Family Reunion

Blinding and chilling to the bone, the snow-covered valley came as a shock to Ghelgor's system after so much time spent on the corpse of his old homeworld. His heavy feet sank into the snow as he trudged up hills and through small gatherings of trees harrowed by decades of ferocious winds. The sky was clear on the day he arrived and as he reached the crest of a hill, he could see the Frostwolf Clan's settlement. He longed to see his son again, to walk with him, talk with him, hunt with him. The thought of two weeks of bonding put a smile on his weathered, grumpy face. Of course, there was a catch. Neda would be there, watching his every move, listening to his every word, judging him. She was no doubt worried he'd come to pollute her son with ideas like “Honour” and “Loyalty”, these were not wanted or needed in the new Horde that she revered. But he shook his head and held onto his smile with all the willpower he could muster, he wouldn't let her take this from him, Bronkar was -his- son too.

The guards at the gate greeted him with a slight nod as he approached, they'd clearly been informed of his arrival. Within the walls, the clan was busy wrapping up the day's labour, walking with practised ease over the snow. Ghelgor clearly stood out against the white backdrop in his black armour and foreign tabard and garnered many long and probing looks as he passed the Frostwolves in his search for Neda's house. He went over what he'd say in his head, how he'd make it clear to her that he wasn't going to let her steal any more time from him. He'd already missed out on his son's entire childhood, it ended here and now. He needed to make a stand.

Suddenly there she was, as striking as the first time he'd seen her on the voyage across the ocean, and he lost his smile. Time had been gentle with her compared to how it had treated him, but he could see her age in her eyes. They were still piercing but different somehow, they just went through him like he wasn't even there. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest, as if locked in chains, and her expression was grim and restrained. Ghelgor forgot what he was going to say and merely nodded. Neda returned the nod and turned to walk inside.

Ghelgor chastised himself for his sentimental weakness and followed through the door into the house, a modest structure with sparse furnishing. A fire burned pleasantly at the other end of the main room. “You'll sleep there.” Neda pointed at a small makeshift bunk bed propped up against the wall. Ghelgor nodded again, clearing his throat to speak. “Where is he?” Neda strode across the floor towards the fire, grabbing a chair along the way. “Out hunting with your brother.” Sitting down on her chair, facing the fire, she might as well have been a statue. Ghelgor sat down on his bed, watching her, wondering what to say, waiting for her to say something, his head was hard at work coping with the situation. The former mates sat in a tense silence until the door finally opened again, the darkness outside revealing how long the silence had actually lasted.

Modrak hit his feet against the door frame on the way in to dislodge the hard-packed snow from underneath his boots. His one eye glanced over in Neda's direction before searching out Ghelgor. “I knew you'd arrived, I could smell the tension all the way from the gate.” Modrak snorted and let a large sack drop to the floor by the door. Ghelgor got up and put a hand on Modrak's shoulder. “Brother.” Modrak responded in kind before tossing the sack towards Neda and the fire, and placing himself down on one of the chairs by the table. “High time for dinner, wouldn't you agree?” Neda snatched the sack off the floor from her chair, examining the contents. “Rabbit? That's all? You were out for almost the whole day.” Modrak grunted and put his legs up on the table, tilting his chair back. “Your son, the master hunter, insisted on carrying the big prize himself. Proud basterd.”

Ghelgor walked to the open door and looked out into the village. Torches scattered the darkness in regular intervals along the main road toward the gates, and he could see a figure struggling through the snow with a considerable burden thrown over his shoulders. Bronkar stopped outside the house and let the ram fall back off of his shoulders and into the snow. With a sigh of relief he supported himself with his hands on his knees. Ghelgor found his smile again, walked out swiftly and grabbed his son firmly by the shoulders. “Son.” Bronkar stood up straight, tired and sweaty but with a smile on his face. “Father.”