ice and stone

@Stjörnuáti @Rökkvi joiner for youuu also please forgive me while i try to figure out writing him!

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Had he walked for minutes or for days? He did not know, but thick forests had clumped into cold forests. Now it sloped with the promise of a mountain, winter-wrapped and snow capped. It welcomed him, it felt.

Ushered him to its base where it told its scents of others. Whispered to him of lonely days over.

Could he be strong enough to accept company? To accept a life among the strong mountain? He wished to test his mettle in this new world.

His head tipped back and a low husky voice rang out across the cold morning air.

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He was high upon the mountain this day, where snow still fell despite the weather below being slightly too warm for such things. Somehow, the substance that fell from the sky dampened the world, made it softer in a way. It gave him a sense of peace in a way few things did, his head tipped back, eyes closed as he stood upon the mountain and soaked it all in.

How long the man stood, buffeted by the wind and covered in the snow, he couldn't have said, but it wasn't until a voice broke all that soft silence that those maroon eyes opened to the morning light. Head turning, the gold crested male let his body follow, and ventured down from his mountain. Maroon eyes noted the pale feathers of his avian companion above him, leading the way with easy and graceful flaps of white wings.

It took him some time, but he arrived all the same, head and tail at an easy but appropriate level to one of his rank; it was nothing overtly arrogant or aggressive, simply second-nature. Coming to a slow stop in front of the wolf painted with colors of the night, Stjörnuáti would push his ears forward and glue dark eyes to his face, waiting for the man to state his intentions and the reason for his call. Here, on his territory, the Northerner would let others do the talking and explaining.

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A man, swathed in this place's colors (albeit a touch warmer, like shifting sands or the soft sun) approached him. A silent air that asked for his focus and respect. It did not feel like a demand in its posture.

“Hallo,” He chuffed low but warm. Head and tail, lower and neutral. He did not grovel but he had not come to challenge the man for his own home. “I vish to find a place here on your mountain.”

It was clear and direct.

He knew he had nothing to offer but his teeth and claws. No fancy words, no grand titles.

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No nonsense. Stjor appreciated such a concept, as he was the same, generally speaking. He knew that it would be a trait his brother would welcome as well, though perhaps not some of the women that roamed the mountains, the ones not of northern stock. Briefly, his memories flashed the image of the female standing over the baby bird, remembering how quickly she’d risen to anger at him for the very same thing.

“What skills do you bring?” He would ask easily, voice low and graveled. Wolves of the lazy sort would not find any welcome here and while this one did not look to be as such, Stjornuati would wait for the man’s answer instead of assuming.
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The man rightly asked after his skills.

Bartel knew he would have no fancy words for the things he did, but he spoke with them with honor all the same.

“I guard, I sometimes heal. Battle medic you may say. I vill tend dead too.”

He handled life and death it seemed, but he did not place himself upon a perch for it. His life was a constant pendulum between the two of these things. Now he might help this man with it among his own people.

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A wolf not unlike himself. His skills would be a boon to them, surely, especially if it brought them another vigilant and present man to guard the borders. It was a big mountain, after all, and the more bodies to keep it safe, the better. And yet, the stareater did not jump to welcome him into the fold just yet. He was in no rush, and would not arbitrarily make a decision when there was still more to be discussed.

“Your galla. Mm. How you say? Flows? Flaws. Your flaws.” A flick of his tail; irritation at himself, his grasp on the common tongue still imperfect. Though, it was not necessarily a skill he tried to improve either. Were @Valmúa present, perhaps she would have chewed upon his ear for his lack of care about the language.
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So those of the frosted slopes spoke a different tongue. He might have grappled to find the meaning for it had the man not righted himself in the ears of the newcomer.

His flaws.

No one ever liked to sell themselves short and yet he was prepared to, as a man ought to be when he humbled himself for home.

“I ahm big, it makes me slow. I ahm stoic, some take this for a meanness.”

He exposed a physical flaw, an emotional personality flaw. Would the man accept it for what it was or did he search for more?

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“Mm.” An answer that was exactly what he asked for. Stjörnuáti was liking this man more and more with each passing minute, and ultimately leaned into the idea of accepting him into their fold. The interview was not done quite yet, however.

“Meanness not always bad. Needed at some times.” An acknowledgement of his personality flaw, before he dove into his next question. “You are good at taking instruction? Learning, following, but supporting also?”

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He appreciated the tidbit. Meanness was needed sometimes, that much was true. Bartel just tried to sort out when it was needed and when it was not.

“I ahm. It is part of being a unit, no?” His tail flicked softly but it was with warmth in his intention. “I vish only to settle in life again.”

If he had wanted to challenge others and forge a path entirely his own, he would not still stand upon this mountain. The pale man would have tossed him to the bottom, or perhaps Bartel would have headed a different direction entirely.

Found a place where he would not stick out so much.

But what would he gain from any of that? It was better to try and forge himself a place here among the strong mountain dwellers.

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All good answers.

“We are Hrafnsvaktin. There are certain rules which you learn over time. Protect our own, always; no mercy to any that challenge or threaten our own. Do not talk of the mountain; only should another seek to join.” A flick of his tail occurred before the Northerner took a step back and let his posture relax a touch further.

“This one is Stjörnuáti af Stormskýli. Come. This one will show mountain to you.”

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He wondered at once how many lived here, if the rule was to be silent of their mountain unless another wished to join.

Perhaps only those, like him, who stumbled upon it by accident. He imagined if he had not come looking to join, he truly would be in a crevice of the mountainside somewhere. Somehow the idea did not offend him, only solidified his choice to run with those he tested their mettle against the ice and stone.

Stjörnuáti af Stormskýli.

“Bartel,” He hummed warm and deep as his long legs now moved once more. Inclined to follow closely to the man. “Vill I learn your tongue of your people like I vill your land?”

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Bartel. The name etched in the stone walls of his memory. They fell into step with one another, moving inward and up the gradual slope Stjörnuáti had originally come down. “Ja. Icelandic, of most. And Norse if you decide. Others, also but those are most common.

Also, later there will be seiðr ritual. Mmm. Magic? For lacking of word. You must find your name and place within Hrafnsvaktin, after some time.” It wasn't something he'd explained to many yet, but he chose to do so now; it was time to start looking forward to the future, afterall. “Rökkvi er — is other leader. Few others for the moment but in time, more will come.” Besides, it was better to have a few worthy wolves, than many worthless ones.

“Bartel has questions?”

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Bartel did have questions.

Yet all of them felt too grand to ask now and draw out. He would poke his way among the mountain, he would learn what he could first and then ask questions.

So for now he settled for a soft shake of his thick skull. “No, no questions now.” Only a sense of peace and tiredness, as if he had walked eons before he had come to Morðfjall and Hrafnsvaktin.

“I vill find you again soon?”

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Stjörnuáti would nod then, a silent answer to the only question the man offered him. They would find one another again very soon, there was no doubt about that.

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