Asmul took a shaky breath, the cold air a blade— no, a relief upon his tongue. The cold was kind, the cold was familiar. The cold was home.
He stood at the tip of Cathedral Point, mere tail-lengths from the ocean. The water was quiet. The light of the moon danced upon the barely-cresting waves, giving the ice surrounding Asmul an ethereal glow. He could see the stars, but his gaze wasn’t angled upward: it was staring out. Towards the sea, towards home.
But Saeligarr was no longer his home, he thought. He had to create a new one on Boreas. He had to tear the stitching that bound his soul to those of his loved ones at home, but Asmul knew not how.
So he sat, another night in silence, another night without any company besides the moon. Besides the stars that glittered, inlaid in black velvet, glittered like a thousand pitying eyes. The snow flurried around his paws. It skidded along the ice, and Asmul thought of freedom. Perhaps some would believe detached heartstrings were a blessing. After all, there were no limitations besides the ones you made: You’d have nobody to care for but yourself. Asmul wished he could think that way. Instead, his heart yearned to love, to nurture, to be with someone else. To be tied down, to be secure. He had done just that for much of his life. He’d loved his family, his sister. And he missed them.
Asmul blinked back the tears that suddenly flooded his eyes, and wondered if the moon could pull them from him like she pulled the tides.

(OOC: edited because I always forget to tag as AW hhh also everyone is welcome feel free to hop in)

One of the benefits of being removed from Lirim's omega rank was the ability to travel. She had hardly had any time to explore Boreas in its more hospitable seasons before being conscripted into Lirim for ignoring their borders. Ah well. It was autumn, but still bitterly cold in the north. Her nerve damage that typically modified her gait left her limping awkwardly through the snow. What was typically an awkward shuffle now looked downright painful, even if she didn't feel a thing.

Every exhale brought forth a fairy-tale cloud of white breath. If nothing else, the north was blessedly quiet in a way that the forest was not. There were no sounds of small animals, no creatures scuttling about. Just soft snow. In the distance, through the soft flurries created by the wind, she spotted a figure cut out against the night sky. With the vast, empty expanse of snow, her voice carried easily along the night air: "Hello!

The night’s tranquility was broken by a sharp call. Asmul’s ears jerked forward and he leaped to his feet, heart pounding, hackles raised. He turned away from the water and there, blurred by the tears he now blinked away, was a figure. The figure was canine and looked like a dark apparition silhouetted against the stark white snow.
Asmul took a couple breaths, attempting to calm his racing heart. Who was out this late at night? He hadn’t expected to see anyone at this hour, at this place.
“Hello,” he called back. Squinting, he tried to get a better look at the stranger as they approached. They were tan in coloration, that much he could tell, and they seemed rather tall and lean, in stark contrast to his own bulk. And most notably of all, they walked with a sort of lurch.
Thoughts of ghouls and apparitions permeated Asmul’s thoughts, which he tried to shake off. He didn’t consider himself superstitious. He was a practical guy. Perhaps this wolf was injured or something. Then again, an injured wolf likely wouldn’t offer such a cheery hello. He should ask. ”Are you hurt?” Asmul added, taking a few steps closer to the stranger.

"Hurt?" Rags laughed awkwardly. "Ah, no. This is old nerve damage. I can't help how I walk," she ducked her head, a bit embarrassed. It was clear the blue-grey wolf hadn't meant anything by the question - in fact, it seemed like he was concerned - but Rags was used to ire and awkward special treatment. Clearly she was well enough to have gotten this far north, right? The spotted female settled back slowly on her haunches, her front paws curling in towards each other, pigeon-toed.

"What are you doing here? This is the furthest north you can get, right?" she asked, her eye glittering with excitement. The craggy peak jutted out over the ocean, fixed with some kind of tall structure at the end. In the distance, she could hear the ocean crash against the rocks. It was a fantastic vista - almost mythical in its scope. Although she was cold and tired, it felt good to travel on her own again.

