fernweh huffs, feeling the rush of cold air battering her face as the wind thaws from cold to bitter ice. here, there are more precarious footholds than there are even grounds. it takes a newcomer some time to learn where to step, where not to go, and which path that'll lead them out, and which that'll lead them to a quick injury. morrigan has assured fernweh that no accidental deaths can occur. though, fernweh thinks that it won't happen to anyone unless that someone's stupid.

and, now that she has andrás here, she too wonders if she is making a bad decision. here is a wanderer she brought in, scent filled with naught a pride marker, but still a lion of unknown origin. perhaps her desire to repay him may have been a mistake, but what good will it do to hesitate now? fernweh doesn't need to bring andrás everywhere. her den is fairly close, and fairly big enough for the older man to settle in. it's cozier in the den fernweh mutters, remembering that not all lions can get used to the summit air as easily as she did, just a few more steps. her bones are uneasy by now as they cripple beneath the combined weight of her and andrás. but she manages to make her way to her den, the peak of thick pelts stacked within a relieving sight for her. she then beckons for the man to go in, wondering if she can make a quick stop to the medic cache._{BG — ART — CODE}

This place had not been inhabited when András had first arrived in Amaryllis. In fact, this land seemed entirely new. He had lived at the Peak for long months when disaster had first befallen the land, and had been forced southward when blizzards and great storms tore apart the peaks; had this place once been obscured, cut off and far too dangerous to reach? Had the winds and quakes reshaped the mountain face, allowing this new place to burst through, to offer a home for lions who sought to claim it? He was careful to watch his every step, but long had it seemed their borders had been reinforced, their safest paths carved out with pawprints and lined with stones and other markers.

He is unsure if she would bring him straight to her leaders, leave him to the mercy of her King or Queen; however, his suspicion is soon quashed as she leads him to the mouth of a den, one that is too filled with her scent to assume it is empty and uninhabited. It's cozier in the den, he says, and András eyes her, holding back a brutish smirk. Bringing a stranger to your den? he muses, though knows he's not the sort of man to take advantage of a woman like that. Perhaps she had sensed it. Perhaps András were far easier to read than he would have liked. Regardless, he is still far too injured to even try and hurt her or escape if he tried.

He sees her struggling, and though he himself has long felt the weight of their journey exasperating their wounds, he quickly reaches forward, hoping to catch her on his shoulder and keep her upright as they finally ventured into the mouth of the den. You should rest, too, he says, his humor and sarcasm lost in the wake of a gentleness unlike András' character, Can you call out for a medic to meet us here? Or, would @Fernweh rather him be kept her little secret?

The thought amused him endlessly.

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an injured stranger fernweh said, though she's thankful for the man's help in keeping her on her feet, and she's aware of what she thinks @András is hinting at. while she doesn't say it, she knows she won't take advantage or be taken advantage of anything this man wants or has to offer. her previous encounters with harou and kvare has taught her that much. to the point where she would rather drift away from all the flirtatious and affections until the right one comes forth. but this man here looks easier, gentler even, than the two men before. while andrás is cloaked in the same ghostly threads, he looks far more mortal than harou. she can think and contemplate about any other differences her mind can dredge up, but now she has a more important matter to settle.

of course she said, before chuffing into the air. there should be someone around to hear her, but the pride isn't always occupied, with most members called away to the lowlands. often, fernweh feels she's left alone here, while the other pride lions are away. and it's only when the lions come to her that she's reminded that this is an occupied pride land. now, seeing that no one is coming, she allows a huff to escape. i take it everyone's busy she said to herself. fernweh can go and seek out someone to help bring supplies, but she doesn't want to take that lion away from their time either. i'll be back and, with that, she heads out to the medic cache.

it takes her a few minutes, but with some rummaging and rushing, fernweh's able to find some thick cotton that someone harvested. in addition, she finds a large enough leaf, still green and strong, that can keep the cotton together. whether they work or not is up in the air, but it's better than nothing.

unfortunately, i will not be able to feed you any medicine fernweh said, still trying to lighten the situation. but i've got something better than snow. by now, the snow that's covering andrás's wound should have melted. while the environment is cold, a lion's body runs hot, which fernweh can attest back when she's helping him come up.

