we fell in love in october

The she-wolf was tired.

Sleepless nights and futile dreams had been keeping her awake since she’d been brought back and she often found herself restless. Needy. Yearning for something she couldn’t quite place.

Tove was forever thankful that the Star Mother had blessed her and her packmates but she couldn’t help the occasional twinge of nostalgia with how things had been before. She couldn't remember waking up in sweats or her dreams having been diluted by memories she wished to forget.

It had been different before.

Tonight was just like the last and as quiet as could be, the young woman had snuck away on light paws and did her best to not wake up anyone nearby. She’d waited until the brightest part of twilight, hoping to catch sunrise and still see the stars twinkling above. Since finding herself here, she’d found herself very fond of the vast night skies that graced the Vale. They were stunning and always seemed to calm her nerves down.

It felt like home.

She took her time tonight, enjoying the balmy breeze and the whispered gentle hum of the insects and critters that lived amongst the secrets of the Vale. Her favorites were the chittering crickets and the moths that flitted around the tall trees and verdure. It was all so beautiful.

”Hmm,” she’d hum to herself lazily, her sleepy hazel gaze skittering the grounds below and lingering on the starry sky above. Each step was slow and careful as she enjoyed her time and took in the sights. She ignored the heaviness of her brain, begging and calling for her to sleep.

Her dark nose twitched and her eyes widened in a gentle delight as a familiar scent caught her attention. It was spicy and woodsy and she could almost taste it on her tongue. A scent you wouldn't miss. Thyme! What a surprise.

Even in the darkly lit sky, she could see the green leaves and small white flowers that swayed and danced alongside the languorous breeze that blanketed the lands. Perfect. She hoped no one needed it anytime soon but it would have been silly to pass it by.

Tove wasted no time in grabbing her share to bring back home, the green leaves tickling her snout as she gently ripped away enough to carry from the small bush. Her tongue tingled and watered at the spiced taste and she couldn't help but let out a small disapproving huff. It wasn’t her favorite but she wasn’t going to complain. Much.

A silent thank you to the Mother was given and she continued on her idle stroll, thyme hanging from her jaws and sleepy gaze still wandering. She was hopeful to come across skunkbush in one of her walks; she’d never used it herself but she knew it had been said to help with nightmares. If not, perhaps valerian - if she could find it.

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He ventured to the west today, beneath the easy eye of his feathered friend that soared above him. Sýnin loosed an occasional caw to alert the stareater to things beyond his immediate scope of vision, keeping Stjörnuáti mindful of his less immediate surroundings. Sýnin was a faithful creature, a friend Stjörnuáti had made in another lifetime by gifting him shiny stones and gems, and kept an eye out for another now.

His concentration shifted, however, when the gilded male scented the stationings of a new pack. Instinctively, the hairs along his nape bristled at the idea of a pack so close but at the same time, Stjörnuáti waited to cast judgement upon the ones who settled here. His direction changed and adjusted, steering him closer and closer until the scent became slightly overwhelming, though twined in it was the fresh scent of kona.

There, along the borders, he spotted her; a chuff of alert was given to both her and to Sýnin, who swooped in low to settle on his shoulder. “Heill, kona. — Hello, woman.”
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The stars were bright tonight, calling and singing to her and she wished she were atop the highest peaks singing back. But alas, she was here below, amongst the long grasses that swayed in the balmy breeze that tickled her furs. Stuck here in the endless cycle that had become her nightly routine.


Unlike the cream and golden toned man that wandered under the same starscape, she had no friend to alert her of incomings or scout the Vale so her awareness came much later. The thyme that swung from her jaws was freshly picked and the strong spicy scent filled her nostrils and she almost didn’t notice.

It was a masculine scent with hints of… feral…Cold? Like a snowfall. Tove didn’t know how else to describe it but it made her nose twitch and the tips of her toes curl. It wasn’t a scent she recognized and it was coming towards her. Long jaws tightened around her herb bouquet and her shoulders tightened, eyes searching and wary.