He could catch the stranger’s scent now— she was female, and certainly not an apparition. The two had closed the distance between each other, and were near enough to sit down and have a civil conversation. She sat before him, paws turned towards each other at an awkward angle. He joined her, wrapping his bushy tail over his paws. Asmul could see the stranger’s eyes at this distance— they were two different colors and noticeably warm with kindness. She responded to Asmul’s question, and he found himself feeling rather embarrassed— she probably got that question all the time. He glanced down and to the side, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. ”Oh,” he said quietly, for the night wasn’t loud and voices projected well over the icy expanse. ”I’m sorry— I meant no offense.” He looked up to meet her eyes as she asked her questions.
What was he doing here? He didn’t quite know himself, honestly. Missing home, he supposed. The woman followed up with a second question quickly, though, giving him an excuse to skip the first. ”Yes, this is the farthest North you can travel, at least on Boreas. If you can cross the seas against the tide, there’s more. Islands, for sure. Perhaps an even bigger mainland. Really,”— he smiled a bit, the thrill of mystery and adventure rising within him— ”there are limitless possibilities.” He eyed the woman, looking her up and down. Who comes to Cathedral Point anyway? Asmul was sure the cold was too intense for most wolves to handle. ”What brings you all the way up here?” He asked.

"Not a problem," she assured, dipping her head. "I've certainly heard worse. You at least had the decency to seem concerned." Rags laughed quietly, her floppy ears moving slightly with the motion. Life hadn't been quite kind to her, but she tried not to let it get her down. Even though it was with some difficulty, she could still walk. As long as she could walk, adventure and possibility awaited. The sparkle in his eyes told her that he felt quite the same about the North, even if it was bitterly cold.

"Adventure!" She replied, as if it should be obvious. "Truthfully, I'm just enjoying some newly earned freedoms. I was caught trespassing - accidentally, mind you - and found myself at the bottom of a totem pole in a strange pack." Lirim wasn't so strange any more, though. For better or worse, it was home. "That sounds worse than it actually was," she added thoughtfully, trying to figure out how to describe her unique situation. "Anyway, I'm just enjoying the last bit of autumn before we're snowbound for the winter. I suppose it's funny that I found myself all the way up here."

The stranger’s words, somehow, brought a small smile to his face. Asmul really enjoyed the company, much to his surprise. He’d come all the way out here to... be sad, he supposed. He’d come to sit here alone and wallow in his own self-pity, his memories of home. This woman was so bright, so cheerful even in the depths of the cold night. He listened to her speak— she spoke quite a bit, to Asmul’s amusement. She seemed to speak straight from her thoughts without a filter, which he liked, though the content of her words was mildly concerning. Lirim had held her captive?
”Freedom, eh? That’s... nice,” he responded, brow furrowed. He wasn’t usually bothered by the idea of captives— if it was the way of society, or a pack unit, he understood. Tradition was important to keeping order, after all. Something about taking an accidental trespasser, and one with nerve damage, at that, bothered him. But it seemed they’d freed the woman with no apparent harm, so he dispelled the thought after a brief pause with a warm smile. ”That’s great— I’m happy for you,” he murmured, eyes twinkling in the bright starlight. It was late, and his weariness softened his voice, his words, his posture a little. ”To be honest, I don’t much notice the changing of seasons up here. It’s basically cold year round, with heavier blizzards in winter— well, and some snowmelt in summer, depending on where you are. I used to live out there,” —He nodded out towards sea— “And let me tell you, there were two seasons: cold and blizzard.” He chuckled at his own joke, remembering the early days of home with fondness. It was indeed funny she’d found herself all the way up here, he thought. What an odd coincidence, that they should both be up here so late, on the edge of nowhere.

It is a beautiful night!

It is a beautiful night! The night is cold and stunning. The dimly lit snow only seems to highlight the splendor of the point that towers so high in the dark sky. It seems as if it is a beacon of hope.

I'm happy for you. All at once, the clouds covering the moon above cleared from view. The snow lit with light from above, creating a landscape that seemed ripped straight from her dreams. A real winter wonderland. Asmul's words were one of the first genuinely kind things she'd heard in Boreas, after Torin's offer for her to stay in the pack. But was that really a kindness? Did he simply pity her, like everyone else?

