the wind sings the song of our past

GO thread for velaris! looking for some stargazer/visionary posts threads!

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As the sun fell over the cliffside and the moon threw a dark blanket over the sky, Gjalla would hike to the roost's highest points, numb to the jagged stones that would otherwise cut and bruise dark paw pads. The night called to her, beckoning her up until there was nothing left to climb.

Silver stars glinted from the heavens, moonlight pouring onto a raven pelt and bleeding into periwinkle eyes. Temperatures dipped slowly as autumn approached, much to Gjalla's delight. Shaped by the north, she could only stand the heat so long.

Sat silent upon the cliff's edge, Gjalla surveyed the expansive territory, overviewing the vale before her head tilted to the sky. The night had been quiet — beyond the winds that curled against her pelt with a hymnal howl. Eyes fluttered shut beneath the moon, and memories of the past would slip through her mind with reverence.

Amongst the breeze, the woman could've sworn she heard a voice, deep and rich like that of her dam's. Her heart beat faster at merely the thought of it.

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It was late. Star Mother had long since let her gaze grow downcast, her watchful dreams instead taking over throughout the night's regal bringing. It adorned the otherwise suffocating greens into shades of indigo and different hues of blue alike. He preferred it, the shadows favored him more when bustling nature turned quiet and he'd been thankful for it. Because of that, and in addition to the night terrors that plagued him amidst his most vulnerable states, he frequented the nights often. Sleep was almost an unfamiliar concept to the man, one he was far too adamant about keeping the same. He got the hours he needed—enough to keep him upright and aware—that was all he needed.

To the creatures of the dark, it was no surprise that Tamir was out and about, simply taking his time in scouring every nook and cranny throughout the territory. It was fruitful, and he supposed it was as much a blessing as it was a curse. It unnerved him still, that was until the gentle wash of mint permeated the air, a wisp—there and gone again.

He recalled Gjalla and her companion departing in the opposite direction after Faust's speech, had he been mistaken? With doubt weighing heavy on his mind, he instead chose to follow the scent along the clifftops he'd already felt a certain attachment to. He felt closer to her there, to his mother, and the rest of his family. He supposed it was his Star Mother's intention but a part of him hoped it was because they too missed him as much as he. Nevertheless, all thoughts of his family and star-crossed lover were pushed to the back of his mind when the brush parted, pines sliding against his sides as he took to the side of the dame.

“I'd wondered how long it'd take for someone to discover this.” His words were soft, strung together with a confidence he didn't know himself capable of when he spoke common. He didn't want to spook her into lifting that snarky lip at him again.

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In the absence of the light, Gjalla found herself a mere shadow amidst the vast expanse of stars. As night fell, she slipped away from Vahaelarr's side, and the darkened sky became her concealment.

Tufted ears pricked at the sound of another, the pattering of paws gliding soft over stone. Her prayers were halted temporarily as she’d twist her head to peer back at the onlooker. Short relief would course through her when she recognized the obsidian pelted wolf.

The princess would curl her legs toward her belly to offer him a spot beside her. She watched as the man approached, her crown dipping. Her throat vibrated with a lulled hum, understanding.

Lost in her mind, her tongue would revert back to Valyrian without the consideration of him. “Se qēlossās called naejot issa,” — The stars called me here, A sharp Valyrian drawl hung at the edge of her words, a soothing sting against the air.

She’d notice her mistake shortly after, and would turn back to the common tongue. “They held great importance in Stormrift. The mountains, the stars. They tether me to my home.” She explained, softer now as half-lidded eyes shifting from him to the twinkling stars that danced in her overhead.

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The coo of owls to his left was one of the few things that halted hefty steps, a soft rendition of the night's usual symphony he revered. He waited for them to settle before the shuffling of Gjalla brought his attention back to her again. He hadn't expected her to be so casual with him joining, but he was grateful and displayed such with a tilt of his head towards her as he sat by her side.

It was silent save for the crickets scattered around them, and then it was the melody of her voice that only paired with the peace of a night's turn. He was gracious the moment her speech turned to his mother tongue, his shoulders settling with familiarity. “Nyke've noticed issi louder kesīr.” — I've noticed they are louder here. His head turned up to the dark expanse of a sky, eyes closing while his fur rustled with the howls of wind breezing by them.