The warning and introductory chuff that came from the man had her eyes narrowing and they zeroed in on him quickly. Her stare was unblinking as her gaze traveled over him - first to the bird that sat atop his shoulder, then over his cream furs that clung to an athletic, masculine physique- and then back to his eyes, red and piercing, even under the moonlight.

She couldn't help but take notice of the muscles that rippled under his fur and how his fur seemed to shine under the moonlight and dancing stars. He was unlike most of the men she’d grown up with and while they adorned dark pelts, he was covered in the opposite. Cream and golds. Like the sun. It piqued her interest, an innocent curiosity, if anything.

Ferocity radiated from him and it was easy to see that he was someone of importance, wherever it was that he came from. He held himself with a prowess that not all possessed and Tove assumed he was a warrior of some sort. But.. nonetheless, the man was on lands that belonged to Velaris.

”Greetings Outsider,” she offered after setting the bunch of thyme at her paws, curious if they shared another common tongue. His 'woman' comment made her insides bristle but Tove didn't let it show. A quick assumption was made on his values of equality yet the Kallista kept her tone neutral, eyes never leaving him. She didn’t move closer or take a step back; she stayed put, a blockade between him and her home.

What was he doing up in the middle of the night? Did he too have darkness plaguing his dreams?

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The wolf of northern blood stirred haphazardly beneath the stars that night, unable to ease himself into the comforts that midnight offered. He’d tucked himself away beneath one of the many trees that spanned the contents of the vale, away from the others; it was only right, seeing as Vahaelarr had yet to be truly welcomed amongst the wolves of Velaris. He was an outsider, issaros. As sleep evaded him, he thought back on the discussion he’d shared with the Sévir and found the token words of the wolf on loop throughout his mind: "You prove yourself to the other members, let them speak on behalf of your character.” 

The wilderness around him lay shrouded in a serene stillness, the whispers of the night breeze through the evergreen trees soothing against his agitated form and the distant call of a solitary owl was caught within the ear of the brute. Flicking cautiously one ear, Vahaelarr’s lilac eyes eventually opened; betraying an inner restlessness sodden like the soil after a spring storm. His gaze scanned the celestial canvas overhead, tracing constellations whose stories had been etched into his memory over countless nights of stargazing. Tonight, however, their brilliance seemed to pale.

The night air, crisp and fragrant with the scent of pine, seemed to embrace him, but it's soothing touch eluded him. If sleep would not come, he had no choice but to find a way to occupy his time. His form shifted, a massive lump against the night shrouded landscape, well trained muscles beneath his thick coat rolling with unspent energy. Large paws carried the wolf forwards and down the hill he had sought to sleep upon; into the night, veering towards one of many tree lines. Underneath the stars, he was a lone sentinel, guarding the secrets of the night, while the world around him slumbered in blissful ignorance.

Under the canopy of towering evergreen trees, he moved with a sudden sense of purpose, his paws navigating the uneven terrain of the woodland floor with a calm grace. The moonlight, a silvery river trickling through the branches overhead, dappled the forest with pools of ghostly illumination; his fur, caught underneath the many beams of the moon’s glower, shimmered quietly. 

Voices, one masculine that spoke dialect he recognized as norse, through the undergrowth became more audible the closer Vahaelarr ventured, until his frame was gliding calmly through the brush, large shoulders moving in unison with his paws. Confusion crossed the face of the wolf as he found himself standing face to face with a duo; one, he recognized. The form of Tove stood closest to him, her back turned; she faced the pale brute who stood just on the other side of the Velaris border. Alarm, naturally, shot through his veins; it ran icy cold, and then hot with adrenaline, the fur along his neck just bristling slightly. Though new to the region, he was a quick study; this wolf was not of Velaris. 

