. . .


The land was quiet now. Well, it had always been quiet -the snow saw to that, but Cross remembered a time when the night was dawn was alive with the howls of wolves and the thunderous stamp of a thousand head of elk. In summer when the thaw came, the eagles would screech in the skies and the fish would flow in the streams and lake. Every whisper of wind would bear the scents of ice and pine and family. "Hasn't really changed," the youth murmured to himself as he stood there in the splender of the far northern summer. He was an alabaster island amidst the sea of grey-green tundra grasses and mossy rocks. A passerby would find it hard to guess that he was only a year. Judging by, not only his size, but his sober eyes and collected voice, one would've thought him an adult. Maybe he was in some ways. Cross had grown up fast after the things that he had seen.

His massive chest swelled with the crisp, spicy air. Black claws kneaded at the earth. He was torn between running off through the tundra - perhaps to swim in the lake or charge some stray herd of caribou - but no. He had seen enough of his abilities lately. To be honest, a part of it scared him - the things he could do; like ripping out a deer's throat at a full run? Or swimming across an ocean channel? Not to mention finding himself beyond the combative level of just about every wolf he came across. What sort of yearling could do those things? For so long he had been silently afraid of the world and all the grim dangers he knew it to hold. He'd been terrified but stalwart, petrified but uncomplaining - he didn't think that made him brave.

He wasn't fearless like his ancestors. He'd felt his knees seize up and his jaw tremble. He was a coward. But he was a coward who was still willing to do what had to be done. And more and more often he was finding that that was enough to keep him alive in this crazy world. At least so far.







. . .

War. It was on the horizon, just within reach; and all because of his father. Just because of his father's selfish nature, because he wanted to have every single she-wolf he came across all to himself. He didn't understand why his father wanted so many women to begin with and Taurig wasn't about to sit down and have a heart to heart with Isardis. As much as he would've liked to be closer to his father, a part of him felt like that would never be able to happen given the fact that the young Knight had been raised with a very different way of thinking. Women to him were precious creatures, allies and friends and mothers. They were supposed to be protected at all costs, while at the same time respected for the abilities that they possessed. They were just as good warriors as they were mothers. But his father didn't seem to value them for that. He just wanted them because they could provide children, nothing more. And he didn't think that was a good way to view women, but he wasn't going to try and change his father. That would be a waste of his time. And it wasn't really his business. His father could do as he pleased and Taurig as well. The only downside to Isardis way of thinking was that most of their pack was made up of women; he and Oddity were the only other males. What chances would they stand if things came down to a war? Surely Valhalla had to have allies and those allies would aid them if a war ever broke out. Glaciem didn't have allies. None that he was aware of anyway. A frustrated sigh slipped past his lips as he wandered south of the Glaciem border. Why couldn't his father just leave well enough alone? He had more than enough women. What was one foolish girl to him? Powerful limbs plowed easily through the light snow covered ground, icy eyes dancing over the terrain, spotting an ivory figure off in the distance. A pause was taken, muzzle tipped upwards, nostrils flaring, catching the stranger's scent; male and rogue. What was he doing so close to Glaciem borders? Curious, the titan began moving forward once again, his movements slow as he took his time moving closer to the young brute. As the gap between them closed, Taurig could see that the young man was pretty large, though still noticeably smaller than himself. He didn't look to be very old, probably around a year or so, but his size was rather deceiving. He didn't appear to be heading anywhere, merely standing in the middle of the area. The gargantuan brought himself to stand at a distance, ice blue eyes observing the large yearling, wondering who he was. Talk like this

. . .



Cross slowly became aware of the fact that he was not alone. And though the fact that it had happened slowly told him he was not under immeidate attack, the warrior blood within him could not contain the slight lowering of his head and raising of his shoulders. The other male off to the side and slightly behind him, but Cross's ears were now dialed in on the slightest of movements; he didn't have to turn around.

In his travels -which were many despite his age, he'd met plenty of wolves, and against his first suspicions, most had been decent souls. He'd even been helped out by a few. But it only took one predator to slaughter the flock. Cross was painfully aware of what the violence inside a single loose soul could do, and though he had already surrendered himself to die blood one day, he did not intend for it to be this day.