His eyes opened but his head remained lifted, pointed toward the glimmer of stars above the pair. “Īlon believed keskydoso. Se qēlossās. Syt nyke, se qēlossās sia memorials, souls īlva qēlos muña ēdas taken iemnȳ zirȳla prūmia.” — We believed the same. The stars...For me, the stars were memorials, souls our Star Mother had taken within her heart. There was a hymn in the back of his mind, a feminine lullaby he thought he'd forgotten. “Ñuha muña iksis bē konīr, sisters...Gaomagon ao miss aōha lentor?” — My mother is up there, sisters... Do you miss your family? His head turned down to her.

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Out of all the Velarion brood, Tamir had been the least hateful. His sand-yellow gaze was softer than the others had been, less disdainful. For that, she'd be merciful and let him join her without quarrel. Spare him from a spitfire's tongue.

A gentle breeze swept through, riding over dark pelts. Curls blew forward in the wind, and her eyes fluttered at the dry sting it brought with it. The princess could sympathize. Her heart swelled for her kin alone, bound to them by blood. Others, by circumstance. At his words, she'd nod.

"Syt hae bōsa hae se qēlossās exist, pōnta jāhor sagon rūsīr issa va moriot." — For as long as the stars exist, they will be with me always.  If not on this earth, then in Valhalla. They'd keep a watchful eye over her each night until she joined them there. "Nyke jorepagon ao ūndegon zirȳ arlī, tamir. Isse bisa glaeson, nykeā se hembar." — I pray you see them again, Tamir. In this life, or the next.Gjalla added.

Curiosity kindled in her mind, and Gjalla couldn't help but pursue the thread of their conversation further. "Ao vestretan īlon-" — You said we. she began, shifting on her side to look at him. "- gaomagon naenie hen ao ōregon similar faith?" — Do many of you hold similar faith?Tamir had implied as much.

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There was a certain ease Tamir felt with this woman. A stranger amidst a cold backdrop of unfamiliarity, she took everything in stride. There was no sense of protection or worry he felt he needed to bestow, but instead, an inkling that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. And despite his own incessant need to preen over every woman that warranted it, there was something fresh about the time he spent with the Gjalla.

His heart bloomed as he listened to her melodic voice, crooning to him like a loon in the depths of the night. Only Faust knew of the extent his faith reached, only his present family knew of the fates his past kin met. But her, so unfamiliar with the details of it all, her words would've been enough to send him falling if he were a weak man, but the most he could offer was a heartfelt expression cast in her direction. “Aōha prūmia iksis gevie, Gjalla. Kirimvose.” — Your heart is beautiful, Gjalla. Thank you.


The man's head turned away from her at her inquiry, a sigh rattling his bones as he shuffled atop their perch. “Īlon mirre gaomagon naejot.” — We all used to. He started, sparing her few and fleeting glances but his attention was on the stars. “Ñuha lentor ēza issare rȳ iā lot. Nyke ȳdra daor blame zirȳ syt pōja mijegon hen jorrāelagon iā vokēdre isse īlva qēlos muña.” — My family has been through a lot. I don't blame them for their lack of love or faith in our Star Mother. He finally pulled his gaze away to meet her own, a gentle smile on his maw. “Iksi mirre merely ojūdan qēlossās finding īlva ñuhoso.” — We are all merely lost stars finding our way.

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If the sun were out, perhaps he'd catch the way her cheeks tinted with warmth. Or the subtle curve of her lips that formed a down-turned smile. Gjalla forced the feeling into her chest, holding it there until the breeze swept it away. The compliment was kind, even if only half-true. She was a tempest, in truth, merely softer at night.
 
"Konīr issi dorolvie qilōni would agree rūsīr ao." — There are few who would agree with you. She'd refute, periwinkle gaze shying back to glance at the moon as he did, dismissive. Gjalla was an attentive listener, offering quiet hums in quiet understanding. Her own family had their fair share of complications, before and after her birth. Wavering faith did not surprise her. "Se qēlossās jāhor sagon konīr, should pōnta seek zirȳ." — The stars will be there, should they seek them. The princess affirmed.
 
