Graceful Rooms of Alabaster Stone

. . .



"My apologies then." The words were stiff, but sincere enough. He still had no idea what this new king was like or even how he had come into play, but he had no direct conflict with him... other than the fact that he chose to let his pack bare a name he obviously knew nothing about. Or perhaps the king himself did, but the son was left in the dark. It would be no new concept to the bulky yearling.

Cross let his shoulders drop slightly. Whether his own display of distaste had been wise or not, it had taught him something. The black stranger's earlier words were true. If he had been looking for a fight, or wishing to hurt Cross, then that bit of grimace from the boy would've been enough to have him attacking. But he hadn't. The other male had shifted easily enough onto the defensive - but only because Cross had made the first move. This male, though he obviously knew a great deal of fighting - was no threat to Cross unless the boy chose to make an enemy out of him. Fair enough. He wouldn't. Perhaps things would be more tense now for the other male but Cross had seen where the lines were drawn and he was more comfortable now.

Emerald eyes flickered sideways at the expanse of snow and the ridge of mountains beyond. "You asked me what if I came here often," he murmured, proving he had heard the earlier question. His whole head turned back to the view, but his instincts would ensure that one ear remained trained upon the stranger in the snow. "Well, I was born here." In a cave beneath one of the north most mountains -- the memories were still fresh as morning ice. "You see..." he said, letting his gaze shift to the other once more, " I am Glaciem too. Or Old Glaciem anyway. My family were the warriors who first tamed the Far North, in this land, and in two others like it." A grim sigh exhaled through his sooty nose - turning to mist in the air before him. "But," he murmured with a bitter breed of optimism. "Times change."

He lifted his head. "And what is your name Son of Isardis?" he asked. Despite the time he took in getting around to it, he was curious. "Or better yes, don't tell me who you are, tell me what you are." Was he facing another beast with a heart as cold as the world around them? Or was it just another male like him? - one who'd traveled, who'd seen things, who was ready to fight if need be, but preferred the peace that so few found. Cross's words had not had anything like the sharpness of a command, but neither had they been plain old conversation. Just somewhere in the middle.




. . .