the ice had broken beneath his paws. agloolik had willed it so, though jorma had stepped upon that plain countless times before. some sudden warmth, perhaps, or a twist of fate.

one moment, secure; the next, submerged and frozen.

flailing, sputtering. . .

and gone, with barely time to pray to the gods before his heart stopped.

---

with a dramatic gasp, jorma surfaced, his broad white head breaking the surface of the waves, forelegs churning in panic. his limbs carried him to the shore, where he dragged his sodden self upon a frigid beach, trembling and cursing.

the mist was thick and swirled around him, half-masking the dark cliffs that rose in the near distance. he hadn't the strength to stand, and so he lay sprawled upon wet sand, eyes flashing 'round for any sign of the familiar.

he did not find it.

is it a dream? he wondered. but he did not think dreams came with the burning in his lungs and ache in his bones that he felt now. not even the most vivid of visions. . .

jorma groaned, and attempted to move to a sitting position. he did not succeed.

Skill:

Given the murderous Cypress had yet to be found, it was dangerous to go out alone - but something peculiar twinkled in the distance far beyond the safety of the Respite's boundaries, clusters of something tall and colorful and entirely unknown to the region. Whether it be the Five or fate or idle restlessness, Valeska chose to venture out beyond the northeastern border that marked their home and traveled toward the sparkling lights.

She would only be gone for a day or two, she thought to herself. Amaranth was safe, and they now had several Shadowsbane within their ranks to help defend them - it had been a while since she risked adventure.

So it was that the following day, Valeska found herself at the base of a group of high-reaching pines decorated in every manner of colorful lights. She marveled at them from below, head tilted to the side as she tried to get a better visual on just what could be their origin. A trick of the light? Iridescent wads of snow? Insects, perhaps?

Her paw touched something, and she looked down to notice a small pelt, likely from a hare, draped carefully over a small cache of goods.

The little wolf moved it aside -

Coal.

Coal? What was this - some kind of prank? What good was coal for, of all things?

Valeska collected the little hard lumps into a pile on the hare pelt, plucked the bundle up within her jaws, and moved toward the cliff to hurl it over the edge and out toward the sea.

As it flew through the air, she glanced down toward the lapping waves and saw, to her great astonishment, what appeared to be a body.

Sacred Wolf Mother! Valeska cried out, leaning over the edge. Hello! Hello, can you hear me?!

The sack of coal, once briefly forgotten, was now making a beeline directly for the stranger down below.

Oh gods, I am so sorry - she howled, MOVE!

"hello? hello, can you hear me?"

sister? he thought faintly, wondering if this was finally tuuli to come rescue him. praise the gods—but he realized an instant later that the voice was unfamiliar, and just milliseconds after a cry of "MOVE!" from above, he felt something strike his left cheek, rattling against his jaw.

ouch.

even more dazed than before, jorma looked crossly upward, searching for the source of this nonsense. then down, finding a small bundle of whatever wrapped in a hare's pelt. he didn't really care what it was, only that it had walloped him from the heavens, for whatever reason.

he flicked it aside with a forepaw, scowling. a lump was beginning to form upon his handsome face, and he was quite peeved about it.

Oh, hells.

Whoever it was that lay below, he seemed delirious; he hadn't moved an inch at her command, instead appearing dazed and almost listless in his stupor. Clearly he was injured, and medical attention was required.

Unfortunately, she wasn't a medic.

Valeska, stout and hardy, built for sheer cliffs and bitter polar winds, deftly began her descent toward the unfortunate soul who had washed up on the shoreline. Measuring one step at a time, she clambered down with the sharp precision of a mountain goat until at last she reached the bottom, breathless and concerned as she swept to his side.

I did not mean for - it to hit you - she rasped, looking him over for any further damage. The stranger wasn't bleeding, at least, although an angry bump thrust out from his forehead in a way that might have been comical if she hadn't been so distraught. Where did you come from? You are soaking wet - и, скорее всего, у меня сотрясение мозга, это моя вина (and likely concussed, which is my fault) - we must get you out of the damp!

The little wolf nudged him with her snout, urging him to move up and away from the shoreline, ushering him toward a somewhat gentler incline leading over the cliffside. If he could rally himself, perhaps they might make it, but she could not carry him alone.

You need rest, she admonished him, And you need food. Can you walk?

Raiyuk had been tending to the lodge of his father; this new place that had been built as the survivors massed together. He was still unsure if it had been a flood, or a rockslide, or a sleeping sickness that had caused them all to arrive here — and really, it made no sense how any of those things could transport anyone; also, did it matter how? His mind had been buzzing with such considerations as he'd worked. The lodge was mostly built, and Raiyuk was mindful enough to head further up the brim towards the place where the caribou woman Red Leaf, and her son Ghelan, had chosen for their own.

He did not get too far, though. There was a commotion further up the beach — closer to the sea. Pausing along the tree line, the young man surveyed his surroundings and a gradual frown formed upon his features. He moved hastily towards the tide and the ice resting there, because there was a woman shouting, and she looked to be struggling. As Raiyuk came to her aid he saw a bundle on the ground; sopping wet, pale, canine — Jorma?!

