---

nine months |

Teenaged rebellion had finally called him by name. Or, rather, this form of it had finally convinced Sverke to give in to its siren call.

Now, the Black Spear stood with the mainland's frosted earth beneath his navy paws. Moonlight filtered through the trees of the tightly-packed forest, the shadows blending into his dark fur seamlessly as he walked. Sverke had no desire to split from his family's grasp, no matter how few remained. But his wandering paws and hunger for novelty had driven him to sneak off the island. Just far enough to wander, not so far that he couldn't abscond to the safety of the Skjoldrheim's shields should he find trouble even greater than himself.

Sverke paused in his meandering trek, lifting his chin to take a luxurious breath of the pine-scented air.

Alright, he could relate to why Sindri had taken off.

Up ahead, a twig snapped. The boy's attention snapped toward the noise. Ears swiveled forward atop his crown. All went quiet, and still, for a held-breath second...then, whatever had wandered too close to the prince sprang away, deeper into the shadows. Sverke gave his reaction no thought - he lunged after the unknown figure in the space between heartbeats.

Skill:—[0/5]

---

Different. Everything different. No more home, no more anything—

Deirdre woke up with a start, with coldness nipping her feet, wrapping her into an unwanted embrace. Heaps of unruly black fur battered rigorously against the shock of cool air. What had happened?

As though the curse of winter had befallen them once again, snow littered the ground here and there. It was sprinkled along her back like sugar. Why? It was warm when she'd fallen asleep, but why cold when she woke up?

Her narrow head canted upwards towards the pitch sky, an expanse of black interrupted by occasional bits of white. A rumble resounded deep within Deirdre's throat—she knew the stars well. They were her friends; yet they were all different Rearranged into something wrong.

Long, frail limbs swiftly paced above the cold undergrowth, lithe body weaving between trees, her tail bristling. She was far too distracted to notice the rustling that violently shook in the shrubs to her rear—she only noticed when a figure dark as night leapt forth, directly towards her.

It wasn't an impressive feat to knock Deirdre onto the ground. She tumbled without grace, her black fur covered in snow and bits of foliage. What on god's green earth was that?! She immediately thrust herself back onto her feet, tongue lolling from between her jaws, body coiled away within the shadows.

Ice crystals glittered in the air as Sverke gave chase, the faintest flurries of remaining snow this far north flung into the air dramatically as he lunged after his quarry.

It was sinewy, fast and small. He thought nothing more about what it was beyond that. The boy could feel the earth rattle beneath his paws, could feel his muscles strain and lungs ache. These were the sensations that rose to the forefront of his mind. He'd been born for this in a life before, and this body still remembered the echoes of that eternal hunt. It mattered not what lay before his teeth - be it shadow or sun-chariot.

Nothing but him could run forever.

He collided with the skin-and-bone frame of his prey with an over-excited snarl that came out more like a thunderous bark. They rolled apart through the bushes, snow speckling his already star-studded fur. This close brush finally gave Sverke a little more information - this wasn't a melanistic fawn or a cross fox, but a young and wiry wolf. The prince rolled to his paws with relative grace, standing in the moonlit little clearing he'd tumbled into with his flanks heaving and a cocky grin plastered across his parted jaws. He expected...something, but wasn't sure what - in any case, his curiosity was piqued, and he tilted his head to get a better look at his catch.

The wolf flinched away, trying to bleed back into the shadows; his hackles lifted in warning. The line between play and prey blurred - he watched her sharp edges start to blend into the bushes, toward escape, and the boy's fangs glinted as he struck forward to try to grab her with a disgruntled huff.

Skill:—[0/5]

---

Burnt eyes followed the figure as it rose—a wolf. Looked young; younger than her, even, yet huge. There was a high-pitched whine that rumbled in her throat before she scrambled further back, narrowly escaping his jaws as they lurched forward once again.

There was no mistaking it now. This wasn't some misunderstanding; he'd seen her. Yet, he targets anyway. She has no meat, she is not prey—why? Why did he give chase? Was there something so interesting about her?

Such questions could be asked later. There were more dire matters to be taken care of.

Her paws thrummed against the ground as she raced away, sending leaves and a cloud of snow flying in her wake. Her eyes scanned for anything—a den, a hole... something she could fit in, that he could not.

Alas, there was nothing within the shadows but black. Deep darkness, inpenetrable by anything—not her vision, by any means. A root gnarling from the ground only just higher than the rest was as good as invisible when it'd caught her paw—and immediately, she was sent tumbling onto the ground like a bowling pin.

'Fuck.' Deirdre gasped, scrambling onto her feet and tucking her head into her chest, bracing for whatever the hell it was that other was planning to do to her.

His teeth closed on empty, pine-scented air. A frustrated huff whistled through the boy's teeth. The shadow writhed, then bolted into the shadowed forest once again.

Sverke darted after her, shaking off the leaf litter that stuck to his muzzle in her wake. She was easy to follow; he was sure his well-toned muscles would be able to catch the too-skinny scrap of a girl sooner or later. Adrenaline, the thrill of the chase, was electric in his blood. He felt as if he could do anything - run forever, traverse the sky, burn the earth to ash, swallow the sun!

A whump into the snow, up ahead, followed by a curse. He closed the distance with the graceful violence of a meteor coming to earth. This time, his teeth connected with spring-fresh, sweet-smelling fur.

Mine.

