particles of ice swept through, clinging onto ninny's fur like dewdrops. she would felt much warmer if she had the thick fur coats that much of the lions have in this country. alas, she could only hope that come winter there would be no storms to brave through. ninny was very much a lost soul here, but she was also quite - if you will - at home here. to the north was a summit pride, that much she heard from the gossiping scouts that came through. somewhere to her east was a network of icy caverns. she came from the south with the sun's lingering touch still woven through her back.

oh, how she shivered!

ninny was a trapped mouse in this stormless sea of snow and freeze even if she could hardly call herself unfortunate. well, anyone with sensibility ought to turn back where they came from, but that someone didn't include dear ninny. all her bravado and confidence brought her here, in search of something of interest to take back. a charm, which would be charming, but most certainly a story to tell. @Rhys_{BG: UNSPLASH — ART: MUNK — CODE}

The desert, he could handle. The unbearable heat of the summer sun, the endless stretch of dry and decay—all things he could swallow, albeit not easily. There was a certain charm to the unyielding scorch of the badlands, a feralness that couldn't be tempered by anything. It was just like him, in a way, just as wild and just as untamed.

The north was a different story entirely. Rhys would have done anything to avoid venturing this deep into the Freeze, but he had a lead he could not let get away.

A cache had been stashed somewhere deep within the tundra, in an unassuming cave just within view of the summit's eastern face. The summer's heat brought most of the north just above freezing, but there were few pockets of bitter cold that could preserve prey for months longer than usual. Such precious secrets were easily betrayed, especially when this particular summer had been so plentiful—and the prides who took advantage of such spots would not miss one or two antelope.

Especially when more southern, barren prides would pay a high price for quality prey.

The only thing standing in his way, now, was one solitary shadow. He had located the entrance to one of the caches from a distance away, but before he could reach it, @Nínael sauntered onto his path. Desperate to keep his secret hidden, Rhys quickly diverted, forcing himself to diverge right onto her path in order to divert attention away from his true target.

Would you look at us— he croons, boyish charm easily smothering any hint of nerves, —two fools desperate to freeze our toes off.

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ninny had closed her eyes as the wind swept in more icy shards, small and glittering against the whiteout, until the smell of another caught her attention. her eyes snapped open, revealing a young man much bigger than she was. ninny was dazed - even caught the rush of oxygen coming out of her - before she gathered her wits.

fools she said, agreeing with him. but we aren't dead yet, are we? her smile was a touch too small, but it had been a while since she found a reason to do it. she didn't smell the scent of a pride on him, but he alone would make for three lions with the size of him. she had never considered herself vulnerable, but there was this certain sense of alertness on her now that she had company.

ah, better not linger on the boy's physicality. the ninny now was starting to remind herself of her girlhood, where she oft ogled at passing lions in tinuviel's pride. we ought to find warmth she offered as she looked around for a place to take shelter in. the weather was becoming a tad unruly, in her opinion. @Rhys_{BG: UNSPLASH — ART: MUNK — CODE}

At first, he simply thought her distant. The storms of the north were wild and unpredictable, and what he had once assumed a distant shadow was suddenly her, here and now. His brow lifts in surprise as her soft voice breaks the howl of the wind, and he stops just short of where she's shivering.

Fools, she breathes, a tender smile touching her lips, but we aren't dead yet, are we?

His smile is a little wider, a little toothier. He wears an easygoing air, something so casual that she dare not see the way his eyes don't quite meet hers every now and then, that the drift off into the distance is purposefully intent on one place in particular, and not just the endless empty sky itself.

We ought to find warmth.

His heart sinks in his chest. Fuck.

Come now, eazizi, you travel this far north without the expectation of being a little frostbitten? he drawls, a twitch of his lips deepening his smile.

Inside, he was volatile. Panicked thought racing to panicked thought, though his practiced charm betrayed nothing.

Then, one simple answer rose above them all.

Very well, he sighs, ever-so-dramatic, before grabbing her hand into his, leading @Nínael in a direction vastly different than his original destination. Warmth awaits.

---

¹ My dear

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the man's smile made her heart flutter, the snow thawing momentarily at this show of charm. she was an easy to please girl, she realized, and it didn't bother her as much as she should. they were both young lions, if not for the size difference then ninael was certain their experiences weren't ill-matched to each other. while the back of her nape pricked at the instinct to stay her ground, ninael once again listened to her heart. she had not forgotten how good it was to feel warmth and a pleasant, smiling face. as it was, ninael was certain of her good read on others. this man would not be the venomous snakes that lurked under the brushes.

i do hope you find us a good den with plenty of furs ninael cooed, her voice soft while her eyelashes batted. she allowed the man to pull her as far as he wanted to while she, ever so keen on playing the damsel, followed. the storm had dyed into a feeble wind, picking up icy shards that tangled in her short coat. ninael shivered again and, experimentally moved closer to the man. the ninael of a year ago would never, ever display such strange behavior, but time had changed and ninael realized the importance of companionship. my name is ninael she said. what's your name, dear sir? @Rhys_{BG: UNSPLASH — ART: MUNK — CODE}

She is small and star-dusted, and it does not take Rhys long to see the emotions telegraphed on her skin. @Nínael exercises a just enough amount of caution, but as time drawls on and she mulls her options, she seems to eventually relent to the smuggler's offer. When her hand slips into his, he tightens his grip—just the right amount of firmness to drag her along without suspicion.