alright, please, go inside and i'll...apply this fernweh said. unless you want to try doing that yourself?

maybe, once they settle the wound and get a short rest, she can escort andrás out. he's not dying now, that she's certain of._{BG — ART — CODE}

András seemed almost soft, such a thing his Rike counterparts might have chided him about, might have compelled him to a brutality more befitting of his kind. And had he known about the flood of new blood that had come and taken over the legacy of his father-in-law and the Jarl he had appointed after him, he might have relented, might have been forced into a harsher decision far sooner than he would. As it were, he were blissfully blind to the antics of Adalwolf, and even more so to the fact he now lingered in the same den of wolves he had sought to destroy upon his first entrance into Amaryllis, throwing their support in with the lot of a would-be conqueror who had not faced the angry crowds of the kingdom he'd just overthrew, and who had left the Rike without clear victory. He was a stranger now, blissful and ignorant.

She attempts to call for a medic, but to his surprise, nobody answers. They'd not arrived at an entirely unrealistic time, but the mountains were especially harsh in the winter, and it would not be unreasonable to assume that the pride's inhabitants sought the comfort of the southlands where it was warm and filled with prey. @Fernweh seems to relent, and though he does not wish to see her go (for he rather enjoys her company, but he likewise does not want her to exasperate her own wounds), he remains wordless as she slips into the endless white just outside of her den.

By the time she returns, András had cozied himself among the many furs of her den. He'd made sure to leave enough for her to be comfortable, to let linger some distance between the two makeshift beds that she did not feel compelled to share such a close space. His head rose when he saw her approach, his wound once more bleeding through the snow, though it had been stilled and slowed enough not to quite reach down into his eye, and instead to curve around it, to dribble down his cheek and into the white of his mane. The wounds along his shoulders and flank had also long begun to clot and dry over, but like most men, he'd not been quite as careful to keep it from getting all over her bedding. The melted snow along his face had made him chilly and wet, and he'd been selfish in rummaging through her den in search of warmth.

I can stand to go without meds a bit longer, he assured her with a firm nod of his head, very carefully wiping away the damp bits of fur where the snow had melted, careful not to touch anywhere close to his wound. The cotton and leaves she carried with her seemed promising. It's all yours, medic, he offered her with a sly grin, far preferring the careful guidance of her paw over what would be his blind and brutal application. Certainly, he'd not be able to cover the entire wound without being able to see his reflection and ensure his accuracy. He may very well hurt himself even more.

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andrás seems to be faring better than she thinks. which means medication is most certainly unneeded for now (which fernweh's happy to know she doesn't need to sift through the cache again). the fur beneath him have been keeping him warm like they did for her, and there are now dark spots from the melted snow they brought in. fernweh also wants to believe that in no time he'll be able to recover enough of himself. if not later, then perhaps even now.

a part of her almost wonders if she should dabble in medic training, just so she can help lions like andrás. but, alas, she's no more gifted than a fresh-faced youth. she supposes she cannot be like morrigan and talisa in that aspect. they have years of training in their chosen trades, while fernweh is on the verge of relinquishing hers for a more fruitful life here in the summit.

but, nothing of that now, she is a medic temporarily, whether she's good or not will be up for andrás to decide. pulling a half-smile, meant to comfort both him and her, she begins her work. excuse me fernweh said as she pushes herself in enough to reach andrás's wound. from then on, it's all instinct-based, as she brushes away the dewy water from the man's pelt, finding that the blood has mostly stopped bleeding. yet still, she cannot allow anything to get in, so she proceeds with what she intends to do. all the while, she's planning on what to say should her aunt notice, or if anyone else notices that she took in a rogue.

how're you feeling now? fernweh's eyes dip towards the older male's face, hoping to see a fairly normal complexion. sometimes, abnormal things may occurr, things that fernweh will have no say in. no fever? aches? inwardly, she's embarrassed to realize she's most certainly playing into the role of a medic._{BG — ART — CODE}

Had he been more worse for wear, and unused to the feeling of such stinging pain, he might've beckoned her to fetch a medic, even in the sorry state she was in herself. But given her own wounds and the lull of sleep breaking through even the harshest of his pain, András knew he could survive to see whenever a proper medic would return to the Summit to give him proper care. He'd been unlucky that she was not already gifted at it, but even he knew the skills of a warrior were far more needed in the midst of a battle than the ones of a medic shortly after. He could brave through the wake of his pain now if it meant he'd been able to survive their ordeal because she used her claws for the brutal nature of a fight than she did for mending and fixing broken things.

