---

aw but maybe Trygve?

At five months old, Yakone had determined she could do whatever it was she wanted. And what she wanted was a lengthy break from the lanzadoii. It was bad enough with Black Scar’s chosen one breathing down her neck and Sivaak playing 'house' with the chieftain. Now Khun sought his approval too, shadowing son and father when he should have been with her. And Ceti? She was god knows where with god knows who.

That left Yakone to her own devices, because she sure as hell wasn’t gonna sit around and watch her family go to shit.

The girl had started walking one day until her legs ached. Then she’d walked a day more. When her belly hurt, she hunted fieldmice and jackrabbits. It was really as simple as that, this survival thing. She wondered if she should even return. Maybe she was meant to be alone; the last trueborn muradoii.

Refusing to soil her blood.

---

---

seven months |

Surviving on his own wasn't hard. Other than the loneliness, it wasn't half-bad. He hunted to feed himself regularly, he tracked down sources of fresh water, he ran his nose across his lanky, growing frame to ensure he had not stepped on any thorns or opened a fresh wound anywhere he would fail to notice. The self-sufficiency made him feel accomplished and self-assured, which served as just barely good enough to mask the emptiness yawning inside his ribcage.

His paws crushed sweet-smelling prairie grasses beneath their pads as the boy walked, idly expanding his knowledge of the surrounding area without much scheming behind it. Movement caught his mosaiced gaze, and the chimera stopped cold to scowl suspiciously at the figure. It was small, and he thought it was a very strange-colored fawn or fox kit, before he realized it was a silver-y she-wolf. She was ungainly with youth like himself, darkening to sable at her extremities.

He didn't want to go sticking his nose where it'd get bit off, but he also hadn't seen anyone in...a while. Certainly not anyone his own age.

The boy whuffed gruffly as greeting, narrowing his gaze suspiciously at the she-wolf. His tail curved, sickle-like, at his hips, but he couldn't mask the curious tilt to his crown.

The chuff had earned Trygve a lengthy glare as the girl sized him up without any attempts at subtlety— head cocked, tail giving sharp flicks behind her. He was only a child, same as her, but he was different. The mottled coat promised as much, looking like beasts of dark and light fought over his fur and decided to split him precisely down the middle. Even his eyes carried this great contradiction. Something about that immediately irritates the girl— and intrigues her.

Surely this boy is some father’s rare, prized possession. So what is he doing out here, and all alone?

“Great,” she sneers, lip curling, “is this where all the sad kids end up?” The last thing Yakone could stomach being was a cliche.

---

She sized him up with disdain pouring off her small, leggy frame. She wasn't much of a threat, he decided quickly, eyeing her up and down critically. Her petite stature and vermillion gaze reminded him of Nuvts’eyaȟa, enough that the boy made a note to ask her whether they knew of one another. However, the similarities stopped at purely the physical.

Is this where all the sad kids end up? She sniped, venomous and flippant. Trygve snorted, muzzle wrinkling. Do I look sad? He snapped, intending to be dismissive of the implied accusation. He noted, right after, that she'd probably tell him yes just to be rude. It's what he'd do, after all. Great. Trygve scowled, more annoyed by his own misstep than anything so far. He scrambled for a retort, although little real heat existed in his snide tone or stiff posture. This was already more interesting than most of his days.

You're here, aren't you? Guess you must be sad too.

“Miserable,” she peals mockingly, stalking a step closer so her bloodied gaze can pin the two-toned face. She considers him again, slower this time, a little less hostile. She didn’t mind his snark. In fact, it kept her from getting weary, which was rare these days. Since they’d shown up here everything was one, long spiral into tedium.

“I’m not sad. I’m bored. And I just found out my entire family are fucking traitors,” for such a revelation the cub’s delivery is flat, cold. Apathetic. She shrugs a silver shoulder and tosses the boy-cub a look.

He’d admitted to being a sap, which means he probably had some tragic sob-story, like a dead mom or an evil dad— a long lost twin from which he was separated at birth. Yakone didn’t care to know so she wasn’t gonna ask.

“Got any food?” She pitches instead, nosing the air.

---

Miserable - the girl whined to an unperturbed Trygve. She was rude but her venom broke up the monotony instantly. He scoffed at her sarcasm, flicking his ear like a fly had buzzed too close by.

She was bored, apparently, and Trygve gave a considering hum and an agreeing nod in response. Boredom sounded way better than loneliness. He'd stick with that. And I just found out my family are fucking traitors.

His ears pricked, wandering two-toned gaze snapping back onto her sharp features and ruby eyes. Betrayal didn't form in tears at the corners of her eyes - but she was out here, not home. And he was out here, alone. Not too dissimilar, after all. Trygve fought the urge to wrinkle his nose at the idea. Alright, that sucks. He conceded. What'd they do? Because he wasn't so prideful as to not admit he was dying to know.

She asked about food, Trygve answered with an unbothered huff. I can catch something. He offered; he didn't consider withholding the offer, still unused to not having someone around he felt important to try to provide for.

“My mom’s sleeping with the enemy, my brother’s working for the enemy, and my sister’s faded into irrelevance. So that leaves me: the only one left of my bloodline who's loyal to it.” That was the true perdition, how her family was pissing away their lineage.

Just the thought wrinkles her maw. Eyes shoot back to the gilded boy, vaguely wondering if he could understand— given his novel appearance. He didn’t look like just a bastard spawn, but there's a high chance he's a simpleton still.

At least he wasn’t lanzadoii. That was a start.

And he’d offered to hunt. This pleases Yakone, who traipses a step forward, nose reaching out in test of his particular scent now. “What’s your name anyway?”

---

Sleeping with the enemy, working for them, and fading away to nothing - yet here the girl stood, surrounded by family and yet not one of them. He thought he might hate her a little. Not because she was a sour little thing; he thought that was interesting. He knew what it was to stand among others; one of a group, yet separate. Alone.

My - The wolf I was protecting left. He said. Had she been someone else he admitted this to, he'd have been worried - afraid of seeing pity in their eyes. He didn't think she'd offer that insult, and he could instead offer her whatever empathy he could with this admission. So he did. It's just me now.

She stepped closer, testing the air surrounding his tousled strands of light and dark fur. Trygve returned the favor, finding her signature to be a sharp resemblance to the sea, paired with a pleasant woodsy fragrance. She seemed interested at his mention of a hunt, and he sidestepped away after a moment to begin the task of actually tracking something to chase down, his posture loose and relaxed. Trygve. He replied. You?