Settle your direction

@Åshe

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He ventured beyond the Veils this morning, before the hours of the rising sun, when the cold fingers of night still held the world in its grasp. It was this cold he was comfortable in, though even now it was not quite as chilly as his homelands were. He oft missed such temperatures, and the wolves he had lived with among them, but knew that there was little chance that they would appear here in this strange world. Knowing this place, however, there was always a chance, however small it may have been.

Little did he know that this day, such a chance would come to fruition.

The first rays of light began to beach the horizon, reaching and reaching across the frozen surface of the lake until they touched his paws. From his stance upon the ice, maroon eyes swept across the flat plain of the still-struck lake. Something... Something was here. The thrum of the song in his chest resounded deep and loud, a familiar tune to which there were no words. Distantly, Synin's raven-caw echoed, the pitch one that let Stjornuati know that the pale raven had found something.

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There had been nothing but silence at first. An eery gloom had fallen on Åse's world, one that was thick and immovable. It was, until she heard a crow squawking from above.

Her head lifted skywards, blue eyes narrowing at the shape of the crow. It had circled her like a dead animal— she might as well be, there had been nothing out here for miles. It wasn't hunger that struck her down, but pure morale that kept her anchored to these grounds. But something else had been out there. Her ears twitched. Her nose desperately trying to pick out a scent.

What she knew for sure was that there had been something following the circling crow, and she had not been ready to become someone's breakfast. "ᛋᚺᛟᚹ ᚤᛟᚢᚱᛋᛖᛚᚠ," — Show yourself, She'd call, voice strong and followed by a sharp hiss.

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The voice called out did not startle the man of pale golds and thick creams, instead spurning him forward with a purposeful stride. Claws gripped at the ice, an old hand at moving across such terrain, though he did slip (only slightly) here and there; it had been a while since he'd made his way across a frozen lake but the thrill that raced down his spine every time he heard a crack! beneath his feet only made his feral heart soar. He lived for adventure, after all, and this was just one of many. What awaited him at the end of his journey however, was something that surprised him, a difficult task for anyone to achieve.

Her dark pelt was a stark and easily seen smear across the frost landscape, and Stjörnuáti would slow as he closed that last bit of distance between them. It wasn't until Synin called again and swooped down to settle on the Northerner's shoulder that he really looked at her, and...

“Åse?” He asked, her name so familiar on his Nordic tongue. “You are... here?” But how? His mind asked before he shook the question away. “I was not expecting your arrival.”

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Åse had been silent. Struck with shock and disbelief, she didn't move as the harrowing sunlit man emerged from the brush, the frozen lake, approaching her with an amicable embrace. 

The crow settled on his shoulder, squawking her way. The words that dripped from his mouth were akin to honey, something that she could be easily sickened with. 

"Stjörnuáti?" — Stjörnuáti? She would acknowledge, finally, after taking a moment to regain herself in his presence. She was mulled with confusion, anxiety, and worry. Where had he been all this time? Where had she gone, too? And how did she find him? Such questions beckoned the troves of her mind. 

"ᛁ ᛞᛟᚾ'ᛏ ᚢᚾᛞᛖᚱᛋᛏᚨᚾᛞ," — I don't understand, She'd look away from him, blinking, fearing that he may disappear. "ᛁ ᛞᛁᛞᚾ'ᛏ ᛖᛪᛈᛖᚲᛏ ᛁᛏ ᛖᛁᛏᚺᛖᚱ." — I didn't expect it either. Åse would breathe, taking a closer step to him. His scent filled her nose. Something wild, uncontrolled. Something of home. 

"ᚹᚺᛖᚱᛖ...ᚹᚺᛖᚱᛖ ᚨᚱᛖ ᚹᛖ?" — Where...where are we? Her tuned to a softer tone as she had gotten closer to him.

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Of course she didn't expect it. did any of them, really? Thhrice now, he had appeared in this world, in a subtly different location each time, with the world subtly shifted as well. The wolves around him could come and go, just as they did in whatever world he'd been a part of before but here, they simply disappeared, seemingly into the aether. It was both unnatural and unsettling but Stjörnuáti would not frown upon this small blessing. A wolf he knew well, one he had briefly mentored before his hringja had led him to the unknown.