Eventually, a sedate, simply toned voice was heard upon the cold winds. "Do you stand because you await a prime moment to attack? Or are you simply another observing wanderer who prefers the silence?" The white youth remained as still as stone, seeming to be perfectly content and prepared for either option. He still didn't bother turning around. His face was pointed towards the forest of pines and the mountain range far beyond. He'd been born in the roots of those vast towers of stone, but that was quite literally a lifetime ago. Back before he had found out what it was to witness death and gore. The effects had been astronomical upon his insides, but his silence on the outside had ensured that none knew just how heavy was his burden. It wasn't so much that he now detested the art of combat; no- he himself was a born warrior and always would be, and perhaps it was his curse to find security and purpose in the violence and bloodshed that he so detested. If the stranger was looking for a fight, then he would receive one, but Cross would much rather be left in peace



. . .

As expected, his presence was easily detected. The young Knight had not taken any precautions to hide his approach. There was no need. He held no ill intentions towards the youth, so why appear as if he did. Though the young lad didn't turn around to face him, Taurig could see that he knew he was here by the slight twitching of his hears, the subtle lowering of his head and raising of his shoulders. If he didn't know any better, this boy had been raised in the art of war. That kind of subtle movement wasn't something just any wolf was accustomed to doing. It came from those who knew that any passerby, no matter how innocent looking they appeared to be, could bring death upon them without a second thought. What exactly had this young man been through if anything at all? Was he just practicing what had most likely drilled into him from a young age? So many questions fired through his mind from a single motion and yet he voiced none, content to observe the youth in silence. But the silence would not last long. Do you stand because you await a prime moment to attack? Or are you simply another observing wanderer who prefers the silence? The boy was expecting him to attack. Most wolves expected as much from a stranger, but none ever voiced it. This youth was certainly more than he appeared to be. You needn't fear anything from me lad, I wish you no ill will. And yes, in a sense you could call me that. What is your name young man? He would attempt to come off across as polite and non-threatening, his voice a steady rumble as his gaze bore into the youth's shoulders, wondering what the boy looked like but willing to wait for him to reveal himself. Talk like this

. . .


Cross was being observed. And he wasn't sure he liked it. Usually he was the one to remain silent at the edges of an encounter - if, indeed, an encounter had to be made. He looked at the stranger in turn- one eye rolled back over his shoulder- trying to peice together what he could. Snow flaked the male's pelt. A northerner then, or someone used to the north. He had the trace scents of other lands though, and other wolves. Perhaps he was a loner who met many strangers, or perhaps he was from some new pack the white youth didn't recognize. Cross narrowed his eyes. The stranger seemed confident enough to be a pack wolf. And in good enough condition. Not quite an alpha or leader, though, Cross had been raised among rulers; He knew the presence they held.

Whoever this male was, he seemed ready enough to speak. He said he meant no ill will, and his tone didn't ring forth as false. Whether or not Cross believed him, though, his instincts would not allow his guard to lower so easily. The stranger gave no name. No purpose. No introduction. But he asked a question of the the youth.

"Cross," the boy answered, mentally uncoiling as he took one steady step to the side so that he was facing the stranger at an angle. The boy was mindful of his defenses, but he wasn't seeking to compensate by agression or dominace. His tail remained hanging limply over ivory hocks, and his chin wasn't raised in pride. He was simple aware. Very aware; Those emerald eyes of his took in the scene and it's newest player as a whole. As he moved though, he continued speaking. "Son of Cifer and Crusade. A Snow Rogue." He didn't see much use in beating around the bush. Often he didn't give a name until he felt someone had earned it, but if he was going to give it then he'd make a proper introduction of himself. He would say little else though, until the other male had made some further statement and Cross had more to judge upon.

He'd come here to view the now wolf-less tracks of lands that had once been his home. What could this stranger possibly be doing here?





. . .

He probably should've introduced himself first, but from what he'd observed of the youth, he wanted to feel the boy out. He appeared to have come from some background of war or at least he could tell that he'd been raised by warriors, much like himself. Perhaps he had more in common with this stranger than he might have originally thought. Cross, Son of Cifer and Crusade. A Snow Rogue. Snow Rogue? He had never heard of such a band of rogues in Alacritis. Cross was the first he had ever met to go under that title. Obviously he wasn't the only one. Perhaps he had a family. The boy had now turned around, turned towards Taurig at an angle, allowing the Knight to see the face of the boy he'd come across. A set of emerald eyes stared back at him, much more aware than any normal youth's. Definitely trained as a warrior. There was no denying it, not when he could recognize the signs. Pleasure to meet you Cross of the Snow Rogues. I am Taurig, son of the King of Glaciem. A dip of the crown was presented to Cross in greeting, body language relaxed as he watched the youth. Do you frequent these lands often Cross? Came the curious question, trying to make simple conversation and prove to the young man that he indeed meant him no harm. Talk like this

. . .



