no.  "I am following my heart." His voice crackles at the edges, rough as the terrain around yet not loud enough to echo.  "Come closer— I bare no harm." 

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The answer that comes is vague, even if it is genuine. Most who called had a story to tell, but it seemed he was not so open as to lay it before her as others had. Instead, he beckoned, kindly as a predator would to prey, with jaws wide open. He had given no reason to draw her suspicion, he had been naught but polite, yet he would gain it anyway. Ira would not move freely knowing what trials lay in her near future. Instead, she grabbed hold of his words and searched for further meaning.

No scents clung to his pelt. Had he been affiliated with those unfavored, it would not be apparent. Even still, he was a stranger with unknown intentions and a frame that did not pose little threat. After a considerable stall of her own, she'd step forth, trusting in her ability and home advantage to favor her outcome should an altercation occur. As she moved, more would be revealed, primarily the broad mark that marred his face and a weight that made her wonder how he had navigated to peaks so high without collapsing.

“So you say.” She was plain with her gaze, caring not if her lingering grew uncomfortable. A wolf of his size could hardly be considered a loner under normal circumstances. Perhaps if he was lucky and skilled in the thick of summer, but even now prey prepared and burrowed away for the coming cold. “And what, pray tell, does your heart yearn for?” What was it that drew him here?

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The woman's apprehension is apparent. Still he stands, relaxed with tired eyes and patience—And with it he is rewarded as she steps forward, shedding the fog much like that of a snake. He notices the matching scar they share, the color of her fur- diluted roan so vivid and peculiar. Then her cheekbones. Raised to rival the mountains around. Every fiber of this woman's being tells of her northern blood and yet—something familiar lurks below the surface. The thin trails of her whispy fur seem to tangle within his thoughts, stuck between his mind and mouth.

The beast purses his brows as he calculates his next move. Again, he is slow to speak. Even slower to move. A massive paw is raised, pointed towards the figure with a single claw out-stretched. "My daughter— you." He offers, breathing loudly into the cold. His breath forming heavy puffs before dissipating into the fog. "Stream of creek."

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She waits as the seconds pass by before a massive paw is raised to point at her. The words that follow hardly register, yet before she can even suggest his confusion, she's turned to stone.

Stream of Creek.

None knew of that name here. None but Hiero. The man's claim had little ground, even if he knew her name, but she saw now she was right to be suspicious. Whoever sired her would either be dead or old by now, and he appeared to be neither. Perhaps they shared similar features, but they lived worlds apart.

“What is this?” She spoke without malice, but made sure it was clear, she was not asking. She was demanding. Perhaps he was from Hengfell, or someone familiar with the scandal that occurred years ago. Regardless, she was certain of one thing, “I have no father.” Even the one who raised her never truly saw himself as one to her.

She was an obligation and more of a chore. Even still, she could not see what he gained coming here, claiming such things. If he wished to lure her in only to disappoint, he'd be sorely disappointed himself. She yearned not for the family she was birthed to. Instead, she created her own and built a foundation that would stand years beyond that crumbling domain.

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The confusion that follows is something he did not forsee. Pursing brows, doubt swallows him for all but a second. But no—there was no mistake. Her figure was so much alike to Venicy- her eyes much like his. She had her mother's face, and peering closely the man finds tightness within his chest. What was once lost was found, living on in another form; Venicy. Vency.

Venicy was gone.

He swallows away the tightness, poised to take a step closer, paw raised and weight teetering beneath three legs before he hesitates. "You do," he urges, voice crackling. He's not sure what to say- what to do to make her see. "You are my daughter. You are Stream of Creek. Born to Hengfell of your mother Venicy—" The urgency in his voice rings clear as he speaks. "...Right?"