She'd twist gracefully to put her legs in front of her, dropping her head to her paws with a glance at him. Ebony fur draped to touch stone, framing her face in the moonlight's gentle glow. "Nyke gaomagon daor ēdrugon among tolie often. Nyke hope nyke daor. Encroaching ondoso remaining kesīr syt se bantis." — I do not sleep among others often. I hope I am not... encroaching by remaining here for the night.

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A chortle would've sounded through the silence of the night, a knife dragged through the last bits of tension he'd felt straining his shoulders. “Naejot bona, nyke ȳdra daor doubt, Gjalla.” — To that, I don't doubt, Gjalla. He let his eyes wander the expanse of hers for a moment's more before his lips were lifting into a small smile yet again. “Īlē olvie...qopsa īlva ēlī meeting. Iā drēje testament naejot aōha prūmia, maybe. Though, drējī, nyke kostagon daor ivestragon nyke blame ao.” — You were most...difficult our first meeting. A true testament to your heart, maybe. Though, truly, I can't say I blame you. A beat later, Tamir would mimic her, humming to her words with ever so little dips of his head.

“Ēza aōha vokēdre va moriot issare bisa unyielding?” — Has your faith always been this unyielding? The way she spoke of the stars, he wondered if her faith, too, had ever been lost. If she, like the rest of them, struggled under the weight of expectations awaiting them. His eyes never left her still, sluggishly traveling from the top of her head to the hues of her cheeks, and then back again to her eyes. He was always drawn back there. Mesmerizing as they were, he did it to grant her the knowledge of knowing his attention was wholly hers—hers to keep or hers to dismiss.

If Tamir was taken aback by the words that left her lips, there wasn't a piece of him that displayed it. But he was, taken so far back that she'd felt comfortable around him enough to let her guard down, to sleep alongside him even if there was a large enough distance between the two. A wicked face of a feeling burned against his chest.

Betrayal. It twined around his thoughts and heated the back of his neck, but he knew himself to have done nothing wrong. If anything, he was doing both her and Vahaellar a favor by staying, protecting her in doing so. The thought alone was enough to hush his feelings for a moment, but the selfishness in his heart knew he was staying for just as many wrong reasons as right.

“Ēdrugon naejot aōha prūmia's content. Assuming ao umbagon lyka, ao won't encroach va mirros.” — Sleep to your heart's content. Assuming you remain quiet, you won't encroach on anything. There was a small lilt in his voice, a tease rolling off his tongue before his head moved back to the stars.

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Tamir had not seen far into the depths of her slumbering ire, nor had he felt the sting of her cutting words. For that, he should be grateful. The she-wolf would nod along to his words.
 
She'd shrug, silent as she considered him. "Se gods emagon dōrī given issa nykeā drīve naejot pālegon zirȳ qrīdrughagon." — The gods have never given me a reason to turn them away. Gjalla's response came slowly, measured with forethought. Still, that alone felt insufficient. "stormrift's faith iksos devised naejot comfort se ojūdan se renew hope naejot lī mijegon ziry," — Stormrift's faith is devised to comfort the lost and renew hope to those without it, Gjalla explained with reverence. Perhaps that was where they differed, but she'd never pry.
 
"Nykeā darilaros dōrī snores." — A princess never snores. She'd jest in response with the flick of her ear, hind legs sprawled to the side. With the quiet of the night, pale eyes shut, and she'd give a final sigh. "Goodnight, Tamir."

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Tamir would listen intently, eyes alight with intrigue after every word spoken from her lips. Their faiths were similar in their manners, that he could muse, but while Star Mother held her children dear, it was ultimately their decision to recognize the love and worth she held in her eyes for them. Gjalla's faith rivaled in that, he envied her for it. Steadfast in his faith, he'd never see that it'd be lost, but his faith was neither a walk in the park.

His shoulders lowered with comfort as the woman's eyes struggled to stay open, an exhaustion pouring off her in waves that he'd only wanted to ignore if it meant she'd grant him more conversation. He instead simply let out a soft hum to her words, softened gaze never leaving the dame's body until her breaths had eased and the furrows in her brow dispersed.

Then, and only then, did his gaze lift, transfixed on the stars above them. “Goodnight, Gjalla.” He'd whisper into the night, thoughts of his family encroaching on the peacefulness he'd sought to hold onto when he'd come to the clifftop.

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