Vahaelarr approached, saddling slowly up to Tove’s right side, poised stature bringing him towering with a sense of duty to the Kallista; he could not turn and leave now, abandoning her with a stranger in the mid of the night. His jaws opened to speak, voice reverberating like a storm within his throat: 

"Hvert ertu?” — Who are you?

He stared upon the golden furred wolf, eyes burning with something unknown as he awaited a reply.

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Two, where there had only just been one. The vikingr was unbothered, and cast dark eyes to the male that appeared near the woman. His ears flickered forward when the slate-furred man spoke his own language, though his face remained as placid as it normally was. “Stjörnuáti, Jarl of Hrafsnvaktin.” For he saw no reason to hide his identity, nor the existence of his own pack; not if they were settled so close to one another. The indignant flap of his friend's molting wings against his cream colored ears spurned him to speak again. “This is Sýnin.”

“You have settled here recently,” He observed, tail held neutrally behind him. There was no push of dominance, no inconsiderate display of his status or self-importance. Just simple observation and the seeking of information.

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She couldn't fight the annoyance that was brimming below the surface of her neutral expression, her claws digging into soft soil below her. Why was it whenever she hoped to be alone - someone or something seemed to have other ideas? Tove was beginning to think herself unlucky.

Her suspicions were only further proven when yet another came out of the shadows - this time a familiar face. Not one she was hoping to see, but familiar nonetheless. His scent, while still entwined with those of Velaris, didn't sit quite right with her. It reminded her of the winter breeze that came when the seasons changed; one that fell right before the spices withered away.

It left a sour taste in her mouth but she said nothing, watching silently as he emerged. Two was better than one, surely. While she didn't fear the golden wolf who stood before her, she wasn't daft. Tove knew if anything took a turn for the worse, she was better off having Vahaelarr at her side.

While a man of royalty, he was large and capable. A dutiful warrior, she assumed.

She showed no signs of fondness to the man nor offered him more than a curl of her lip when he approached but as quickly as her distaste was shown - it was gone. Not for the eyes of Stjörnuáti. However, for appearance sake, she followed up with a curt nod, expression unreadable. She would even go as far as letting their coats meet when he joined her side, her shoulders resting against his. She fought back a grimace as their scents intermingled, ignoring the way it made her skin crawl.

Tall ears would perk, twitching at the sound of the stranger's voice and Tove turned her attention wholly back to him. He introduced himself easily, his words ringing with unrefined regality and she was surprised when he even mentioned his winged companion. It made her think of Mia and she couldn't help but wonder if they shared any similarities.

Stjörnuáti was of a pack as well and she couldn't help but repeat the name a few times, silently in her head. A mouthful. Barbaric sounding. How odd. And he was their Jarl, a chief? A leader, like Faust? Oh, the questions she had.

"Greetings, Stjörnuáti.” A polite nod was given and the woman said his name steadily, taking time to make sure it was said correctly. “ I am Tove, Kallista of Velaris.” She offered just as simply as he had, her soft voice carrying loudly into the night. A small nod was given towards the plants that lay at her feet and she hoped he had enough smarts to understand her meaning. Tove, like the golden brute, was careful to keep her posture neutral. Her gaze was unwavering but her tail rest behind her with no real intention and her form was relaxed , a sign that she too, was no threat. “We have recently found a home within the Vale.”

She would leave it up to her packmate to introduce himself, having no interest in doing it for him. It was not her duty.

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The brute observed the stature of the pale wolf, noting the lack of threat that was written in body language; a neutral tail, a calm voice -- he would prove to be no threat, but it did not mean Vahaelarr would lower his guard. Senses attuned to the subtle undercurrents of tension in the air, his own ears remained perked atop his chiseled head, rotating every so often to the shift of the wind or the distant hoot of an owl. Hm. He had heard that same Owl’s hoot before, only this time it was nearer; but he would not spare it the attention, and he would not spare any opportunity for something to go awry. During his stay with Velaris, he had been quick to pick up on the several dynamics of different individuals within the pack.

