take the call

The Spring afternoon was filled with moorland birdsong, floating bodiless on the mists around him as the High King padded along his patrol route, bells and beads tinkling softly in his mane and tail in harmony with the birds. Feathers, mostly shades of blue, some glowing subtly, gifted from Lyr, fluttered and twisted on the breeze from strands of black mane and tail, the black strands burning white hot from the friction.

Sädir and Lunira had split up, the snow leopard staying with Ardyn, while the younger mountain lion had ranged ahead to scout and burn some extra energy. Lyr plied the wind above, mismatched eyes scanning the land below.

It was the glowing black and white raven who spotted the woman first, still well ahead of Ardyn’s path along the inner edge of the wall. She’d come across the outer line of pack markings, a precursory warning before someone came upon the wall itself.

If she were to look hard enough ahead of her, the wall was just visible through the shrouds of fog. That was if she wasn’t blind… The raven didn’t think she was.

He dropped from the air to wing to a landing on Ardyn’s withers, claws gripping the armor over the King’s torso as he reported the sighting.

A few beats later the howl reached Ardyn’s ears, and he nodded with a light smile, lengthening his strides to a gliding walk.

He stepped through one of the overlaid partings in the wall, where the wall didn’t connect but intersected, with a dire-wolf-sized gap between the outer and inner layers.

To an outside observer, it could have been perceived as the black, flame-flickering wolf had simply appeared, stepping from the air to approach the caller. Who said you couldn’t have just a little fun when greeting a newcomer? Even as a king?

Ardyn padded forward to stand before the woman, taking her in with his own eyes. Warm-toned amethyst – pinker than they were purple - eyes studded a golden-sand colored face, brushed with russet markings and tipped with a liver nose. The rest of her was much the same – warm sand and red stone much like the land north of the Valhallan lands, now claimed by Ashen.

She was maybe a few inches taller than his mother, and perhaps similarly built, though overall there was no relation. Her coat was sleek save for her tail. A good coat for a warm climate, and the West certainly could get hot.

The woman held herself well, frame stating largely that she wasn’t here to bring harm or trouble.

His regard took only a brief moment’s sweep of his eyes before his muzzle dipped in a nod as he greeted easily with a good-natured smile on his light-motifed features, “Good afternoon, Lady. What brings you to the wall of Valhalla?”