can you see it? can you hear it?

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Runar had been making his rounds across the mountaintops when he spotted something most unfamiliar. The land distant, just beyond Vanderfell's walls, stoked the earth and cut it deep. He could never remember the rust-colored hue catching his eye before, but surely he would have remembered it if it had always torn deep. Curiosity drew the High King from his claim, intent to know if something unusual had occurred over night or if the gods had taken offense to whatever lay before.

What he was greeted with was indeed mighty. Wind pulled his fur like a ghost, urging him to press forward, but unlike the loose rock cliffs that extended or tumbled freely, he was not so eager. Heavy paws found their way to a perch that seemed sturdy enough when he finally found the courage to poke his head over the brim. Expecting to find a sudden drop to the casam below, Runar would blink in surprise as his eyes fell on a familiar pelt.

Well, familiar enough.

Runar had not exchanged words with the woman beyond greetings in passing. Katja had recruited her to the fold, but more often than not they took separate paths. “Ah— greetings!” The mountain king kept his usually boisterous voice hushed in his greeting, not wanting to startle the woman given their current location, though loud enough to carry over the ledge and wind. “You are, ah, Vanderfell.” An easy reminder should she not find him familiar enough, though he lacked his own familiarty to call her by name.
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While she didn't jump, it was clear his presence was startling. The fur that bristled, the way muscles tensed. A part of him sunk into a dark depth each time someone reacted that way, like he was something to fear, even after the surprise subsided. He never wanted those around to fear him, not unless they had good reason to. “Ah— Runar did not mean to startle—” The golds of his eyes followed the frail flower that slipped from her grasp, descending ever deeper into the chasm, carried by the wind. Perhaps it would fall not far from her path, but he knew it was likely gone. “Runar...is sorry for flower.”

The mountain king sank an inch further behind the ledge he peered from, a short bursting wave of embarrassment warming him before it was let go. He'd wait for her to speak, his head tilting as she spoke of his sister. @Katja was not one to warm hearts, though that did not mean she did not have one. How interesting, that she seemed to have made such a warm impression. A hum rumbled his throat as Runar nodded slowly, “More, yes, that is one way to say. Though Katja great value. Voice worth just as much as mine, so long as we are in agreement. High King is Runar's title, but just Runar is fine for those of Runar's home.” He was no mighty king, not yet, but perhaps one day he would grow to fit his status. His mother and sister may disagree, but he saw no need to flaunt a title to those he wanted trust and comfort from.

The smile she gave as a name was offered made it clear he did not have either from her just yet, but the door had not been closed on his face. “Tove.” Runar nodded as he stored her name away, “Pleasure to know. Glad to find Vanderfell and to take liking to Katja! Not many friends, but she is good wolf. Funny beneath stoic face.” A smile of his own warmed his face as a short silence formed, his eyes skimming back to the flowers she kept, and then to narrow cliffs and jagged outcrops where other bunches hid beneath the cracks. They were unfamiliar to him, different from the abundant life that flourished in Vanderfell. Here they fought to live, or perhaps cowered away in rocky recesses. “What is Tove's flower?”
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