At the mere mention of the word 'Glaciem', a change came over the boy. There was a faint spark of recognition and then pain, but it quickly muddled into a muted color of anger. He was controlled enough to show only the fainted gleam of fang - but his muzzle knotted up in the clear signs of a snarl. Glaciem. Whoever this wolf was, he wasn't fit to speak the word. Cross had been young when the change had come to his life and his uncle had been defeated in the challenge. But it hadn't really sunk in. His world had already been turned upside down before that point and it was hard to see anything as bad enough to be called 'unexpected'. At the time he had just been happy to have all his family still alive and together. That was all that had mattered. But growing up fast meant he saw the world in all it's shades of grey. He knew now, that though the immediates of his family were fine and dandy - their kingdom was gone. So many had left and dispersed after loosing Glaciem and then leaving Mt. Volkan. Nameless and homeless they had wandered.

All because of the heartless ambitions of the sort of entitled, indulgent creatures who weren't fit to be called wolves. It was enough to make any blood boil - but Cross, in all his calm, quiet, sedate seasons was yet to awaken the true kill-ready warrior that was his inheritance. Nor would it awaken today; for it was then...

...then that he remembered what his mother had said at the meeting with the usurpers... It was only an empty title. Trappings. They had no real pocession of what Glaciem was. Just the were collected of noises that made up it's name. The boy was still obviously agitated, but youth or not, he had the control to smooth the lines of his grimace and observe once more with eyes of clear cut emerald. If the strangers father was the so called 'King', then that meant, standing before Cross was a picture of what he might have been. A rival in flesh and blood. Whether or not he felt the sting of an unfair fate, he had to find the chance meeting intriguing at the least.

His eyes narrowed though, not in anger anymore, but in cold confusion. "You do not look like the bare-jawed one," he murmured steadily enough. "The last one to call himself 'king' near these parts was a brown wolf born out of the Valhallan Pack. Who is your father then?" He pointed ignored the other question that had been given it. It paled in importance to these matters. Besides, he had been the one doing the answering before. Time for a little in return.




. . .

The young Knight was completely ignorant as to who had had possession of Glaciem before his father. As far as he knew, Glaciem had been under the control of his father for the longest time, or so he assumed that's how it had been. He wasn't aware that a past king and queen had taken over the Kingdom. But Cross certainly was aware of that, the slight display of fang and clear wrinkling of his muzzle telling Taurig as much. He could feel a muted anger rolling off in waves from the large youth and it sent the hackles rising along the Knight's spine. Had he said something to upset the young man? He had only presented himself as he was accustomed to doing so with everyone else he had met. No one else had had such a reaction like Cross. What was his problem? Inky ears folded against his massive skull, his own muzzle crinkling in a silent snarl, muscles tensing in agitation, his shoulders rolling in preparation. If this young man attacked him, then the Glaciem man would have no choice but to defend himself. He wasn't about to let some child attack him just because he had unintentionally hurt his feelings. He could see the wheels turning behind the youth's emerald gaze and slowly the crinkling of his muzzle would smooth out, his emerald gaze becoming merely observant once more. The grey-blue man watched the youth for several more moments, unable to relax until he was certain Cross would not make any advances towards him. It was only when he began to speak that the Knight relaxed his features, allowing them to fall back into an unreadable mask, his gaze icier than the arches of ice he had seen in a region in the north. You do not look like the bare-jawed one. The last one to call himself 'king' near these parts was a brown wolf born out of the Valhallan Pack. Who is your father then? Bare jawed one? What was that supposed to mean? A brown wolf from Valhalla? So a Valhallan had taken control of Valhalla before his father had? Clearly I bare no resemblance to this past king that you speak of. My father is Isardis, not the Valhallan man that you speak of. Came icy tones, unsure if he was fit to let his guard down around this child anymore. Talk like this

. . .



"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.




. . .