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You do. The words were strained on his lips, voice cracking with a hidden weight that poked wounds she had long since forgotten. “No.” Her response had been rushed, even as he continued on. Stream of Creek. Hengfell. Venicy. They were all names she could not deny, but ones she would willingly turn a blind eye to. Ira knew this much, she could not claim the truths placed before her as wrong. There were only two options when confronted by fate; run from it or defy it. What he claimed was not who she was anymore, nor what she had built and proclaimed her own. She would not turn from the path she walked now after coming so far.

“You are a stranger, and you are mistaken.” The only father present in her life is not one who would ever take pride in her existence. She was a burden forced upon his family alongside her sister, and one he only tolerated for so long before his mask had fallen. “Wherever your origin, you stand in lands anew. You will not find what you seek if you keep your gaze to that which has passed.” Even if his word was true, if this was not some cruel joke, it mattered little to her now. He had not been there. He had left them and that was his choice.

Deep in her chest, she could feel her heart thrum. It was an odd feeling, one she was uncertain if it was fear, shock, or something else she had long since stowed away under the labels of hindrance. “Given your confusion, I will ask you this again, but I shan't repeat myself further.” She'd inhale, ensuring her voice rang steady, before pushing the plume of breath through her nostrils. “What is it you now search for, Traveler?” If he could not let go of his past, then she would be sure he was buried by it beneath her. The pit he crawled from was one she had dedicated her life to climbing out from, where she and others disgraced before their time may also see the glory of the sun's light.

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The words spoken are sharp and deep do they cut.

The large figure stares ahead, at her, his brows furrowed in confusion and a heavy frown upon his scarred face. "No?" He responds, bringing his head downwards and out to gently sniff at the trails of wind whipping past her. Without a doubt she is his- even beneath the guise of a new land the woman carries a scent so strong he could never forget. But why? Why had she denied him? Her own flesh and blood. What had happened to turn her so sour since youth? The giant tries not to take her brazen speech personally, tail flicking behind him as ears perk upright before tucking his neck back to its original place.

He stares for some time, amber eyes drinking in her appearance, pleading silently for her to come to senses. As each second ticks by he becomes less sure till finally a deep breath is exhaled through his nose much like hers. With it his features settle into a smile "It's Greyback—" He introduces. "I traveled all this way up here, haven't I? Would be a shame to travel back down. Don't think I'd survive." A chuckle rings under his deep voice, his gaze sliding down towards the steep trail he took.

"You got room for a wayward traveler looking for home, miss?" His voice ends in a question, hoping to inquire about her name.

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Her words only seem to confuse him further as he stares with pleading eyes, though it seemed eventually he would take the hint. Truth or not, blood did not matter here the way it had in Hengfell. He had no place as her father simply because their paths had crossed in the span of fate, nor did she wish for one to enter her life. Perhaps another day she would be open to such a conversation, but as of now he was just as she said. A stranger.

Such titles seemed unfitting though, or so he believed, as a name was offered upon his lips. Despite the conversation that had just taken place, he smiled as if meeting for the first time, or perhaps it was like he was meeting an old friend. He continued with a straying gaze as she too looked to the narrow ledges that clambered the mountain's surface; a suggestion masked beneath his words. Acceptance or not, it seemed he had not been swayed from his goal.

“Yet you wish to settle where the path may never be steady?” It was a genuine question that had been spoken in both literal and metaphorical terms. The Summit could be dangerous, but rewarding to those who settled, and he may never receive the bond he so desires to mend. That being said, Vanderfell was a home to wayward travelers, and he would not be the first to start anew and build from their foundation. “Vanderfell is the home of travelers; lone wanderers of the woods. However, those who stay must contribute.”

She eyed him carefully, curious what he might choose to say. Size alone suggested a warrior, that much she had assumed before, but what he was capable of she was still uncertain. She knew nothing of him, not from Hengfell nor from here. This was one of the few thoughts that consumed her. He claimed his motives, and she held no reason to doubt him, but she had built a family of her own. If he was to join, she must be certain he fit without risk. “What is it you have to earn your place?”