At least this stranger's kindness was offered without prompting, and presumably without anything expected in return. "Thank you," she replied quietly, offering him a genuine smile. She peered out over the waves, wondering where the landmass was that Asmul gestured towards. "My name is Ragnheiðr, by the way. Some friends used to call me Rags." Time and damage to her memory couldn't pinpoint whether the nickname was given in kindness or in cruelty, but most wolves had trouble pronouncing her name anyway. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" The stars glittered above like diamonds scattered across a stretch of plush, dark velvet. "Even though it's cold, I can see why you might like it up here. Have you found a pack out in these parts?" A white wolf from the festival had mentioned a Northern pack... what was their name? Winterbell?

Asmul saw the world brighten before him, the moonlight gracing the stranger’s fur, turning her blue and giving her an ethereal glow. She thanked him, quietly, shyly, before offering her name. Ragnheithr. Rags. He rather liked the sound of her full name— it reminded him a bit of home. She had offered a nickname as well, but it sounded... cruel, almost. He could see she had a good heart. She was far more than just tattered rags. She deserved her full name to be spoken.
”Asmul.” He bowed his head. ”Nice to meet you, Ragnheithr,” Asmul murmured, though the female went on speaking. He wasn’t sure if she’d heard him, but that was quite alright. He listened to what she went on to say: yes, the stars were stunning tonight, and the moon even more so. He hoped one day she would see the lights, the vibrant green foxtails that swept across the sky, someday. She would like that, he was sure. Her next sentence jolted Asmul a bit. He hadn’t given much thought to finding a pack. He probably should find one to join. As much as he liked this peace, this heavy quiet, he was a pack wolf at heart. In fact, joining one would probably make him... a bit happier. ”No, I haven’t found a pack yet. I thought I caught a faint scent near the Marbled Wash, when I was over there not so long ago, but it was a bit warm for my tastes that day, so I didn’t go any farther than the Wash,” He said. ”That was back towards the very beginnings of fall, though. Perhaps as Winter sets in I will visit and see what they’re like.”
He sat for a moment, listening to the waves during the pause between his and Ragnheithr’s words. A gleam caught the corner of his eye: the tower for which the area was named glittered in the moonlight. Something about it drew his interest... it seemed almost to be a beacon, a light flaring towards the sky. He felt a strange pull towards it.
Asmul turned his head back to Ragnheithr. “What do you say we head towards the tower? I’ve spent a few days up here, at the Point, but haven’t really seen it up close,” he murmured. The sound of the waves was nice; he could sit here beneath the stars and listen to it forever, but something in him wanted to see the tower. He didn’t doubt Ragnheithr’s ability to make it there— she may not necessarily travel fast, but that was alright. They had all the time in the world.

His kindness was a balmy warmth against the cold weather. "Well met, Asmul," she added, following his gaze to the tower in the distance. Well, if he didn't have a pack, perhaps she could make the case for Lirim. It would be nice to have a wolf with a genuine heart around. In her heart of hearts, she knew he was a northern wolf - he seemed so at peace here. It seemed wrong to persuade him away from his natural environment. Perhaps she would just say nothing at all.

"Yes! I'd like that very much," she said eagerly. With furrowed brows, she looked across the long distance of wind-whipped snow. "Are you quite sure you'd like me to come along? You'd be able to get there much faster on your own." Rags was used to being told "wait here" or "I'll come back for you." Not many wolves had the patience for her to scramble after them.

When Ragnheithr expressed her interest in the voyage, Asmul felt a spark of warmth in his chest. He stood up and turned his head towards the Cathedral, wondering what was inside. Asmul was more than happy that Ragnheithr liked the idea of going to explore. When her response was followed up by her question, however, he glanced back, brow slightly furrowed. Asmul’s eyes, gentle and concerned, met hers. ”Of course. I’d be more than grateful to have the pleasure of your company. Besides,” he added, smoothing his features into an expression of utmost tranquility, ”we have all the time in the world.”
With that, Asmul tilted his chin towards the sky. The moon still hovered high in the sky. The night was long here in the North, and getting longer each day with the coming of winter. They had hours until daybreak— not that the coming of daybreak would change anything anyway. Yes, they had forever grasped between their paws. Asmul looked back to Ragnheithr, a small smile on his muzzle. ”Shall we?”