Compared to most, András is a fine patient. He allows her to do as she pleases, wordless and motionless, only shirking when she presses firm against particularly sensitive spots. But he offers no chiding, nor hisses of agitation. And when she has finished cleaning his wounds and pressing her dressings into them, there is a sense of relief washed over him, a cleanliness that he'd not known would make him feel so much better. Even being properly wrapped up felt cleansing, with or without medications to dull and ease the pain. I'm feeling much better now, he says, a look of obvious relief plain in his expression, the warmth of her den and her pelts far more comforting than the brutal windstorm just outside her den. I could live here forever, he thinks amusedly, crossing one of his forepaws over the other. No fever, no aches. If there were to be any, he'd be sure to complain to her then, but the snow had done well in both cleaning and closing the wound, and both of their careful cleaning seemed to stave off any potential chance of infection.

In the heavy silence that followed, András could finally implore her. What is this place, @Fernweh? he asks, glancing around the confines of her den, as if he could somehow see through the walls of it and the stretch of Summit territory they were now residing in. I didn't know a pride existed up here.

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the dressing doesn't take long for fernweh to finish. she used up all the cotton that she took, but it seems to be enough to hold for now. if she remembers correctly, the dressing will have to change in a few hours. and since fernweh doesn't know what will happen in-between, it's best to not worry for now. with andrás' confirmation that he is indeed alright, fernweh is able to rest easy. for the most part, she has given back what andrás gave for her, so now they are on even terms. even better, fernweh thinks she is growing to like this new acquaintance of hers. he's just...normal, she supposes, and normal is what she wants. no uncertainties, no challenges, and no tenseness - just a body who will not give her trouble.

this is illyria summit she said, turning around so she can lay down besides @András, taking care that he also has room for himself. it's new; my aunt found it what little she knows of this pride was told to her by morrigan. before the pride became what it is, it was just a land, full of snow-covered land and dens untouched by lowlanders. morrigan was keen on making a home for her family, and this is what came out of it. so you've been here fernweh said, eyeing the male for a moment, before she looks out to the endless snowscape. then you must know a little of the terrain. an idea stirs in her chest, of a suggestion for andrás to be invited. but, fernweh feels hesitant to ask, only because she feels the situation isn't ideal.

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Though her wounds didn't seem as dire as his own appeared to by, András still notices the way she seems to reel at the aches, slow and methodical in her movements as not to agitate her wounds. Though her cuts and bruises did not seem to require much in the way of dressing, he knew she must have felt the ache; she settles down closer to him than he had assumed she would, and he holds himself back from venturing closer, examining her own injuries. He offers, silently, the brunt of his shoulder; but nothing more, nothing less. Illyria Summit, she says, and András keeps the name of it in his mind. He'd not encountered a recruiter from the pride in the Passage, and instead had chosen another home to reside in; but it did not mean he would relinquish a few nights here in favor of making the long and arduous journey home. No soul would bat an eye that András disappeared for a few days.

You aunt is the Queen? he implores her curiously. Were @Fernweh not quite such the simple stranger he assumed her to be? Was she more than one of the flock of a pride among many, more than some woman soldier or huntress in the fold of a Queen's army? If I had known I'd be speaking to royalty, I would have put on a far better face. Or perhaps I wouldn't. Despite his teasing, András cared little about the affairs of prides and kings. All he had ever known was the strength of a family, a shared name. It was far easier to betray ties bound by word than those bound by blood. To him, a name and title and claim to an empty land meant nothing.