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His question is left unanswered, much to his displeasure. The cold between them was thick, and Greyback would be lying if it didnt get under his skin. Though he did not show it, the blood beneath his coat began to boil, and feigning yet another smile he buried it deep. Stream of Creek was just as thick-headed as him, if not worse. Another indication that she indeed was of his blood.

"Life is anything but steady," he counters, a giant paw reaching outward to the rocks standing before them. "One wrong move and both you and I may be buried beneath this realm of rock and snow. Dare I have two heads?" he guffawed. "I chose this path the moment my paws touched your border. I am not so easily swayed." Hopefully she would get his point. He was here to stay whether she liked it or not. Even turned away the giant would continue to claw at the ice separating them, hoping one day for it chip apart and melt.

He cleared his throat upon the question, his head rolling to the side as if to unkink a strain in his neck. "What is it I have?" he echoed. "As good as any- A body to lend. Be it my ears, my fangs, my strength, or my knowledge. I've walked many lives within my pawsteps. I've battled many foes. Whatever it is you need, I suppose."

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Once more he'd be unswayed, and it seemed he may have been offended she tried. It was a point she'd argue with any who sought her domain, as the mountains could be as cruel as they were kind. Her eyes followed his gesture, though would ultimately settle on his face once more. “So you say.” There had been many who joined before him, many who left without a word. Either soft bellied or selfish, taking what they desired before moving on when they were no longer content. She had hoped more would find the will and bonds to stay, but she'd rather them go than stand wavering.

His answer was as good as any, and she truly believed his potential. He bore scars much like her own, a tale of turmoil and survival, only to grow from the experience. She would never turn away a warrior, not when they were more or less harmless to those she loved. Their enemies grew and those talented enough to hold their own were few, while the rest dedicated elsewhere or remained only whelps. “Very well. We shall see how much you bring. Your paws would do us both well for the winter. Prioritize your strength. Guard those of your new home and ensure the youngest are fed first.” Presently their children outnumbered adults, even if her first brood had joined the adult ranks they were still lacking the talents of those with experience.

“My husband Hieronymous and I rule the Summit as Vanderfell's High King and Queen. None other stand as an authoritative figure, though we have one amongst our Hedrad. Respect the ranks above you and behave until you've earned your place. Have you the strength, I shall show you our outer limits and detail life here further.” Of course that meant going down the path he feared retreating, but the experience would do him well if he was to live amongst the clouds.

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Oh how Greyback loathed being talked down to as if he was no more than a stranger. Despite Stream's words he himself stood steadfast in the opinion that they were blood—family. He was no stranger. Not in his eyes. He almost dared to quip back, to ask how much she, herself would bring. But like a good packmate he would continue to cast his deep feelings aside for the benefit of her—of them.

"So you're saying once i've earned my place I may cause as much trouble as I please?" He chuckles, trailing after her in a slow and uneven gate, his tail held high in a playful manner. He expected her to be of high rank- but not so much as leader. Such a fact warmed his heart as pride swelled within his chest. Of course the mention of husband did not go unnoticed either. And as they walked he would wonder silently if she had given children. Had he have grandsires to meet? Only time would tell.

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She had turned long before his paws began to follow. Just because their pasts had been tied did not mean she would slow or ease his transition. Greyback would need to learn his footing and place, just as any other would. Still, a faint smile quipped her lips out of view. “I never said we were all well-behaved.” Only for a moment would she pause, the morning fog beginning to enwrap her once more as she continued, “Have you the mind and skill to be considered one of our honored your contributions shall weigh more than your body or tongue.”

Providing he followed her rules of course. The Hedrad placed a wolf above most, but the Skald would always have final say. “One can not argue a scoundrel who provides.” Orlaith was an excelent example as their only honored. She was brash and hot headed, but she carried her weight amongst the pack's. Her steps would continue as her figure soon became a shadow to the haze, “Just do not be surprised if your actions draw a holmgang.”

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