i'll tear the fibre from the filament

@Vahaelarr

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Tamir was a fool to believe his blubbering attempt to share his secrets would absolve him of his sins, bring upon him a retribution he'd been seeking out since the moment his paws left the earth on that dreadful day. He'd hoped by telling Tove it would relinquish the guilt and dissolve the fragments of pain he felt when it came to her, when it came to all of them. It was selfish, but the dues were unpaid and unyielding, the consequences creeping underneath his pelt the moment that water came within view. Even now that he'd long departed from it, its nails dragged across his skin, tugging on his senses as he boiled beneath their uncaring and volatile perusal.

It took everything in the shadowsinger to pry himself away, but he'd done so with heavy paws and a clouded mind. Flashes and echoes stuck to him like burrs, bristles digging into his sides every time he took steps further away from the Vale. They had yet to find Raenar and each day without the last piece of their trio only added to the blame Tamir bore. He'd been there that day, the day they'd perished, and he could've sworn the male followed after Tove? He was sure of it. So where was he? Had he not been as blessed as the rest? Was he cast back to the squalors of the world they'd left, at war with itself and broken beyond repair?

The thought enraged the dark man, a fit of scalding anger that tore at his chest much like it'd begun to these past few days. He didn't know it if was blame, grief, or utter rage at their stupidity, at his, or if he was merely reverting to his former self with the change in environment. Without control, he was nothing short of a fuse aching to be lit. Something uncontrollable, a person he'd banished to the back of his mind, to the dark depths of his heart the moment he'd left the shadows. But then, he supposed, everything did have a way of coming to the surface, certainly with him still so keen on the darkness lurking beyond every corner.

A sigh rippled the quietness of the clearing as the shadowman slunk from corner to corner, leering beyond trees like nothing more than the sheet of darkness he'd deemed himself to be. As of now, there was nothing for him to appreciate, no shred of faith in his mind that could've urged him to take care in stepping across the terrain with prayers in his wake—apologies to a Mother that'd let his brothers and sisters perish.

That earlier rage stroked him, purring in delight as he shirked his devoutness for a moment. He ravaged the corners of the hollow with determination. Nothing but a goal in his mind to find his brethren, even if it happened to be that he was not here at all, not in this world.

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Vahaelarr was worn with worries, plagued by what if's. Most of all, he was guilty. Guilty that he had felt good in the time spent with Tove, guilty that he had looked upon her in ways he had. To even let the thought that she was pretty cross his mind was shameful, he should have been damned. Struck down by whatever... otherworldly being resided over them, lorded over them. Not only did he forsake Gjalla, who his utmost loyalties lay with and perhaps even his heart, but he disrespected Faust. Everyone knew. Knew that the Sévir  had eyes for the Kallista. 

Why had Vahaelarr even dared look at her, let alone approach her? Spend time alone with her? 

His mind was nothing but turmoil. A dark cloud spewing acid rain on all that awaited it down below. Vahaelarr had not even noticed Tamir's presence in the very same stretch of land he walked, his nose had been blind to his smell that already coated the stone and the grass. When he had looked up, ears suddenly alert to the crunch of leaf and twig, his lilac eyes had widened momentarily. It appeared Tamir hadn't noticed him either. 

What had the Shademaster's mind so disturbed that he too was oblivious to his surroundings? 

Vahaelarr did not speak, only approached from the darker wolf's left side, his head craning so that he might look upon his face. His own brows knitted together, quiet. Tamir was aware of his presence now. 

”Mirros va aōha eund?” — Something on your mind?

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The shadows coaxed the fire building within the man's abdomen, nothing more than an image of soldiers toasting to a day well spent wallowing in self-pity. His ears twitched and within seconds he was overwhelmed, the ease of his silence dispersing in place of the ruckus that was the forest's floor. Leaves swept up by a distant breeze, the chittering of rodents above him within the trees, the same trees that housed the incessant chirping birds that he'd ached to silence, even the rustle of heavy steps atop crumbled pieces of terrain. He would've trembled if it'd been Tove, or if it had even been Faust who walked upon him. It hadn't been, and even though he told himself he would, Tove was the only one he'd allow to see the weakened part of him.

He couldn't let Faust see how far he'd fallen, not after he and Raenar spent their lives helping him onto his feet again. He refused. No, it was none of them, but instead Vahaelarr, steps dragging across a blanket of blends as they cracked and broke beneath his paws. The shadows crooned to him, swiping an invisible hand underneath his chin as if to drag his sweeping gaze onto the other male. They pushed him upward, chin high and back taut with the whispers of valor they dreamed of him to be.

