and so the mountains fell

The gentle symphony of birds awoken was more of a trigger to the large slumbering man cast on his side within the makeshift den he'd claimed as his. Still in the general vicinity of his brethren, but higher and along the trails leading upwards towards the mountain did he find the perfect spot. Tucked away behind a cascade of ivory and vines, his home lay, a small but comfortable cove he was more than content to call his own. It was secluded enough he needn't have to worry about the nosiness of other members, but still close to the community and with an advantage that gave him a view of the Roost.

A yawn broke through his haze, dreary eyes blinking as he lifted his head to look onward through the slivers of environment left between the entrance. With a low hum and a strong push of his paws against the ground, Tamir stood for a moment before descending back down into a stretch. His paws lightened as they flexed within the sun's rays peeking through the vines, though the shadow returned just as fast as he straightened to his full height.

Feeling more awake and energized than he had mere moments ago, the he-wolf parted the vines with his head first before the rest of his body followed. Then he was off following a strict schedule in his head. He'd scout first, roam the territory to reassure both himself as well as those inhabiting their lands. His footsteps turned quick and light the bigger the distance he put between his den and the edge of Sundered Roost, another symphony of different birds alike adding to the dream that was his new world. Soiled scents and ones of new members were all he'd managed to catch through the first quarter of his walk, though still, he persisted. With ears sensitive to every twig broken and flocks of birds disturbed, he let himself jog until he was at the outskirts. Now more cautious, he let his pace ease into a leisurely walk, narrowed eyes scrutinizing every detail he could manage.

---

@Vahaelarr <3

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Vahaelarr wandered throughout the serene vale. Sundered Roost appeared to be a place untouched by time, a sanctuary nestled between imposing mountains. Following his chat with Velaris’ leader, @Faust, Vahaelarr had been presented the opportunity to prove himself worthy of finding a place amongst the wolves of Sundered Roost. It was one he didn’t intend to ignore; come dawn, the wolf had sent @Bran in search of @Gjalla, to inform her of Vahaelarr’s findings. Now, all the wolf could do was wait, anxiety a swirling pit within his stomach. 

The vale stretched out before him, a symphony of vibrant colors and textures. Wildflowers painted the meadows with shades of amethyst and gold, their petals kissed by the gentle caress of the breeze. Towering oak and pine trees stood like sentinels, their branches forming a natural canopy that filtered the sunlight into dappled patterns upon the valley’s grassy floor. 

He passed underneath the shaded canopies of trees, enjoying the brief relief from the scorching heat as he did so. He cast a glimpse towards the sky where white clouds rotated softly across the blue expanse, lilac eyes glittering against the gold of the sun. He didn’t enjoy this change of environment anymore than he assumed Gjalla would, but it was the best option that the two of them had going for one another. It would be easier to survive in this unknown realm with more than just the two of them if they were going to. 

His head dipped as he passed underneath a low hanging branch, and as his posture lifted to his standing height once more, he found himself faced with the form of a dark wolf in the immediate distance. Though not one for conversations nor introductions, hesitation flickered throughout the expression of the slate furred brute as he stalled. He contemplated approaching the other wolf; that was before he realized he’d been noticed, and the possibility of sneaking away would be impossible. With a steeling of his expression, large shoulders rolled to relieve some of the tension riding them as the wolf took a cautious step forwards, settling a calm gaze onto the other. 

“Greetings.”

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There had always been a gentleness in the way Tamir showed his appreciation for Mother. Whether it was a simple walk in prayer, a burial for the souls he'd taken to feed his family, or a longing for a connection with those he'd left behind. He hadn't thought much about his sire and dame until now, now when there was nothing to distract him or pull his thoughts in a different direction.

He'd stopped along the leading edge of Velaris' land, stood in the glow of gold that creeped through a gap between canopies. His head was lifted, snout tilted towards a blue land he'd longed to explore. Pictures of his childhood were painted behind his closed eyes, laughter erupting in a distant part of his mind, echoing within his ears even despite the world remaining silent. Everything went black in a blink.

Heavy paw pads scuffed against grains of dirt and flattened crisp leaves between the incessant chatter of wildlife. Though quiet, it was an alarm to Tamir, especially after he'd been so wrapped up in his daydreams. His head jerked in their direction, he hadn't known how long the other was there, nor what he was even doing on Velaris grass. With caution and curiosity piqued, the man turned to face his newcomer, posture straightening as he adjusted the stance of his paws.

