Finch told herself she was coming here to see if there were any rare herbs that had been unearthed, but really, it was to distract herself. This was the most radically new thing that had happened since her mother had passed. It was so vastly unrelated to anything else she had known: to Avalon, to her family, to all that was familiar - that she felt compelled to witness it herself. After all, she was free to come and go as she pleased. She was an adult. That's what she kept telling herself as she crept across Boreas, dipping her head beneath the weight of the eerie red light. I am an adult. She passed other wolves, making the same solemn pilgrimage. So many seemed called to investigate. Finch had heard whispers, of course, of the Long Night, but it had seemed like a fairy tale. Something that you tell pups to keep them in the den at night. Surely it wasn't real. And yet, what she saw before her defied all logic: angry stone spires, stretching towards the heavens, sharp as knives. Well-trodden grass, almost flat from all of the paws that had already scoured this landscape for its secrets. Everywhere was dim and silent and filled with sticky dread. She should leave. But she stayed, her eyes wide and brimming with curiosity.

Things had gotten weird, seemingly over night. Fuck, what isn't weird, these days? Björn⁢ refuses to be scared of a little weird weather, or creeped out by a new hole opening up in the earth. There's nothing to say this wasn't something that just happened every year, though his father's stories of Ragnarök still colored his nightmares. Picking his way through fallen branches and the general debris knocked loose by the earthquakes, Björn⁢ is hellbent on finding what was at the center of it.

Red skies be damned. Weird geological phenomena be damned too. Björn⁢ be damned? Something like that. He's not the only one drawn to this place, the red nightmare around him stretching and growing. Angry spires, reaching toward the skies, seemed to go on forever. They're huge, bigger than anything he's seen. Absolutely wild.

There are others around, seemingly entranced by the landscape. Björn⁢ uses the shadows cast in the red light to his advantage, fading into them. Moving from one to the next, taking them all in. The mounting dread was enough to draw him, like a moth to flame. A lone girl catches his attention before long, gaze narrowing as he takes her in. "Wonder what gods they pissed off this time." Björn⁢ stands, half in the shadow of one of the spires. Curious, tone bordering on boredom. An offhanded remark to the pretty, pale girl, though the words held a sinister weight.

"Björn"

Finch found herself struck dumb by the landscape. She stared at it mutely, trying to take it in and make sense of it all. It hung in such stark contrast to her homeland: the cheery, squat trees of Avalon's orchard and the rolling meadows of the range. It was bliss. And this... this was hellish. Only a beast would be at home in a place like this. She felt each hair along her hackles prickle individually until it was standing straight up like the spires that dotted the landscape. That was why she jumped straight out of her skin when she heard a voice say: Wonder what gods they pissed off this time. "G-gods?" she stammered, turning and peering through the shadows to find a hulking male sporting a rack of reindeer antlers. Finch knew of no gods, although she knew Theory's mate prayed to one and that other wolves looked to them for comfort. For relief. This was no relief. This was a punishment. He was right - if there were gods, they were angry. "I'm... not sure," she said lamely, taking a shaky step to try and right herself. She felt so much further from home than she really was. That eerie red light seemed to have transported them elsewhere. "Have you ever seen anything like this?" He spoke of gods. Maybe he had answers.

The spires draw him in, carvings blooming at their base, though the expressions? They're something to behold. Fear, but more than that. Unadulterated terror. Björn could only wonder what they meant, and what they had seen. Blooming within the hellscape, there's something lurking here. Something darker, deeper than Björn could even imagine. Enchanting in the worst way, he's drawn in by it.

As the winds pick up, they're accompanied by a sound rippling through the cavern. Mournful and horrifying, amplified by the strange, stony acoustics of the place. Tossing his head and taking a step toward the pale girl, it gives him only a bit of pause. Triangulating the sound to the spires themselves, Björn reveled in it.

"Seen it, no. But the stories, we've all heard the stories in the north." A sinister grin cracks his maw, taking a predatory step toward the girl. Tone low, confidential, as it fills the space between them. "The stars and then the sun will bleed out, disappear from the sky. It's a herald of the end times, when the earth will be devoured by the sea." Intensity ringing in his voice, speaking with thorough conviction. Breeze kicking up to a wind, amplifying the cry of the spires. "Gods will fight, and they will die. Everyone is in danger, my dear. This is just the beginning of the end, sötnos," the hollow endearment resting on his teeth, carefully watching for her reaction.