Something on your mind?— The question only brought forth a flick of the male's ear, his eyes flitting across the knight's before he withdrew completely. Tamir was not low enough to confine himself to the thoughts of outsiders, to their opinions of him and his inward turmoil. He refused, even if he'd come close, oh-so-close to spilling everything to Gjalla. He hated it, hated himself afterward, for being so utterly swept by her beauty—her wit—that he'd nearly surrendered himself. It hadn't mattered, after Tove and his experience at the lake, his resolve had steeled. It wouldn't happen again.

“Daorun naejot concern aōla lēda, Vahaelarr. Skorkydoso glaesā faring?” — Nothing to concern yourself with, Vahaelarr. How are you faring? Question before accusation, he'd been reminded. He'd begun to resonate with Vahaelarr, of all people. They'd been cast from their own world just as he and his family had, and despite his irritance to the idea of them before, it was only right that Velaris welcomed them in. To offer them a home, a home for the one they'd been tossed from.

The man turned slightly as a gentle breeze disturbed the leaves at their paws, their dark pelts contrasting so starkly against the vibrancy of the Vale it might've been laughable if they were the type.

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Vahaelarr's own head tilted in response to Tamir's eyes finding place against him, reluctant to the way he watched him. Tamir eyed him as if he were a spectacle, and Vahae knew, in some way, he was. Outsider, it was a title Vahaelarr had grown used to, but tired of all the same. In the past weeks, the wolf had worked tirelessly, devoting countless hours to the Vale. And still, many did not spare him a passing glance. He had begun to feel at home amongst the trees and the life of the roost, so much so that Velaris felt like home. When they accepted him, Vahaelarr would be proud to be Velarion.

And yet, he couldn't help but feel shame at the thought. Shame so hot that it threatened to singe his fur from his body. In becoming Velarion, Vahae would put aside his past. He'd be accepting that he'd never return home, and he would then deserve @Ludon's scrutiny. But nevermind that; Vahaelarr managed to crawl his way out of his brooding and return his attention to the Shademaster, his lilac eyes swirling with a certain respect for the fellow wolf of dark fur. ”Sȳrī.  Iksan starting naejot feel hae nyke've va moriot belonged kesīr.  Lēda jeme, isse se Vāle.” — Well. I am starting to feel like I've always belonged here. With you all, in the Vale. Vahaelarr admitted. 

”Issa mērī ñuha hope bona aderī kesan sagon mēre hen ao.” — It is only my hope that soon I will be one of you.

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There were things Tamir had turned a blind eye to, words of his friends and brethren alike that left him sunk back within the shadows. While his silence prevailed, the shadowsinger was not unaware of the dislike his family held for the outsiders. It was a dislike he too harbored merely a few days prior, but it was a futile battle. They were here to stay and his reluctance would only be met with unyielding walls, leaving him instead on the outskirts of a family accepting change. So he'dattempted at opening those walls of his own, attempted at giving these creatures the benefit of the doubt.

So standing now amidst the other's company, there was a sort of ease in the tenseness of his shoulders—the beginnings of a familiarity. The knowledge of Vahaelarr's triumphs had been enough to lift the lips of the shadow in a small action. “Konir sagon mirre mirre hen īlva kostagon hope syt. Aōha lenton iksis kesīr sir, se despite both nyke se ñuha lentor's reluctance, aōha presence iksis valued.” — That is all any of us can hope for. Your home is here now, and despite both me and my family's reluctance, your presence is valued.

The man's head jerked in the direction he'd been facing, an encouragement for the other to follow him as he set a pace along the outskirts of their Vale. “Ivestragon nyke, vahaelarr, emagon ao found iā trade suitable syt ao yet?” — Tell me, Vahaelarr, have you found a trade suitable for you yet?

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Vahaelarr saw the beginnings of a shadow of a smile that lilted lightly upon the Spymaster's face, in which Vahae replied with one of his own, though it was thin and hesitant. Tamir was a wolf Vahaelarr could see himself growing to respect, to value; even now, he felt it bubbling beneath the surface of his harsh walls. Your presence is valued. Vahaelarr dipped his head in a solemn thank you, words were needless -- but the wolf couldn't help but think: shouldn't he be? Vahaelarr did more work than some of the welcomed members of Velaris, those who hadn't been greeted with disdain, with hostility. From dawn to dusk, he patrolled -- of course, that was mildly exaggerated, as in recent weeks, Vahaelarr had found a sense of comfort in taking breaks. In leisure, and spending time with those he'd grown to love. 