The Kallista was an important wolfess to Faust, and Vahaelarr could not afford anymore resentment or judgment cast against him. 

Vahaelarr’s tense expression appeared to soften at the stranger's introduction as Stjörnuáti, Jarl of Hrafsnvaktin, nostrils flaring with a sudden alertness. He breathed in the scent of the male, a slight wag of the tail following. 

He inclined his head respectfully at Stjörnuáti's greeting, lilac eyes suddenly glimmering with the glint of curiosity. It appeared there would be no need for hostility as the wolf took his turn to speak, something of warmth burning to life in his honeyed tone. “It is not everyday one makes the acquaintance of a Jarl.” Vahaelarr would say.

As Tove and Stjörnuáti exchanged pleasantries, Vahaelarr shifted to respectful silence, his gaze shifting between the two of them, depending on who spoke, but Tove’s demeanor had not gone unnoticed by the brute. Her annoyance was thinly veiled, and the scent of discomfort lingered in the air as their coats brushed together. Something of disappointment masked itself around the heart of the wolf, squeezing tight; it seemed every individual he would meet within the Pack would regard him with the same disgust, no matter what niceties he spoke to them or respectful gestures he made. Though, he supposed he could not expect others to be as well mannered as he.

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Both of them were listened to before he responded again, taking note of each wolf's words and actions. Tove, the woman, was Kallista. The word — title? — rolled through his mind curiously. It sounded so.... gentle. So smooth. It was much unlike his own, harsher languages. “Ah, Tove is heilari, ja? Kallista is also heilari? Healer?” He used a paw to gesture at the very plants she had indicated and then ducked his own head briefly, a sort of motion to gesture to himself. “This one is heilari also.” He was many things, of course, but a healer was one of the many.

His gaze moved to the tall man who seemed... small, somehow, next to the woman of Velaris. Stjörnuáti wondered why that was so, why the male seemed to... He couldn't place his paw on it, not that it mattered really. Not with the way the man's demeanor changed so quickly. A dark eyebrow lifted slightly before a small, crooked grin found its way upon the stareater's face. Even Stjörnuáti had an ego, and this male seemed ready to feed it, at least for the moment.

“Not every day, no. Not many days, either.” A flick of his tail was given as Sýnin shifted upon his shoulders. “Tove speaks of Velaris?” He let his attention move to her once more, grin having slipped back beneath the surface of his stoicism. “And of Vale?” He looked behind them to their home and the spread of its lands. “Who is jarl of Velaris?” It was not this male, not with the way his attitude supplicated to the woman's so quickly. It was not a bad thing, but also not the actions of anyone in charge.

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  At first, Tove had intended to merely exchange pleasantries, be polite and report back to Faust. However, nothing seemed to go according to plan as of late…. So, why would this? When the northern Jarl grew curious of her title, her viridescent gaze widened, surprise etched within the lines of her soft face. Her head tilted, tall ears perked and on alert. He was familiar? How peculiar, she thought, when he even went as far to call himself a healer as well. A jarl and a healer?

  She couldn't help but wonder why, curious of the dynamics within his own pack. Was everyone dual skilled and savvy in the world of medicine or was he just special? Tove looked at him more closely, curious gaze fluttering across his golden form. She felt herself sparked with an interest that hadn’t been there before, the roots sprouting and taking hold and she had the urge to bombard him with questions. Would he share if she asked? Show her around? Would he be courteous? They were mostly akin to what different plants and secrets he kept locked away to this new world but she wasn’t blind. She could see the muscles that rippled beneath his golden furs and that prowess that radiated from his frozen stature. He was a striking man. Full of the unknown. A book yet to be discovered.