"Björn"

translation notes--
sötnos - flirty term of endearment, literally translates to sweet nose lmao

As the wind picked up and whistled its dark tune through the spires, Finch's ears flattened against her skull. This stranger seemed to relish in the noise - he stood to attention while she shrank in equal measure. She had never felt so far from home, even though she could have sworn if she looked over her shoulder she could spot the very edge of the range that Avalon called home. Geographically speaking, she knew she was close by, but she suddenly felt very, very far away. Hadn't she always wanted to go on some great adventure? That cursed half-light that suffused the land must be playing tricks on her eyes. Home was within sprinting distance, she just knew it. Finch slid a flighty glance in its direction, but Björn pressed closer and it was in her nature to be polite. To placate a stranger was second nature. She was a healer, tempered by her craft to be sweet and kind and willing to do the dirty work. "It's a herald of the end times, when the earth will be devoured by the sea." Here, she piped up, indignant: "I assure you that isn't true. We're as close to the heart of Boreas as you can get. Completely land-locked," she said, steadfast in her knowledge of the land. Part of her knew he wanted to tease her, but another part relished the singular attention. She hadn't felt this way since she'd been alone with Jiro, the boy she'd met outside of the Hallows' bonfire festival. It wasn't often that Finch was alone with a boy. "And what is a so - ... su - sew-t... nos, anyway?"

There's something beautiful, if horrifying, about the place. Björn⁢ thrived within it, feeling the power singing from the very ground beneath his feet. Something both ancient and new, and ripe for exploring. Stone beneath his feet, worn smooth by years and whatever strange happenings had caused it to arrive. It seemed plain to him that the earthquakes had revealed what had been here all along, but what had caused the earthquakes? Between the howling and the horror within it, he's more than comfortable here. Whatever time he had left, he'd make the most of it. More than make the most of it, if Ragnarök would come for them soon.

Drinking it in, feeling the sheer ancient energy here, is everything he needs. Drawing on its power, and pushing him closer to the girl. Ah, she looked nervous. Good. Björn⁢ would allow himself to go drunk on the feeling, but his control is careful. He's not slipping. Not yet. "There will be no land left to be landlocked, when the time comes. Every last bit will be eaten up, swallowed whole by the hungry ocean." Björn⁢ snaps his teeth for emphasis, in no particular direction. His tone rich with conviction, all the same as his father's when he told the tale.

Her words shift, tone shifts, his mother tongue sticking in her mouth and on her lips. Björn⁢'s grin shifts, breaking from the storyteller's conviction back to the picture of a confident young man. Self assured. "Sötnos," he enunciates, slowly and carefully, the same way he'd heard his older brother teach the language. "It's what my people call pretty girls, especially the ones who haven't introduced themselves." Rakish and relaxed, too at home in the strange atmosphere. "Björn⁢ Trygg, by the way." A dip of his antlered head, assessing the girl openly. Never anything to hide, and why should he? A predatory gleam in his stormy gaze, though he'd stop short of truly leering. For now.

"Björn"

Every last bit will be swallowed up. Finch wanted to push back against him again, fight his threats with logic, but he had an air of seriousness about it all that gave her pause. Regardless of whether or not it was true, he believed it - or wanted her to. The strength of his conviction shook her, made her meek in the face of it all. Where she was usually effervescent and light, she receded within herself and tucked her tail beneath her. The dark red sky above begged her sunny disposition to mute itself in the face of it all. She flinched away from his teeth when he snapped them near her face. The sun above leered down at them, a bloody, cracked yolk. Perhaps he was right, then. Nothing about what was happening seemed logical. It defied all she knew of nature. The tide would rise. It would destroy them all. Finch shook her head liberally, as if to knock the idea loose from where it had taken hold. Nonsense. This place was making her question all that she knew to be true. She didn't like to feel as if she was easily convinced, but it was difficult to hold fast to her convictions as reality bent before her very eyes. The sensation passed as he grabbed her attention again with that word she found she liked to hear: pretty. A blush heated her cheeks as she realized he had complimented her, albeit in another language, but then again in their shared tongue. He introduced himself and inclined his head, those tall antlers drawing her gaze up. They reminded her of the spires that surrounded them and she shivered again, unable to draw her mind completely away from their surroundings and the strangeness of it all. "Well met, Björn Trygg," she said softly, her gaze meeting his for a moment before sliding past again towards the eerie red glow that suffused everything. "My name is Finch, and I belong to Avalon," she tilted her head back towards from where she had ventured forth. Their territories lay close by. "All sorts have been drawn here. Have you had the chance to investigate this place?" She pulled her gaze away, roving between the spires. She thirsted for answers, but this place would not give up its secrets easily.