”Nyke vestretan nyke would gūrogon issa lua, gōntan nyke daor?” — I said I would earn my keep, did I not? Vahaelarr cheesed, attempting to make light with the wolf at his side. If they could joke, then they could be friends. To break through those tall walls of Tamir's, it was Vahaelarr's goal. They didn't need to be family, but they could be allies. 

Vahaelarr's ears flicked lightly in response to Tamir's question. In truth, Vahaelarr hadn't needed to put much thought into it. From the time he could walk, he'd been trained to fight. Forged into a Warrior that could only hope to one day outshine the Knights and Berserkers of his ancestors. So, his reply came easy, head tilting upwards lightly. ”Guardian nykeā sentinel, nyke'd fet eidr.” — Guardian or Sentinel, i'd fit either. He replied curtly. ”Nyke hope bona daoriot ffund ao, Spymaster?” — I hope that doesn't offend you, Spymaster? Vahaelarr teased, stopping short of bumping his shoulder into Tamir's, hesitating visibly as he pulled away, clearing his throat. 

 ”Nyke hope bona rūsīr jēda nyke kostagon ruv nykēla wrty hen tolī.” — I hope with time I can prove myself worthy of more. Warmaster. 

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Tamir and Faust were probably one of the few who paid attention to the members of Velaris. Raenar still seemed...disoriented, almost reluctant still when it came to the men and women his brethren had brought into Velaris' lands. It wasn't like the warrior, and it'd begun to worry both men, but neither had taken the initiative to speak to him about it yet. Neither had wanted to or were too busy to. Responsibilities were a downpour, drenching their coats with a weight they'd expected, but didn't recognize until Velaris had formed.

Vahaelarr's triumphs had been just another weight lifted from Tamir's shoulders. That the man found comfort, a home, and a purpose—Tamir was happy for him. Relieved. He didn't doubt Faust was, just as much as he. The shadowsinger's lips curved into something heartfelt. His shoulders felt lighter as he matched steps with the other. “Emā impressed nyke, vahaelarr. Nyke gōntan daor expect aōha pazavorve sīr aderī.” — You have impressed me, Vahaelarr. I did not expect your loyalty so soon. Tamir was...proud? He supposed not, but there was a deep sense of respect he'd begun to feel for the opposite male.

Giving up the past and accepting a future that only bore ill will towards you, in the beginning, was nothing short of an easy task. Tamir admired him for it, for giving them a chance in the face of their mistakes.

A deep chuckle rang from the brute's maw, a low sound that he hadn't realized he missed. His expression changed—softened—but it didn't stray from his usual indifference. “Your Princess believes the same. I have no doubt you will thrive in such a position—the both of you.” Tamir hadn't really given much thought to Gjalla as days passed; she'd become more of a faded memory, like those of his previous home than the vibrant picture she'd been when he first met her. He supposed it was wrong of him, to be so distracted by another that he completely lost all thought of a friend, but it hadn't truly troubled him. He wondered why.

Another soft laugh and the makings of a sly smile lifted the man's tones. “Offense? hardly. Iksā olvie tolī loud naejot sagon hen mirre gaomagon naejot nyke hae iā shade. Ao hae tolie knowing skori ao nyesha.” — Offense? Hardly. You are much too loud to be of any use to me as a Shade. You like others knowing when you approach. He'd learned as such in the few times Vahaelarr had blessed the Spymaster with his presence. As useful as he was, his talent would be wasted on a Shade's work.

He shook his head with that slight quirk of a smile and continued forward. His chest heaved with long breaths and his fur ruffled with the slow breezes caressing a day's silence. Tamir had no doubt Vahaelarr would prove himself, he had no doubt that the man could grow to be something great. But as a brother to the warmaster now, he feared the other's place, his sanity and rank. Raenar was the strongest man Tamir knew, but he'd never been the one with a sound mind. Vahaelarr...Vahaelarr harbored both.

As a brother, Tamir worried. As a Spymaster, the man only hoped this new Sentinel would surpass his brethren. They needed the best.

His throat cleared. “Aōha lenton, vahaelarr, ivestragon nyke hen ziry. Īlē iā azantys, gō?” — Your home, Vahaelarr, tell me of it. You were a soldier, before?

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He enjoyed the idea of serving Velaris alongside Gjalla. The knowledge that she looked to pursue the same rank as he wasn't one that surprised him, but it was pleasant nontheless, something that he couldn't help but smile at. And then there was the lingering fear of what if. What if she were hurt? If war came about, what if she died? The possibility accosted him by the throat and lifted him, strangled the air from his lungs. His eyes had widened at the shocking revelation, expression twisting into something troubled and worried. 