 ”You are a healer? A medicine vala? — man” she asked him, her paw brushing against the thyme that rest at her paws. Tove tried her best to keep her tone as neutral as she could manage despite the ever growing hum of curiosity that pulled at her core. Like the dark man beside her, there was respect brewing within her that had been missing at first glance - but for a different reason. She had little care that he was Jarl, his chief status minuscule to the other expertise that he claimed.

  The dark woman nodded at first, a simple and quick answer to his question before the words tumbled out of her mouth. ”We are Velarian,” she glanced over at Vahaelarr, her own hazel gaze searching for his lilac stare, curious if he had anything to say on the matter. Was this where he planned to stay forever? Could he wash away his sullied ties to his past life of royalty and wrongful ways and truly be Valerian? Or was he stained with the red smear of royal blood forever? As quickly as Tove looked to him, her head was turning, dismissive and quick and her focus was back on Stjörnuáti. ”Our Jarl? We have a different name for our leader; he is our Sévir, a lightbringer. His name is Faust.”

  His name was said with glowing pride, admiration dripping from each word that left her lips. Her face was alight and a smile tugged at the corner of her lips, tail swaying behind her. While part of her felt wrong for sharing the name of someone so close to her heart, she figured it was important. They were to be neighbors. She assumed Stjörnuáti must have smelled them by now, and noticed the changes that were taking place as their numbers grew and their familiarity within the Vale increased. If they were all lucky, perhaps an alliance would be in their future.

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No look of hesitation was to cross the expression of the slate furred Vahaelarr, and at Tove’s comment, he only nodded in a quiet confirmation to the Kallista’s words. Even then, a soft light of pride flickered to life in the chest of the wolf at the mere acknowledgement that he was one of them--still, they were reluctant, yet the Kallista spoke of him as Velarian. As her gaze briefly cast aside to linger upon him, Vahaelarr’s eyes burned with a silent gratitude, undeterred by the question that flickered aflame within her hazel stare. It was clear she didn’t know whether or not to believe the very words she’d just uttered; perhaps they’d only been spoken to keep up appearances with the Jarl they now hosted at their border. 

Then, as quickly as it had come, her glance was gone and it was replaced by a feeling of coldness that lingered quietly. Vahaelarr swallowed the gob of bile that collected at the back of his throat and his lilac eyes, swimming with a faint warmth, careened back towards the golden form of the Jarl who stood before them. He was a strong, quiet presence; even the raven that sat diligently upon his shoulder did not speak, most likely a loyal advisor. It brought Vahaelarr’s own eyes casting towards the canopies, searching for the dark figure of his own brother bird, pondering what the crow busied himself with under the cloak of midnight whilst the wolves he partied with went about their discussion. 

A discussion that Vahaelarr found he had no part in aside from the observant listener, making up for what he lacked in herbal knowledge by serving as a loyal protector at the Kallista’s side.

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He only nodded in response to her question, as it was just repetition of what he had already said. Stjörnuáti wasted little breath on repeating himself in times like this, finding the time better utilized to seek out the information he was hunting. The Kallista was open to giving him that information, it seemed, telling him the title and name of the man that led them. Sévir. Faust. It held strength. Both the title and the name. But Stjörnuáti's own name held similar meaning to lightbringer, and it would give him something to ponder as he stood there. Was there some hidden connection?

If there was, it would not be known until the two of them met.

“When time comes, this one will meet your Sévir.” Here, the stareater would nod, a firm gesture. “West of here, the snævi fjall — snowy mountain. That is this one's home.” Perhaps one of them would seek him out there. Perhaps they would not. Either way, the gilded Northerner felt that his time here was at an end. “This one takes leave. Megir þú standast hvaða storm sem steðjar að þér. — May you weather any storm that bears down on you.”

With an easy bow of his head and a punctuated cry from Sýnin, the Jarl would turn from them and take his leave; a subtle show of his confidence in his own abilities, and in his standing of his own pack. While he didn't make a show of dominance, confidence was a different thing, and he had no issue showing that.

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