Darkwater Rapids Pack Thread

we're starting over, we'll head back in

there's a time and place to die but this aint it

Truth be told, he wasn't so amazed that time was slipping by faster and faster every day. Last winter he was the lonely, dark guardian, prowling the denuded cedar forest's weathered paths with a weary mind and a steady heart. He'd wondered what had happened to the amber eyed diver he'd so utterly fallen in love with, who he knew loved him, too. It was through the lonely cold that he'd recounted the days since he'd first unveiled Relic Lore with his own eyes, the changes in the winds he'd witnessed over the seasons and the places he'd become fond of─and those he wasn't fond of at all. The hole in the hill; the blackberry field where he'd met a certain woman with mismatched eyes; the ghastly woodland and its neighboring thicket; the cedar forest. Grizzly Hollow. Funny─he didn't define his life according to where his was born and who raised him and how. Most days he knowingly suppressed memories he knew wouldn't help him become a better man. No, it wasn't his past that made him who he was, it wasn't the places he'd been or the memories he'd made. It wasn't even Ava, so much. His life as it had come to be known was defined by fatherhood. Those four furry black terrors were reasons one through four he had for waking up early, patrolling, hunting, eating, hell─even sleeping. He had to stay strong for them, he had to maintain his health and clarity of mind. Life was no longer about worrying about much of anything other than staying alive to provide for his kids and wife, and pack, and enjoying it, and he did. Watching his son from the den mouth as he prowled about, the expert hunter-in-training, he truly appreciated the bad times as well as the good─the ugly places and those few beautiful ones─and the wandering souls in-between that had all along been the path to this: the creation of life from his life, the blood of his blood. Breathing deep a quiet sigh, the man laid to rest his graying chin upon his wrists as the evening sun fell warmly between his shoulders.

With an undeniable exuberance the soot-socked boy pranced through his parents' territory, taking immense pride with each oversized paw's step as he traipsed his way from the treeline that marked their border and climbed the rise toward the den. His blood-spattered jaws reached for the sky, skinny grey legs hanging limp between his teeth. This was his finest moment in all of his four months alive, he was certain. Rowan Attaya had made his first ever real kill, completely with the intention of bringing home the bacon for his family, and he simply had to flaunt such a tremendous accomplishment.

Some part of him had been disheartened that there hadn't been any witnesses when he sank his very recently replaced adult teeth into the tufty-furred hare's hide. No one had heard the violent snarl that plunged from the very depths of his manliness as the blood tickled down his chin, or seen the victorious fire burning in his yellow-gold eyes as he smelled the very life draining from the creature within his jaws. But that was no matter, he decided, as he need be the only witness to declare himself a champion and that he did. Soaked in pride he swaggered on, imagining someone might catch a glimpse of him from the shadows and that they'd be in awe of the dust-colored boy for the rest of the day.

Reaching the cache as was his intention, Rowan slowly lowered his head and allowed the rabbit's corpse to roll from his jaws. Though it slumped forward rather unceremoniously, the dull thud of its body against the ground sounded like victory bells to his over-sized ears. Casually he leaned away and tilted his head off to one side, listening in case someone had come to flatter his accomplishment.

His ears flicked like a switch to the sound of incoming footsteps, turning his eager head to see which of his pack mates had come to worship the very ground he walked on - err, congratulate him on his endeavor. His ego deflated somewhat to see it was his older brother, as his assumption had grown in their near four months of life that the brawnier boy was difficult to impress. Now, Rowan hadn't known Mace had yet to make a kill of his own but he had begun to consistently assume that for anything there was to accomplish, his pitch-black sibling would be there hours before he could catch up. It was something he had come to terms with, truly made peace with being silver to the silver-eyed... and yet who could deny the pride of victory? A cheeky grin lit up his black-masked face, bright eyes trailing meaningfully between his brother and the recent addition to the pack cache.

The hare lay limply against the dirt; not even rigor mortis could make it a beefier prize. The grey of its fur was atypical for the summer season and instead showed of his age. Though his feet were large, as any rabbit's were, its legs were thin and unimpressive. If Rowan had done anything today it'd been to hurry along an already almost-there patron toward death's door - but he was far too inexperienced of a hunter, even of a wolf, to understand that it had been luck and an elder rabbit that created his good fortune. Ignorant of the fact he trained his gaze on Mace, trying hard to bite his undeserving ego while turning a blind eye to the subliminal tightness in his brother's tease. "Oh, you heard him? 'Cause ya heard him wrong," Rowan fired back, a little too quick on the draw to be suave. "This hare was beggin' for his life when I was on his tail!" His own had begun to wave forcefully behind him, shaking the excess excitement from his body bit by bit. Cocking his head to one side the second-born fixed Mace with a sloppy grin, curious to see what the better son thought of this.

Through the screen of a patch of tall grass, she took them in with objection. Rowan's grandiose accomplishment hadn't gone unnoticed, though Quil was hardly intent to drool over the limp corpse he'd so casually added to the cache. Truth be told, she didn't like the sight of dead things, not after her experience past the borders and even if it were something she might end up eating. From a distance she watched her brothers, her dark plume of a tail wrapped gingerly around her haunches as she lay nestled beneath the shade of a twisted old tree. Their encounter was humorous (they usually were─a pair of jesters, those two.) but it was only a ghost of a smile that tugged at a single corner of her dark lips, her rounded ears perked in their direction. Despite her distant sense of curiosity and admiration, she was unsure of whether or not her congratulations would be worth the breath to convey, what with the avid faux-testosterone argumentation unfolding like the flames of a wildfire in a field of dead grass...Nevertheless, she was proud of Rowan, and a little sibling rivalry wasn't going to deter her from letting him know. Nonchalantly, the sable furred girl approached her brothers, wild-eyed and as prim as a proper princess should be. "Thanks for lunch, Rowan," she teased lightheartedly, bumping affectionately past Mace. She wanted to go on about it like the boys were, but as soft-spoken as she was, she really wasn't sure how to go about it.