He didn't ever want to hold Gjalla back. He was more than aware of her capabilities. He focused then back on Tamir, shoving aside such vehement thoughts in favor of different ones. 

Tamir remarked that he was loud, and Vahaelarr found himself chuckling in response, head shaking lightly. He... couldn't deny it. He'd always been exuberant, a force that rivaled the shifting of the winds. Wherever he went, he intended for people to know. It was a observation anyone could make, but Vahaelarr appreciated the brutal honesty of the man. ”Ao ōdrio issa.” — You wound me. A tease, words that weren't at all serious. 

He asked him of his home and for just a moment, Vahaelarr was silent. A bittersweet smile found home against his handsome face as he recalled memories once more, thinking back on how he'd opened up about his past to Faust. Over the rocky terrain they continued to walk, and as the autumn breeze picked up in its fervent current and tossed around the ebony fur that covered Vahaelarr, he opened his jaws to speak. “A kingdom called Winterhelm. A world full of things you couldn't possibly believe.” He smiled. “We fought not only with our teeth and claws, but with massive weapons of steel and iron that sliced through fur, flesh and scale as if it was nothing. My mother was heir to our Kingdom's throne, and my father hailed from a distant clan of violent berserkers and vikings. They were never meant to love one another, but somehow, it happened.” His eyes glazed over in thought as he peered out into the hollow below. 

“I would be the next King in favor of my siblings. One of my sisters, Adorre, was far too gentle to rule. The other, Venaday, far too hot headed and crass. And my brother, Ludon -- he didn't desire to rule. Thus, it fell onto my shoulders.” His voice stiffened. “I was not fed from silver spoons or given an easy life as you all believe. I fought for every scrap of birth right I had and earned my manhood fighting alongside ordinary men in my Kingdom's army. I was a Prince, but the respect I garnered was not given.”

He looked at Tamir, a hardened grimace. “And then I was exiled whenever my own sister accused me of murdering our own flesh and blood. Our younger sister.”

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The shadowsinger found his grin lengthening at the banter the two threw back and forth. It was as freeing as the company of his brothers, despite the trepidation that still hung above both their heads when it came to each other. They were learning, and that much was progress. “Iā ōdrio iā absolute devastation naejot aōha qogror, iksan sure.” — A wound an absolute devastation to your rank, I'm sure. The man would retort back sarcastically, a gruffness to his voice that almost mimicked the Sentinel's.

Tamir had heard vague details of a kingdom from Gjalla, but nothing like the words pulled from Vahaelarr. The fervency with which he spoke of it was enough to ignite his own thoughts, his own warmth within his chest at the memories of his own home. The antics he and his brothers acted out in their free time before they had to succumb to the heavy bearings of their duties was that lightness in his chest. He could still hear their laughs, thick with joviality and youth. The thought curved his lips into a smile he used to have, one that came so easily amidst his family.

But then the screams—his—shadowed and shattered the memory. His smile slacked and his throat grew dry, and hoarse with the exertion he could feel as if he was just a boy again. He strained to listen, to distract himself with Vahaelarr's words and it'd only just been enough. He dragged himself from his ruins and offered acknowledging nods to the other as if nothing was amidst.

“Of steel, you say?” The Spymaster gave the other a perplexed look. He'd never heard of such a thing before. He figured, perhaps, it reigned from the stone of their mountains, hailing as a heavier force in the most desperate of times. But alas, Tamir was no fool to distinguish magic, if that was what it turned out to be. His shadows were proof enough that anything was possible beneath the Star Mother's beckoning.

The man's chest expanded with an inhale, a small smile lifting the corner of his lips. “You were much too hard to be a Prince. Anyone could see it. We figured you as more of the bodyguard to your Princess. Here, Vahaelarr, you have more than proved that you're deserving of respect, whichever brand of it you desire.” He had, tenfold, and it was enough to even allow Tamir to continue with their conversation, to push bounds even as his own skin boiled beneath his fur.

For a moment, it had all dissipated. All the anger and resentment he harbored towards the men and women they'd taken into their family, the strangers. It had taken hold and spread across every thought in his mind. But as Vahaelarr spoke, as the words rolled through Tamir's mind, he was left still—utterly hollow.

His voice was thick with something as he slowly turned his gaze to Vahaelarr. “Se, gōntan ao?” — And, did you? No accusation, no judgment. Simply cold indifference, an empty question Tamir wasn't sure he wanted the answer to.

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