A bitter wind sliced across Fenris, rumbling howls within her mighty bellow, cut at the pelt he bore around his shoulders, it bit deep into the fur and attacking his very core. Strength found wanting, it snarled and hurried on to trouble others elsewhere.
He sat together yet alone. He liked it thus, just far enough for solitude, close enough to be considered at one with the others
Yet he was alone.
Tyr's tale chased around him, as eyes fixed upon his great form, Ioreks own fixed upon the bionic of his right hand as it gesticulated with gusto. Whole again, stronger in fact.
His own fingers probed delicately around the empty socket running over the great rivets upon the left side of his face.
He would never be whole.
There was a hole in his heart, compassion and love lost, destroyed, torn asunder and replaced with fear and hatred, emotions of the twisted and the damned.
Bitter laughter rippled around his mind
"Silence" strength reverberated in his voice, dominated his own mind with ripples of pure fury. The laughter receede, withdrew to niggle at his subconscious once more. Thought deserted him and his single eye closed and he plunged himself into the calm balm of darkness.
The red eye opened once more and fixed upon a new speaker.
The firehawk, he too brutally disfigured talked of times long past, a name long retired never forgotten brushed his ears and his right hand gripped his hip bone, nails digging into the skin, lips fixing together.
He longed for his pistol, the wolf snarled yet Iorek slapped the sound away, with a spear of thought.
He longed for the emptiness its motion brought, the playful push of the recoil against him, the effortless click that brought death onto his foes.
Two short knives crossed his back, two long fangs, thin and balanced, built for speed and accuracy rather than pure power nudged against his vertebrae.
He had worked relentlessly, speed and pace, his movements lithe his blade strokes sure. He had much to work on... so much to pay for, this hunting trip an irritating aside he wished he could avoid, yet the packleader had spoken, he must obey.
The leash tugged at him, subservience a niggle he had never noticed before, yet Vermundr had grown, an assurance laced his stance as he lounged upon the rock, he would be great one day, it was obvious indeed. The story rose and fell, the teasing asides falling upon deaf ears as Iorek's mind followed his own thoughts that day.
He would not speak of that day
Never... that fallen grey hunter could one day be... dont say it... dont think it
Blood spilled over his fingers as his nail pierced the pure white skin at his hip and he embraced the irritating flare of pain that erupted in his mind.
He longed for solitude yet now words reached his ears. Words in the packleaders hushed tones, meant for his ears.
His own eyes flittered to the other listener, the ice blue eyes of the sage met his own then moved on.
Another that had grown, another reputation that shot forth, another that would go far.
Two blood claws grappled, their arms rock, unwavering, unbending, granite met granite, its strength tested by not taxed as they sought the advantage.
"Some of these thin faces have definitely stuck out to me more than others. Krahl is one of course, but I doubt I am the only one of us three sitting on this rock who knows Alrik will not let Krahl's actions go unchecked."
The older wolfs face was fixed upon the frozen smile upon the young bloodclaws face and Iorek nodded in agreement, yet he spoke not. The animosity was not his domain, that was the packleaders concern, yet he could not condone the young ones actions.
Thrusting a brother into harm to gain a killing strike was ruthless, not a brother he wanted at his back.
The wrestle was ended with a thump as one smashed his face into the others to gain the advantage.
A little snarl bit across his lips and he spat, friendly play maybe, yet it was another he did not want at his back.
Yet he would need them, if Blackmanes words were true... the thoughts were disrupted by Vermundr's own musings
"Whatever our Lord warned us about, their last chances at stopping our successful return is quickly approaching. With only one day left of travel, any attack or act of thievery would have to be made soon. Likely in the sooner half at that, as I cant imagine any rivals committing their deviant act at the base of Asaheim. With only a day left, I see little harm, if any, in telling the rest of our pack here. It would be better to have all eyes looking sharp, and all toes ready to pounce. Would you agree brothers?"
Iorek's bitter laughter rang through the clearing
"With our Lord's decision to run with us he honoured us and taxed us. Those that respect him wonder what metal we bear that lead him to choose us, those with animosity long to prove us suspect, to cast doubt upon his prodgidies. All i can see is they wish for us to return empty handed, bruised, battered and defeated. It would be wise to warn the others, but I would not. Forewarned is forearmed yet I would see how these brothers of ours react when they are the ones being hunted, when the shadows cause a menace. Of our number there are 4 i would walk into russ's hall alongside, if we are to face the serpent once more I would wish to trust all 12. Tell Alrik and Tyr if you must yet I would like to see how that one..."
He inclined his head towards the headbutter who still grappled in friendly animosity with his brother
"reacts to being tricked rather than playing the trickster."
The scar across his chest rippled and seered and he ran an icy finger along its length his eyes moving up to fix upon the mountain in the distance.
There was much to do when he returned... so much to do
kudos to lillian thorne for the awesome sig