My apologies then. Cross' tone was stiff, but he could clearly detect the sincerity behind it. It's fine. Already forgotten. He dismissed the young man's wrong assumption with a neutral tone, already putting it behind him. He didn't really blame the boy. Clearly the lands of Glaciem held some kind of significance to the bulky yearling, but as far as what they were and where they stemmed from, the Knight had absolutely no clue. He could see the boy begin to physically relax, his shoulders dropping down to a more normal level, though not completely done. Taurig could've very well gone after the yearling for such a blatant display of aggression, but since Cross had not made any move to attack him, the grey-blue Knight had held his ground, merely throwing off his own display, wanting to show the boy that he wouldn't let himself be senselessly attacked. He had stayed true to his word. He truly meant the youth no harm, but if he had attacked the titan would've have no choice but to defend himself. He was glad it hadn't come down to that. You asked me what if I came here often. Well, I was born here. You see...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. But, times change. So that's why he'd reacted the way he had; because Glaciem had once been his home. That was his birth place. And he had probably been aware when it had come under new rule of the past Valhallan king. And now Isardis and the rest of his pack occupied the land. Did Cross resent him for living in his old home? I wasn't aware Glaciem had been inhabited before my father took hold of it... He murmured quietly. If Glaciem had been his pack, he would've handed it back over to the rightful owners, no questions asked. They had settled the area. It was more their home than his, though if they would allow it, he would've liked to live among them. If Cross was anything to judge by, the rest of his pack didn't seem like such a bad bunch, especially if they were warriors. But sadly Glaciem didn't belong to him, but his father and he knew Isardis wouldn't give up Glaciem under any circumstances. Unless it benefited him of course. And what is your name Son of Isardis? Or better yes, don't tell me who you are, tell me what you are. Now it was his turn to answer the questions. I am Taurig. A simple warrior. Raised in the ways of the warrior since I was six months old. Nearly the complete opposite of my father. I do not like wars or conflicts, but if push comes to shove don't doubt that I will push back. And push back hard. It wasn't a threat. He just letting Cross know that he wasn't the kind of man to let himself be pushed around, or those that he cared about. And that wasn't just limited to his family. Talk like this

. . .


Seemed the other wolf knew little of the matters which were Cross's life story. The boy's belly was clenched with a curiosity, a desire to ask all that the stranger knew of the pack they carelessly called Glaciem. What had happened to the usurpers? Had they dispersed? Been usurped themselves? Made some sort of agreement? What was Glaciem now? The shale brute before him seemed a solid sort - were the rest of the pack like him? Any other child probably would've given into such impulses, but Cross had held his tongue for seasons at a time. He would await the proper moment to ask - and then only ask what was needed. It was highly possible this stranger wouldn't know. He had been in ignorance so far.

But now for the introductions. Cross was given a name 'Taurig' and the sketch of a young, sober minded warrior. Sound familiar? Cross gave a slight dip of his head at the end of the self given description. "Something to be proud of." Indeed they were quite similar, but Cross was not the sort to say that out right. Besides, he knew nothing of the male but what he had heard and observed in the past minute. All the same he was curious. "Well I'm certain you can ascertain much from what I've said. I am one of a band of rogues who were once the ruling family of Glaciem." His tone was deep and serious, but then, that's how it normally was. He didn't add so much as the slightest tremor to his voice. This wasn't a pity party. He was just stating facts, "I am a Legacy - but a forgotten one, and perhaps that is alright. I am yet to make my place in the world, simply because the world seems too chaotic to be understood."




. . .

He was given a dip of the head in response to his words and the youth received one in return, the first civilized sign the two had given to each other since having started talking. Something to be proud of. Well I'm certain you can ascertain much from what I've said. I am one of a band of rogues who were once the ruling family of Glaciem. I am a Legacy - but a forgotten one, and perhaps that is alright. I am yet to make my place in the world, simply because the world seems too chaotic to be understood. Glaciem was his home. Or, had been his home once upon a time. Taurig was curious to know how the boy's once home had been lost from his family's possession, but given the reaction it was had provoked earlier, the Knight wasn't so sure he was keen on getting another reaction like that again. So he kept his questions to himself, nodding in acknowledgement to the boy's first set of words. I know this probably doesn't mean much coming from a practical stranger, but if Glaciem was under my control, I would've handed it back to you and your family. I really have no place living there, now that I know that it belonged to your family. If I may, I do extend a welcome to come and see your home. If my father puts any kind of protests, I will take care of it. He hadn't been sure about voicing that particular train of thought, but he didn't see much harm in doing so, even if he really couldn't do anything in respect to giving them their home back. Maybe one day once his father got tired of Glaciem, he could take over it and hand it back to the Snow Rogues. Talk like this

. . .