Mentally, the man was cursing his lack of care to learn common in his earlier years. Playing catch-up now was more tedious and trying than he'd expected, especially with his luck in finding stragglers along their borders. Still, with a flick of his ear at the other's greeting, the man would put forth his best effort in communicating as best he could. He'd assumed—hoped—the interaction wouldn't last long. He took a large breath before speaking. “Greetings...Can I help you?”

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Tamir's initial surprise was evident, his posture shifting with a mix of caution and curiosity as he turned to face Vahaelarr. The air hung heavy with unspoken questions, each one a thread in the intricate weave of their encounter. Vahaelarr's keen eyes bore into Tamir, his gaze a reflection of the mystery that he embodied.

In the silence that stretched between them, Vahaelarr's ears twitched, attuned to the subtle sounds of the vale. The world around them remained undisturbed, as if nature itself held its breath in anticipation of their interaction. Finally, there was a response.

Tamir's voice, when it finally broke the stillness, was met with a brief confusion by Vahaelarr. While he grappled with the common tongue, the slate pelted brute was quick to understand the essence of Tamir's words. Vahaelarr hadn’t expected a language barrier to present itself between the two of them; frankly, there was not much of one to begin with, but the wolf drew himself to a slow sit, tail tucking itself behind his large frame. 

With a tilt of his crown, Vahaelarr cleared his throat before he replied, this time speaking in his mother tongue; he presumed, like the others within this valley that he had encountered, this dark furred wolf surely spoke it. His speech was sturdy and confident, resonant in tone:

"Nyke should daor emagon assumed ao spoke se quptenkys Ēngos.” — I should not have assumed you spoke the common tongue.

Vahaelarr knocked back his head temporarily to gaze upon the sky, watching the shifting and churning of the clouds. As the moments waned on, he lifted a paw to gnaw between his scraped paw pads, biting at an itch. Rather rude, he supposed; or, at least, if he were back home, he would surely receive a swat over the head from his mother for a lack of manners. 

Returning his gaze to the other wolf, he gave a warm smile, and then patted his tail upon the ground. If he were going to be staying within these lands, he would need to create allies--even if that meant forcing himself to be nice outside of his own comforts. 

"Issa brōzi iksos Vaehaelarr. Faust emagon granted issa se opportunity naejot prove nykēla naejot se pack. Nyke intend naejot gaomagon sepār bona.” — My name is Vaehaelarr. Faust has granted me the opportunity to prove myself to the Pack. I intend to do just that.

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So this...this was the companion Gjalla spoke of. He could practically taste the burn of her minty aroma, though it seemed companied with the light touch of cedar. A distinct scent he'd grown up with. The man must've just spoken with his brethren, to which Tamir was more than hungry to find out exactly what was said. But it wasn't his scent that the shadowman felt particularly on edge about. No...it was the words that rolled from his chest, confidence spoke in his mother tongue—Tamir's mother tongue.

He didn't know how it made him feel. Conflicted in the sense he was confused about how a stranger knew the language he grew up with, but angry at the fact that Valyrian wasn't purely subject to Tamir's family. But his anger subsided as that confusion took point. Gjalla was fluent in common, so fluent that her tongue was almost overly eager to spit out words that would've normally sent the man into a fit of rage. He blamed it on her beauty. Even he, as strong-minded and willed as he was, was just a man. But Vahaellar knew little of the language, it was interesting.

The thoughts washed away as quick as they came. Gjalla was of little importance, and a companion of the man stood in front of him no less. So his attention was quickly drawn back to Vahaelarr, lips thinned and nostrils flared with discomfort. “Qilōni taught ao Valyrīha?” — Who taught you Valyrian? He'd quip while his eyes observed every motion the other made.

Tamir's foot lifted and collided with the ground again in a stomp. Quiet and fleeting as it was, he knew it to be insensitive, a childish habit he hadn't grown out of. Faust had offered him what? His teeth ground against each other while his head turned away from Vahaellar, a huff expelling from his nose. When he turned back, his gaze had hardened but his expression was eased—softened into the frown he had before. “Ziry iksos daor surprise. Faust va moriot gōntan hae naejot iderēbagon bē strays.” — It's no surprise. Faust always did like to pick up strays.