I do hope you find us a good den with plenty of furs, she croons, and Rhys throws her a quick look.

So many demands for a woman who hasn't even told me her name, he teases in a dramatic, low tenor.

When his gaze refocuses on the bleak horizon, he can see a single dark dot in the near distance, the bleak promise of a den—warm furs and fire and all. Rhys hastily picks up the pace, but not without purpose. Every so often, he would scrap his claws across the freeze's frigid surface, leaving a marked path back with a tactic so subtle that it appears no more than a longer stride than usual.

Nínael, she introduces, and Rhys repeats her name under his breath. It suits her, in the way the stars suit the moon. What's your name, dear sir?

Rhys Tollaire, his father would have wanted him to say. Hell, he probably would have wanted him to tout it like a trophy, then sink his claws into her and lay claim as if she were mere property. Expand the empire, reclaim the legacy, blah blah blah.

You can call me Rhys.

The mouth of the small cave is suddenly gaping before them. There are no furs, no fire, but its a start—a promise. Rhys turns, the glint of a single canine peering from beneath his scarred lips as they pull into a cunning grin.

Afraid is the best I can do, 'amira.

---

¹ Princess

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ninny faked a pout, but otherwise said nothing for now when the wind once again tried to buffet her. this time, she had a wall of thick muscles shielding her, plus a strong arm guiding her to what she hoped would be a safe den. ninael laughed then, loud enough for @Rhys to hear. so my mother tells me she said, which was a lie. it should be a lie, yet ninny didn't think it was - it sounded right to her, like her mother did say something like that. or, she perhaps had confused those words said to her by one of the old scillan members. ninael had been so sick and wounded she would not have realized.

rhys ninael said slowly, committing it to memory. well, you may have a simple name mr. rhys, but you yourself doesn't look like a simple man. it was a teasing remark, if only to see rhys's reaction. that, and her desire to stop thinking about the plunging cold and her chattering teeth. finally, though, a scant hope appeared in the distance. an inkblot, at first, but ninael was certain that was the entrance to some kind of cavern or den. by then, ninael wasn't sure who was pulling who; regardless, she was trying to be as fast as possible. i'm ninael, by the way, not my real name but one i made up for myself. her mouth stretched into a grin, hoping rhys would be curious enough to ask her why._{BG: UNSPLASH — ART: MUNK — CODE}

Well, you may have a simple name Mr. Rhys,

Rhys nearly snorts in response, something half-humored and half-offended. He would never truly be angry at such a strange jab, but he would certainly never let @Nínael live it down now.

but you yourself doesn't look like a simple man.

His crooked smile falls, if only just a bit. Simple was indeed something he was not, but the complexity of his nature was not something he was usually keen on discussing, and his ulterior motives were methodically tucked away in favor of simplicity.

He opens his mouth to retort, but then he feels the fervent tug of her hand, and the sudden shift of her pace picking up faster than his. He is lead effortlessly through the bluster and snow, until finally the enveloping mouth of the den swallows them.

Not my real name— he barely hears above the sound of the wind and his own breathy huffs, —but one I made up for myself.

Oh? You did not like your first one? he lifts a brow, before slowly easing himself onto the cavern's floor. He had no reason to fear her now, and many reasons to regain some energy.

He was not so eager to fulfill the proposition of pelts and fire, but the cave was well-shielded from the wind, and their combined body heat would eventually create a pocket of warmth that would be standable enough to bear through the storm. The least he could do was keep her company until then.

Then—back to business.

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i—

the icy wind whipped through the land, cleaved through ninael's thoughts right as she was assembling them. she closed her eyes and braced herself until she could no longer feel her legs being pushed. @Rhys's body was a respite from the otherwise dangers of this inhospitable land. as the wind died down into a breeze, ninael reopened them and lets out a small breath. they were here.

she cleared her throat, detached herself from the man's hold as she slipped into the cave, glad for the heat and the confinement. as the wind picked up outside their makeshift shelter, ninael found her words again, bright as the icy shards being hurled into the entrance.

i suppose i made an omission she said. i don't dislike my real name, it was more because...i can't remember it. her voice softened towards the end. ninael felt like she was telling some sort of guarded secret. yet, it would be indelicate of her to leave it untold. she lowered herself onto the ground and tilted her chin up to stare into rhys's eyes. tell me, how do you remember something that's long forgotten?_{BG: UNSPLASH — ART: MUNK — CODE}

I— @Nínael begins, and Rhys can barely hear her above the storm.

But he is achingly patient. He leans back until his flank is flush against the cavern wall, one forearm draped lazily atop the other. His eyes are trained on her but they are observant, contemplative, unintrusive.

I suppose I made an omission, she murmurs, I don't dislike my real name, it was more because...I can't remember it.

His lips press into a firm, thin line. Rhys had an unlucky start but at least he had a mother, and one who cared more than enough about him to give him skill enough to succeed. But to be something of an orphan, to be forced to reforge herself at such a young age she cannot so much as remember her name. There is a brief hint of pity that sparks in his eyes—he can't help it.

Tell me, how do you remember something that's long forgotten?

You don't, he answers, letting his wine-red gaze linger in the celestial teal of hers. You make something new.

Just as she did, with her name. Just as he did, by coming here. A new beginning. A new chance at destiny.

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