Cross looked at the man carefully, hearing the words and being surprised by them. This then was a wolf of character? There were plenty of decent wolves that would never have made such an offer, particularly to such a stranger. Emerald eyes searched the steely blue ones. Nothing but sincereity could be read therein. Cross?s posture eased a touch more. ?It means more than you think,? he said in his quiet way.

?But this, the Snowfalls and the mountain range beyond, this was my home. Glaciem is just a word now.? Whatever went on among the Sparse Pines where the usurpers had first moved ? that was their concern. Perhaps it was a blessing then that Cross did not have to think of them living in his birth cave, climbing his peaks, and hunting in his forest. But it was equally strange to look out at the distant mountains and see it all so barren. No more scent markers here now. Just the smell of ice and snow and stone.

Cross frowned slightly, a curiosity returning to his head as he swung it back from the landscape to the wolf he had met. ?Might I ask ? What sort of wolf is your father??






. . .

He knew the gravity of the words that were falling from his lips. It had to be a big deal that a complete stranger was willing to give back the lands that belonged to another complete stranger. Taurig was sure this kind of thing didn't happen very often, or at all really given the reaction he was getting from the boy. Cross' emerald gaze searched his own icy one, trying to find some kind of hint that he was lying, but clearly there was none. The knight meant every word that he said. It means more than you think. But this, the Snowfalls and the mountain range beyond, this was my home. Glaciem is just a word now. A simple nod was given to the words, gaze following the youth's. This land here was his home, not the sparse pines where the new Glaciem lied. Maybe one day he would be able to come back here and live with his family again. Only time would tell. Though Cross appeared to be a rather stoic young man, he still wasn't old enough to be beyond curiosity and he could feel it radiating off him as he turned away from the landscape to face him once more. Might I ask ? What sort of wolf is your father? This was always a rather difficult question to answer. Well...my father is a very selfish man, from what I've seen of him at least. You see I never knew my father, until about a season ago when he came to fetch me from my birth pack to bring me back here. He's not a bad King. Our members are treated very well, it's just the reasons that he allows them to join our ranks don't exactly sit well with me. But he is my father. There's not much changing him about his ways. Talk like this

. . .



The worlds that came from the shale-colored wolf weren't exactly reassuring. Why was it that an unworthy one could hold a crown? Cross's eyes fell to the snow beneath his paws. "At least you have the sight to see him for what he is." Perhaps this Taurig would've been a far better leader. He already had an internal sense of fairness, and at least enough of a moral compass to see when someone else was off course. The world was never as it should be, was it? The tyrants ruled, the warriors were cast out and the weak ones suffered. Save of course, when another wolf was strong enough to step in for them. Of course, you stand up, and you'll get shot down eventually. But that was alright. Everyone goes goes down one way or another. "No reign lasts forever," Cross murmured. It wasn't meant to be any sort of threat towards the male's father, but just a simple stated fact. Good or Bad, this too shall pass.

Cross raised his head just in time for a snowflake to come to rest on it's sooty tip. He shook his head. Enough of this staying put. "I came hear to run my old haunts. If you've a mind to keep up, old one, you're welcome to come along." The barest twist of a smirk faded across his muzzle as he turned round. There was a quick shudder as his shoulders rolled and ever muscle in his body uncoiled - then he was running out across the snow, an ivory bullet, a ghost somewhere between the grey sky and the white earth, chasing unseen visions at a break neck pace.







. . .

At least you have the sight to see him for what he is. The more time he spent with Cross, the more he began to realize that his father was probably going to become the most had man in all of Alacritis. Valhalla was most likely allies with the rest of the packs in Alacritis, and by now they had probably all gotten wind of it and decided that Glaciem was to be on their hit list. And Taurig wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that. No reign lasts forever. He wasn't sure what to say to that so he didn't say anything, merely nodding in response. Being the son of Isardis, what did that make him look like to others? Did they immediately judge him based on his father's actions? He really hoped not because he wasn't anything like this father. Not in the least. But enough of the serious stuff. I came hear to run my old haunts. If you've a mind to keep up, old one, you're welcome to come along. He could see the hint of a smirk dance across Cross' lips before he took off, a blur of ivory flying across the snowy landscape. A booming laugh erupted from the knight's massive chest, powerful limbs launching the man forward, muscles working in fluid synchronization as his paws ate up the ground beneath him, pulling him closer to the young brute until he was nearly neck and neck. How's this for an old one kid? He barked at the youth, his own smirk twisting the corners of his inky jowls. Talk like this