How could he be here? Immediately, Raiyuk moved to help the woman, as she seemed to be trying to wake him, or move him.

Jorma, can you hear me? You must get up! He urged in the pidgin language of Jorma's people, and his own seal hunter people, hoping something would be understood. A frantic look was spared to the woman also, filled not only with concern but with an urgent sort of hope.

dazed and confused as he was, jorma was still a man—and more than willing to forgive the gorgeous woman of silver, once she made her presence known.

dunno, he managed, and blinked at the foreign words that spilled from her tongue. it didn't matter—love had no language. he was making eyes at her while she tried to haul him upright, and he was beginning to obey her every command when—

"jorma! you must get up!"

another wolf had appeared, so familiar that it itched at his brain, and he peered at the man and thought. . .

raiyuk? he tried, tilting his head. he launched into the same pidgin, finding the bridge between their two cousin languages. raiyuk, right? have i found you here? he glanced at the beautiful woman and added, this is my hunt-brother. . .i think. from another world. i know his face.

It was worse than she'd thought.

His eyes were glazed, his mind fractured; the man was almost looking through her rather than at her, and Valeska didn't know what the symptoms of a brain-bleed were so she could only assume the end was not long coming.

Struggling against his side, she pressed against the stranger (likely to his delight) in a bid to get him moving, but Valeska's paws sank fruitlessly into the sand as her efforts yielded little more than a half inch's worth of work. He was no better off now than before she had discovered him here.

Yet by the Five, she would not quit.

Valeska rallied herself to somehow try and half-drag, half-carry the wolf next, but before she could loop herself beneath his forelimbs a new voice cut through the wind and the fog and uttered only one word: Jorma.

In an instant the newcomer had swept to their side as a string of incomprehensible phrases fell from his lips, and Valeska could not recognize their origin.

His presence stirred the injured fellow back to something close to awareness, head lolling to the side as his wandering eyes eventually found their target.

Well, you are lucky to have found each other here, she said, Some arrive with only their own names; why, it is sometimes that even memories are left behnd.

Valeska thought of Gwyn, then, one of the original five who had founded Elysium all those years ago - he had never made the leap at all, trapped a world away and whose fate would remain ever unknown.

Raiyuk - if that is your name - the silver wolf then motioned toward his dazed, waterlogged friend - We must get him up the cliff to dry land; I can show you an easier way. Can you help him stand?

It really was Jorma! Raiyuk was thrilled as much as he was concerned for his friend. This region was not familiar to him or his father - but maybe Jorma knew it, maybe his people were close? Now was not the time to wonder; the woman was trying to muscle the man to his feet and Raiyuk eagerly assisted.

He did not know all that the stranger was saying - but she wasn't doing anything to harm the hunter, and was quick enough to catch and repeat Raiyuk's name. He gave her an apologetic look for his ignorance to her language; however, she was motioning to a place further up the beach and away from the tide.

He understood! They would work together to help Jorma there.
Are you hurt? Do you remember if you were hunting or - traveling? Raiyuk wanted to keep him talking in part to make sure he did not fall unconscious, and in part because he selfishly sought answers to try and make sense of this place for himself and those that arrived alongside him.

sandwiched between a beautiful woman and a friend—if this was heaven, this was more than he ever could have expected. that said, the pain was too acute for the afterlife; his head hurt, and his limbs still ached from the frantic paddling to shore.

hunting, friend, jorma explained, nodding. getting to the seals—and then the ice cracked beneath my paws. and i fell into the sea.

it was happening more often, apparently. the ice was thinner than ever; the more daring hunters spoke of it.

his head swiveled, turning toward valeska. are you a hunter? he queried. he smiled gently. or just a rescuer of lost souls?

he staggered between the pair as they transported him onward and upward, his bulky pale body swaying, pawprints left awry in the sand behind him.

More foreign words spilled from the russet wolf's lips, but at least he seemed to understand what she was trying to communicate. He was smart to keep the pale one - Jorma - upright and alert, although her inherent nosiness found her very keen to know what they were saying.
Perhaps in another life, she was a master of languages.

Helping a great deal more than one might have suspected from a woman her size, Valeska shouldered half of the pale wolf's weight without complaint as the trio began their rocky ascent. She would never be the slim, elegant figure that Amaranth was, but at least her stout form served a purpose; she had never thought herself beautiful anyway. She was too... loud, for one thing.
Most other females she encountered were long of leg and waifishly ethereal in appearance, while she might as well have been a fluffy bridge troll by comparison.

I am a Priestess, Valeska replied, timing her breaths to maintain an even pace with the russet-furred stranger opposite. High Priestess of Elysium; I am a devout of the gods.

It sounded very pretentious, actually.

And a very enthusiastic eater of caribou, I suppose.

She cast Jorma a curious glance.

What were you hunting? That is what I presume you were doing.