“ᚪ ᛋᛏᚱᚪᛝᛖ ᚹᚩᚱᛚᛞ ᚩᚠ ᛘᛁᛋᛏᛖᚱᛁᛖᛋ. ᛘᚪᚾᛁ... ᚪᛈᛈᛠᚱ ᚻᛖᚱᛖ ᚹᛁᚦᚩᚢᛏ ᚹᚪᚱᚾᛁᛝ. ᛁ ᛞᛁᛞ ᚪᛋ ᚹᛖᛚᛚ, ᛘᚪᚾᛁ ᛘᚩᚩᚾᛋ ᚪᚷᚩ. ᚱᛡᚳᚳᚠᛁ ᛁᛋ ᚻᛖᚱᛖ ᚪᛚᛋᚩ. — A strange world of mysteries. Many... appear here without warning. I did as well, many moons ago. Rökkvi is here also.” He huffed softly, hot breath curling and furling into mists as it met the cold air of the iced over lake. “ᚾᚩ ᚩᚾᛖ ᚻᚪᛋ ᚠᛁᚷᚢᚱᛖᛞ ᚩᚢᛏ ᚹᚻᛁ. ᛁᛖᛏ. — No one has figured out why. Yet.” The stareater doubted anyone would, either; this was something he did not speak.

“ᛁᚩᚢ ᚪᚱᛖ ᚢᚾᚻᚢᚱᛏ? — You are unhurt?”

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Åse had forgotten how comforting his voice had been against her cold ears. Something familiar about his cadence brought her a sheath of warmth that she was marginally grateful for. Grateful for finding him. Grateful for him.

Her ears would perk at the other familiar name. Rökkvi. Åse's breath hitched at the mention. "ᚺᛖ ᛁᛋ ᚹᛖᛚᛚ?" — He is well?

Concern was ridiculed in her tone. She knew of their close relationship— a budding familial tie that held the pair together. "ᛁ'ᚡᛖ ᛗᛁᛋᛋᛖᛞ ᚺᛁᛗ." — I've missed him. Åse would say, a thunderous heat blooming in her face. After a moment, a mumble would come. "ᚨᚾᛞ ᚤᛟᚢ, ᚨᛋ ᚹᛖᛚᛚ." — And you, as well.

She'd brush off her words, shaking out the fur of her neck. "ᛁ ᚨᛗ ᚹᛖᛚᛚ." — I am well. A light smile would come to her face at his words of concern.

"ᚤᛟᚢ ᚨᚱᛖ ᛟᚴᚨᚤ, ᛏᚺᛖᚾ, ᛏᛟᛟ?" — You are okay, then, too?

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Stjörnuáti, ever watchful, ever observant, could not help the barest twitch of his lips when she asked after his brother, so. The upward tilt vanished faster than it had appeared to return the stoic man of the ice and mountains to proper form. He remembered the kindling that had settled in her breast, kindling that burned with the smell of his iron-born brother, and he remembered watching them with the approval that only a sibling could grant.

It was same approval that lurked within him now, though he did not show such things to Åse, for it was not an approval of allowance, but one of contentment for his brother, happiness even, that he found someone to tame his wild heart. For that was what all of the Stormskýli siblings had, hearts that would flare brightly with the sparks of their potential, blinding and thunderous like the very storms they were named for.

The addition of his name a few seconds later did not bother the male, instead answering her with an easy “He is. As stubborn as he's always been.” Here, a slight smile. “Then, so are we all.

The mountains favor us well, here. We have staken claim to their slopes there, to the southeast.” He swung his head, gesturing with the tip of his pale nose, then back to look at her. “You will be joining us, then?” He assumed this for sake of sticking together, as Vikings oft did.

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Åse couldn't help the small huff of air that left her chest at the confirmation that Rökkvi was, in fact, here, and supposedly well. It would be her first task to seek him out...to see if he had remembered anything. She wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't...but her heart clamored at that assumption.

Stjörnuáti's smile was always warm. Approachable. She returned it with her own gloss of attention— a motherly smile, tender. He had that affect, she supposed.

As he would gesture to the mountains behind them, her eyes would follow his lead. The mountain was the tallest peak for as far as she could see. It was what guided her here in the first place. A raven never leaves its fortress.

"If you'll have me," she'd dip her head lightly. "I've been gone for far too long."

 
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He would snort at her now. “Why would we not have you? Ridiculous woman.” It was not said with ill-intent, rather with a warmth in his voice that many did not receive. Rökkvi would likely be pleased at her presence; Stjörnuáti certainly would be, for he knew she was an adept healer and a good addition to their new home. With a tilt of his head to beckon her, the man would lead her to the mountain that pierced the sky.

/fade

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