I've been close by, he continued toward her imploring. He'd lived in the mountains for many months his last venture into Amaryllis, but eventually had been driven southward, long before this place was discovered by the Summit Queen. I stayed at the Peak long enough to know such a place is dangerous, he begins again, recalling the day his den had collapsed right on top of him, and how desperate Magdalene had been to dig him out. When he had burst free from the debris, she had wept. And that had been the last he'd ever seen of his wife. András paused, noticeably crestfallen, though he tried to bite it back behind his icy façade.

It was pitiful, now, the way he missed her still.

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the closeness between them makes fernweh more conscious of andrás's facial expressions, every little tick and twitch of his muscles, to the way his curious eyes shine with luster. she is eager to know what a rogue thinks of this land, now that it's inhabited. would he still feel the pull towards the summit? and will the summit gain a potential member, or a potential challenger? as much as fernweh doesn't want the latter to happen, she knows that it's inevitable. someone, someday will want to be the summit sovereign. and, one day, morrigan will no want to rule, or can rule, and it'll fall upon the next lion to reign in her stead. fernweh remembers her aunt suggesting she become heiress, like avaneira once was. even now, she's not sure if she's the right lioness. regardless, fernweh will do anything to secure the greyflood's reign. therefore, she also needs to be careful, now that andrás knows of her relations.

i'm no more royalty than you are fernweh said, with a halfhearted shrug. when fernweh answered him, she didn't want to sound humble. she's not a woman who can be humble, but she can speak the truth. but it did land me a quick invite she added, mouth pulling into a tired smile. what she doesn't tell him is that she's offered to become the heiress. which technically fits what andrás said. an heiress is as close to royalty as a princess.

i agree with you on that. anyone who lived here for more than a day will know of the dangers the summit holds. from the fall injuries, to the avalanches, and to the paths that'll lead one to death. there are too many uncertainties here, but it could be a trap for the enemies too. only the most nimble minded strategist can think of a way to use the terrain to their advantage. morrigan and her select council can take care of that. as for fernweh, she'll simply have to play the role of a loyal pride member. until morrigan decides to move their family southbound, until the greyfloods are gone and she, too, leaves this land. she'll be forever fettered here. closing her eyes, fernweh imagines every greyflood she knows, from her mother, to morrigan, to morrigan's children, and her siblings. half of them may be gone, but the summit is also their home. with a soft sigh, she opens her eyes and locks their gaze to the front, and said it's my home and i'll be damned if i don't protect it

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He is thankful she does not seem to notice his hurt. It affords him the surrender of silence, of not needing to implore his painful past by her request. He is content to let Magdalene lie sacred in the back of his head, festering in the scars left in the wake of her presumed death, and that of their children, who'd also not lived long enough to seek Eulalia's direct bloodline continued through him and her. I'm no more royalty than you are, she jests, and András smiles, leaning back. He'd been invited swiftly enough at the Passage, with more than one lion trying to tempt him into their lands; he'd made his choice, and he'd thought he'd been content with it, but now he wondered what it might be like to live on the mountain, to live with the woman who had all but saved his life.

How brave of you, he uttered, though not unkindly. He understood why some lions might prefer the dangerous fortress of the mountains. It was far easier to fortify and protect, and far less appealing than the mild heartlands of Amaryllis, flourishing with grasses and prey and bordering the ever-warm seas. It did not make it any easier, however, even for the strongest of them. Perhaps I should test that theory, he thinks cruelly, but knows he's far too injured to ever implore such an ideal, far too misguided to know the intentions of his family now. And yet—he turns swiftly, holding back the biting pain, and aims to try and pin @Fernweh to her bed of furs, his paws on either side of her face, should he succeed.

Could you protect it from this, from me? he asked her, his tone unwaveringly even, despite the pained expression in his face. There is a lack of seriousness in his approach, something that he might have tried to hide had he not been so injured. Regardless, he'd no true intention of hurting her, despite the joy he'd get from a scared and shocked look on her face. Eventually, however, he relents, and begins to pull away. There are men of my ilk who would delight to hear a pride exists up here led by a woman, he begins again, low, gruff.

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