Sverke grabbed at her with his teeth once again to yank her closer, snapping at her a few more times just to make a point. He didn't make an effort to maim her, but neither did he worry if he'd bruise or puncture her skin. He lifted his chin, aware of how he loomed over her, illuminated from behind by the swell of the moon.

Caught you. The prince chimed, melodic and mirthful. His tail swayed over his hips, a smug glint in his gaze. Wasn't that fun? Shall they go again?

Skill:—[0/5]

---

Teeth sank into her nape, hoisting her back again, and again. 'Caught you.' The saccharine voice chirped, the sound an irreverent parallel to an innocent child's play. Eyes narrowed, she looked up at the moonlit boy with an indecipherable stare—something settled between fear, agony, and the desperate need for survival.

Her head stooped downward, cheek pressed into the earth below. You— her voice was rattled, hoarse from her ragged breaths, strained from the lack of use. What are you?

The lithe form slowly slithered along the undergrowth, inching away from this... thing. A juvenile something. A wolf, perhaps physically, yet an enigma beneath the surface. Her skin prickled with unease—what had brought her here? And why here? Presented to this beast, his brutish jaws and whatever sick habit he makes of chasing strangers in the depth of night.

Deirdre kept her body low, tail coiled against her hocks, brows furrowed into a tight scowl. Slowly did she ease towards the leaf litter, tilting her body until the skin of her abdomen basked in the moonlight in submission.

Her paws remained braced against the ground, well prepared to thrust herself off the ground and run away once again.

In the dark, her eyes were dark; walnut shells dusted with soot. She looked frightened. It made him feel powerful. Here, he was in control; fate might careen him helplessly toward Ragnarok, and the fates might steal away his mother and sibling after sibling, one by one. And Sverke couldn't do anything about that, but he could toy with this poor thing like a mouse between a cat's claws until his curiosity was satisfied. He liked it.

You...What are you? She rasped. Sverke swept his tongue across his maw, brushing away a tuft of dark fluff. Sun-eater, prince, warrior, and more. You can call me Sverke.

His quarry writhed beneath him, baring the soft fur of her starvation-tucked waistline in a silent plea for mercy. Sverke's lifted tail replied with a slow, stiff wag, an unspoken agreement not to aim his fangs for her vulnerable vitals. You're quick, for one so small. The boy mocked with a tilt of his head. What are you?

Skill:—[0/5]

---

Sun-eater, prince, warrior... Sverke. A name of a foreign tongue she'd never heard before. Deirdre took in a silent, stuttering breath, her flanks quaking with unease.

She did not try to run. Her paws pressed into the earth, and she slowly writhed back away from the so-called sun-eater, movements diligently seamless with the fear that any sudden movement would trigger him again.

'You're quick, for one so small.' If not quick, she'd be long dead. This was not her first time being chased, nor would it be her last—yet, something about this one's demeanor felt different. It was not defense, nor was it survival—it was hubris. The look in Sverke's eyes did not speak of a competitor's desperation to chase a threat away from something treasured. There was no purpose to his actions.

'What are you?' The shadow lowered her eyes. She was a wolf—a traveller, a rogue... I am nobody. Her tongue lapped over her nose, grazing the skin of her lips, movements laced with discomfort. It was not a lie; she had no home, no purpose. A living thing; nothing more, nothing less.

She was more snake than wolf, slithering on her belly in the snow, weak springtime moss, and curled brown leaves. Sverke watched her keenly as she moved away again. It wasn't the imperious glower of a power-maddened king, but the cunning patience of a wolf who waited for the herd to show him who was slowest, oldest, weakest.

A snake she may be, but he doubted she was venomous. He wasn't sure her fangs could prick all the way through his skin, not after the chase he'd enjoyed. Sverke let her writhe away, inch by inch. When she inevitably bolted again, their game could begin again. And again.

I am nobody, she rasped. Sverke hummed pleasantly, not dissatisfied with such an answer. He lowered his muzzle, taking a slow and meandering step closer to her. He was a growing boy, and growing increasingly curious about what he could say and do to manipulate the world into the palm of his figurative hands.

Not to me. He murmured, half-sweet, half-mocking. To him, she was something. A shadow it was fun to chase, like the feathers and bones his father used to bring to their den to playfight over and frolic with. Perhaps she was more. Perhaps she could be more. Sverke didn't think that far. He waited for her to get a second wind, and run again - or, better yet, unveil more of her secrets.

Skill: Masochist [1/5]

---

He was still—horrifically still, like a catapult before it snapped. Enshrouded by the undergrowth, the shadow's body entwined with the foliage, hiding away in the safety of darkness.

He neared—just a step—and she reciprocated with a jolt backwards, her lips twitching in the start of a snarl. What now, did he want to jostle her again? 'Catch' her again?

There came no collision of jaw to tender skin—rather, a rumble from his throat. 'Not to me.' His voice was soft, too soft. It was wrong. Out of place, disconcerting. Deirdre's face twisted into a look of confusion.

Was it true?

Conflict erupted in the back of her mind. His jaws hurt, yet his words healed. Deirdre's gaze flickered up from the ground to glance at Sverke, her tail rousing from between her thighs in a slow sweep. To him, she was something—? How?

He did not know her name. He did not know her background, nor anything else about her. To him, she should be nobody—for that is what she is. Her head slowly canted, deep chestnut eyes fixed upon him. What... do you mean? The young wolf shifted against the ground, resting her back against the tree behind her.

It was incomprehensible. Yet, the words left his lips, entered her ears, and now she would not—could not—have it any other way. To him, she was something. Something. Her breath picked up. The low sweep of her tail grew faster.