The man shifted, a paw sliding across the remnants of dried leaves crusted beneath his pads. It was a distraction. Anything to keep him from turning tail and strangling his brethren. What was he thinking? Bringing in strangers...letting them stay. They had too much at risk. “Skoriot sia ao bartōro pār? se Vāle iksis inkot ao.” — Where were you headed then? The Vale is behind you. He knew of Vahaellar's destination, knew of the companion he was set on bringing back. He wondered if Faust did too.

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Vahaelarr remained a stoic figure against the warm backdrop of the valley, outlined by the robust trees that dotted the greenery of the mountain protected vale; he was as still as the trees that soared to the skies, their canopies kissing the clouds that rolled calmly. Though Vahaelarr did his best to put on the display of an ally, it was clear it fell on deaf, ignorant ears. With each fleeting day that passed, Vahaelarr grew ever more exhausted with the lack of camaraderie shared between these cold wolves. It was clear that the stranger was on edge, and Vahaelarr's presence alone did not elicit it; he was offended, perhaps even angered by Vahaelarr’s use of Valyrian. And now I am hated for speaking a language I was born into. He could’ve scoffed, had half the mind too. He felt the manners, the respect, seeping from his bones with each beating moment that passed. 

But nonetheless, something tugged at the corners of Vahaelarr's lips, a subtle hint of a charming smile. In the face of disdain, he would be unmoved. "Valyrīha iksos se udrir hen issa ancestors.” — Valyrian is the language of my ancestors. Vahaelarr’s tongue was slow, measured, cautious. "Ao gaomagon daor pāsagon mērī ao se aōha brethren ȳzaldrīzes ziry, gaomagon ao?” — You do not believe only you and your brethren speak it, do you? He questioned, a brow ticking upwards with genuine curiosity. He did not mean offense, only found his interest piqued by Tamir’s reaction to the tongue he’d spoken.

Tamir's next words, laced with a blend of bitterness and resignation, didn't escape Vahaelarr's notice. The mention of Faust and his tendency to "pick up strays" stirred something in the stranger. His brows knitted together, shocked by the subtle disrespect towards his leader that rode the brute’s words. Steadily, Vahaelarr rose from where he had been seated, slate fur bristling with a sudden alarm. "Strays, ao vestragon.” — Strays, you say. There was the subtle tick of his jaw, visible only if one looked, as his molars gritted together momentarily. "Konīr iksos kustikāne isse numbers. Nykeā wise jentys does daor pālegon qrīdrughagon lī qilōni swear fealty naejot zȳhon cause; mirros ūndegīva isse faust. Ao should respect ziry.” — There is strength in numbers. A wise leader does not turn away those who swear fealty to his cause; something seen in Faust. You should respect it. There was no hostility or conviction present in the voice of the outsider, only the honeyed sound of wisdom. Perhaps Tamir needed to hear it, or perhaps he would turn and attempt to strike him down--but Vahaelarr would not fight. Violence, so seedy, was beneath the noble brute. 

Lilac eyes ticked downwards at the sudden movement of Tamir striking his paw against the ground, and then dragging it across the dried leaves that littered the grass. His eyes flickered back upwards to meet his side eye, and he found himself being questioned once more. Again, his jaws opened in patient reply: "Issa vōljes iksos awaiting issa rȳ se border rūsīr udir hen issa companion.” — My crow is awaiting me at the border with news of my companion. He replied curtly, lilac eyes sizing the wolf up quietly.

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The uproar within Tamir never seemed to dull, a starving flame burning away the kindling this he-wolf continued to spew. Tamir was no fool, but it wasn't as though his home before actively sought out the presence of neighboring groups. Even when they had, native tongues were a barrier, an unconquered current of common ground. They'd been given no time to teach others of Valyrian and he'd never heard of stories, so he believed there was justification in his feelings. There was so much the man didn't know, so much he'd tasked himself to find. His home was chipping away bit by bit, that alone was enough of a burden for a man to carry.

A gentle sigh. An act of remedy to his flared temper he'd hoped. “Nyke've dōrī known anyone outside hen ñuha lentor naejot ȳdragon Valyrīha. Ziry iksos iā shock, naejot ivestragon se least.” — I've never known anyone outside of my family to speak Valyrian. It's a shock, to say the least. A soft explanation he'd tried to pass, the rebuilding of a makeshift bridge he'd burned the moment his temper acted for him. There'd be no trust ever if Tamir simply expected the worst. He supposed he owed it, not to himself, but to those they'd found along the way. Estelle passed through his mind if only briefly, his patience with her a testament to how he needed to be now.

