He’s blind. Blind and cold and suffocating. Limbs ache, body slow and sluggish.

Many come to this world peacefully, many kicking and screaming. He does much like the latter; his paws pounding upon ice above him, head turned and teeth scraping at any chunk he can reach. The water bites at his fur, begging to tug him down into its depths. Each second is crucial, and when all fails and his lungs begin to burn hotter, burn deeper, he desperately slams his back upon the wall above him with a resounding crack. The pain that blooms pushing him further.

CRRKK
CRRRK
CRRRK

A bell toll for all near.

And then he rises from the river, aching. cold. wet. confused.
Enraged. And bellowing.

Coming back to writing after years of absense. New to the site ! Please let me know if something is incorrect- apologies to saatsine in advance for dealing with this guy !

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hello! <3<3

The bell tolls for Iglux̂.
It startles her to rigid awareness. Obsidian pursues the near grove for Cen and begins a loping stride. Broadleaf tree-limbs afford some veiling as she moves into the scar to investigate. Her eyes catch on thrashing wildness—
It is a drowning man, or one trying to drown. His agony rips through the taiga, threshing the pines and ice from their boughs, and even in heated fettle the silver is at once attuned to that suffering cry.
Sun clan is not so far as to warrant her great caution, but there is still a concern for sickness, and an understanding that winter makes enemies of neighboring men. Iglux̂ abandons the farther tree-line for the cold bank where this creature writhes and sweeps in broad half-circles around his mass.
“You will bring the mountain down upon you if you do not stop!” In caribou tongue does she make her plea.

A push and pull. His anguish garners attention as much as it disrupts. Birds fly away in mass, but down does it draw a dove, a woman—a lady in silver; Her steps light and airy. Almost as if floating. Almost as if flying.

The behemoth thinks shes captivating—an apparition.

The monster stops his incessant hollering in favor for looking upon her with a wide gaze and mouth agape like that of a child. A line of drool connecting his chin to his heaving chest doesn't help.
She circles him like one might prey, but he’s too preoccupied; Attempting to catch his breath and move into her space with a large,wiggling nose. His pawsteps fast. Eager— Eager to scent.
Eager to learn more.

Tazi ! <33

Even at a distance the clan imposes confidence, but the muradoii hunter from summer is leaping to mind, how his eyes had radiated the same fire; his bearing the same vastness which demanded careful regard if not absolute submission.
He lurches toward her with too much momentum and in turn her paws skid back on the glazed bank, chest hitching with alarm.
“You will come no closer,” streaks over on bared teeth, though each step to follow feels more and more like a desperate act. He is not merely tall but thick through shoulder and chest, a stone monument dragging the river with him. A long coat hangs thick and darkened, plastered to show roughened muscle.
“Who?” The huntress inquires in common-tongue, pulling at his scent in quick, wary breaths.

The dove speaks.
The monster doesn’t understand her tongue.
Her actions— bared teeth, rigid frame, fast moving paws, is another. He stops his descent upon the little thing just as fast as he began; mouth ajar and breath fast. Mirroring her.
Learning from her.

His eyes—glazed over spheres of sunrise flicker with something at the sound of her question, but its gone just as it came. He stands only rigidly; tail raised and teeth bared to show aged ivories. Should she move, so would he. A step there—a sniff, a shift. Albeit clunky.

There are little absolutes in his view, but he knows this woman means company, means safety, means familiarity within the wide, cold, and terrifying world.

Iglux̂ follows the frightening man with her eyes, realizing he is stranger than others. He has subversive and dangerous potential, even where his stride finds no advancement. She cannot see his machinations so clearly.
Before blood might ensue, the silver plants cleanly, staggering one foot before the other. She is very careful about herself and the defensiveness that comes out of her by natural force. He’d have her down in a cuff, but it would be the last his hand ever made to move, and secure in this knowledge the huntress allows herself be a spectacle of cutting glass, trenchant and wearing an authority she has never before dared claim.
“River belong not saatsine, but herd beyond. Make careful you walk. Meet next teeth.”

A low rumbling stirs in his wide chest at the little doves defensiveness, a reaction as primal as it comes. He doesn’t understand much, but he knows teeth means pain, and pain means fear. And fear—well, he’s good at understanding that by any judgement of the river.

He isn’t, however, understanding the words that emit from The Little thing’s mouth. He mirrors her yet again; tongue flicking idly outside his gums and jaw flapping like that of a bird.
No sound happens.

The Monster tries once more— This time with a louder grumble.
“Uaawghee…”

He’s puzzled. Confused. Why does it not sound like her’s? His brows knit together tightly, his lips curling in anger at the dissatisfaction of not being able to communicate. “Eauuee…eeathee
…thee…”

Mercy is a thing reserved for those whose motivations could be read. But the beast divests his snarling and instead begins earnest attempts at sound-making. Iglux̂'s maneuverings still, half crouching to brace for the retreat, black eyes fixing wide upon his mouth.
He grows winded, but the lanzadoii listens, her ears swinging abruptly forward.
“Uwaghee…thea?” She tests the sound back at him and combs the brutish face for meaning.

The Dove’s eyes widen, her stance too. She looks about to run.

The Beast looks the same.

“Thee…thee.” He continues to flap his jaw in earnest, the syllable coming out garbled—angled under his heavy, panting breath. If anything, he’s determined, and can tell the small thing is mirroring his mess back at him.

Pink ears perk at the sound she makes but the fault lines in his face deepen in a ‘no’ at her imperfection.

“Eeth…..eeth.”

“Teeth…. Meet next…teeth. ”

He had shaped his mouth around sounds she understood, and in doing so made himself briefly understandable. Now it is easier to look upon him humanely, without baring teeth. But mutual fear still boulders between them, and the silver will not release her tautness, maintaining the vigilance in her stance. Heat’s demand is returning, silently tugging her back towards Cen before this one mistakes her pause for invitation.
And yet, some ridiculous notion will not refuse this wretched creature who, against the odds, is trying to be amiable.
Where had he come from?
Iglux̂ testes the air, and still there is only him.
“Go. Leave this place. Return home.”