He would've felt that patience, would've listened to the gentle patter of paws hitting leaves as they circled around his sturdy form. Tamir knew he should've put forth that patience, but the next words spoken from Vahaellar after he'd risen were enough to split his resolve in half. How dare he? The shadowman felt tendrils of heat lick at the base of his neck. Vahaellar, despite having a few years on Tamir, knew nothing of what Faust and himself had endured, their family too. Betrayed by their own blood, sent free-falling into a world that was never theirs to inherit, and he had the audacity to question Tamir's loyalty to his brethren. Years ago, it would've sent the man spiraling; sensitive and temperamental, there was no coming back from his fits. It took him weeks to recuperate.

He was better now, mature and more levelheaded than he'd ever been. So, despite the raw urge to bite their head off, he instead simply sat. There was no evidence of his internal rage aside from the consistent flicks of his ear and the drive of his claws into the dirt beneath him. His tongue rolled around in his mouth before his shoulders straightened and he began, words consistent with the otherwise calm demeanor he displayed. “Konīr iksis byka ao gīmigon, vahaellar. Nūmāzma īlva, anyway. Aōha wisdom kostagon prove useful isse tolie cases, yn nyke assure ao, isse bisy ziry lacks.” — There is little you know, vahaellar. About us, anyway. Your wisdom can prove useful in other cases, but I assure you, in this one it lacks. He'd shift, eyes closing to ease his temper even more before he'd begin once more. “Kustikāne gaomas daor va moriot māzigon isse numbers. Sworn pazavorve iksis daor merely spoken, sīr shijetra nyke lo pāsan aōha udra naejot sagon doru ēva proven lodaor.” — Strength does not always come in numbers. Sworn loyalty is not merely spoken, so forgive me if I believe your words to be empty until proven otherwise. Tamir could feel the familiar bite at the end of his words, unintentional as it was but there all the same.

A beat passed before his second question was confirmed by the man, a gentle nod his only response. He stood then, taking a small side-step as if to silently display his own dismissal. “Nyke won't ōregon ao bē mirre longer. Se vahaellar, gīmigon bona aōha wisdom iksis heeded. Nyke won't deny bona konīr iksis olvie emi naejot gūrēñagon, yn ao tolī issi iēdrosa clueless naejot sīr olvie.” — I won't hold you up any longer. And Vahaellar, know that your wisdom is heeded. I won't deny that there is much we have to learn, but you too are still clueless to so much.

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Vahaelarr's presence remained unyielding amidst the tranquil Vale, the serenity of the landscape contrasting with the simmering tension in the air. Tamir's words had cut deep, like icy winds biting at his fur, lashing him over and over. I struck a nerve. Vahaelarr’s chiseled face lifted upwards slightly as he peered upon the brute who stood before him, the feet that lingered between the two of them brimming with a silent opposition. Vahaelarr had seemingly crossed a line, but this is something he’d known the moment he had spoken, and it did little to deter him. An outsider to these lands he was, but it did not mean he’d shut his mouth and suffer in the face of these stranger wolves. 

However, he listened intently nonetheless, the gravity of Tamir's past and the weight of his loyalty upon his grisled voice. The words from Tamir’s mouth filled the silence between them, and Vahaelarr’s face betrayed not what he was thinking; the slate brute didn’t budge nor twitch, only settled his intense stare upon the dark furred wolf. It appeared the bonds Tamir held to his brethren ran deep, etched into his very being, a sentiment that bled through his voice. Vahaelarr respected it, he even saw himself in it. There was nothing that the brute wouldn’t do for his family--and Tamir shared the same sentiments. It is why Vahaelarr said nothing, only pondered his words carefully. 

A sharp chuckle left the mouth of the brute, an airy sound of honey. He only gave a nod of his head at Tamir’s words, a respectful glint held to his stare as he met Tamir’s gaze. "Nyke kostagon't argue bona ao issi pirta, Tamir.” — I can't argue that you are wrong, Tamir. Vahaelarr’s voice fell upon the wind, fluttering into the sky as he rose himself from his seated position. His strong form rippled as he moved, turning to be on his way once more. "Sagon sȳrī, raqiros.” — Be well, friend.

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