Cors Ossum a fresh poison each week

Private thread for @Skoll - late afternoon
RE: The sky is dark with storm clouds.

As soon as he set paw out the doorway, it had already begun to irritate him. Once the pack had traveled northward, seeking out a home that provided both shelter and secrecy, the thought had started to gnaw on his patience. Now, over a month later, it had become an all-consuming plague, and the one-eyed dragon had finally had enough of it. Slipping free from the den he now charged with his charge, he briefly informed @Karina that he was heading south for a few days. Unfortunately, his abandoned site was no daytrip, and he was not about to take the princess with him and cause undue alarm. Today had nothing to do with the Baranskis and their imperfect gem.

"Ah'll be back in a couple days," he grumbled, not sure how long the travel would take without any breaks along the way. "Make sure y'eat, doll. Why don' y' make use a' th' den while Ah'm gone an' start filin' away yer plan's, huh?"

It was important that she not think herself abandoned, because it could not be more opposite the case. No, he simply had to see for himself that the last chapter of his life had finally come to a close. That the badger woman had truly, completely left him. Hours upon hours of travel had left him cross, and finding his abandoned den in the Ghastly Wood did nothing to improve his fierce mood. Was this obsolescence? Did she truly think him so incapable, so far past his prime?

A snarl ripped free from his throat as he spit upon the cold earth, wheeling around to return in the direction he'd come. There was no reason to linger here, where only hatred and emptiness dwelled. Kingsfall might be the epicenter of his captivity, but it was also the pinnacle of his ambition. There remained Karina, his perfect, precious gem. No one would rob him of his treasure this time, he thought, gait growing more determined with each passing stride.

A low rumble in the distance finally broke the man from his internal tired. Skittering to a halt, he glanced upwards through the forest, ears flattening when he realized how dark the sky had grown. Even if he turned back to his former den, he'd be damned to an afterlife of misery and pain before he slithered back into a home that reeked of abandonment and dissatisfaction. "Fucking storms," he cussed unhappily, glancing around the wood. "Need shelter."

At least until the danger passed.

Since Sven's birth, Sköll had worn himself thin and, frankly, he had had it. He never recalled seeing Angier doing what he did been instructed to do - actively hunting, tending to his cubs, making small talk with Elettra, caring for Elettra, cub-sitting when the Queen needed her space and time to stretch her legs... He had never seen Angier stoop or sink so low, physically or mentally; perhaps it was the fact that he was the lowest-ranking member in the pack and that mentality that was bogging him down. Maybe it was his age that was starting to catch up with him all at once. His shoulders were heavy and his temper was terrible. There were far too many instances in which he wanted to snap at his only begotten son, to remind Piety of who she was and where they stood as a family in regards to the rest of the Archers.

Skoll had had enough; and, it was with an irritated and haughty gait that he carried himself well-beyond the borders of Willow Ridge at sunset. No one would miss him, as far as he was concerned, and if they did then they were just going to have to deal with it. Skoll was a prince, a royal, a noble and dignified heir, a descendent of the kings of Torbine. He should not have been subject to such plebeian things as cub-rearing or caching (at least, Angier and Elettra, themselves, made it seem like they were demeaning at times).

By late afternoon two days after his departure, the Trickster found, to his delight, that he had arrived to someplace familiar. After heading northeast for so long, he was certain he would find it sooner or later. The place where Mapplethorpe, the fallen king of Hollowheart Keep, had been put to death. His heart beat with satisfaction and the thrill of what he could find. Perhaps he would be so kind as to bring the bastard's skull back to Angier and his mother... perhaps that would be his ticket back to his "rightful" place within Willow Ridge.

A twisted smile distorted his face, the darkening skies urging him onward in his quest. Without the summer sun to sap him of his stamina or tenacity, he would definitely make good use of the late afternoon hours. Especially since he had spent some time catching up on the hours of sleep his son had selfishly stolen from him. He navigated through the twisted trees, ducking beneath the crooked boughs and listening to the forest floor debris - bones of small animals or old, unearthed caches, maybe? - crunch underfoot.

A soft rumble from the storm clouds above made Skoll's ears perk up but did nothing to stop him in his tracks. He was going to keep moving until the surrounding woodlands looked familiar to some degree, then he would take a moment to reorient himself. Last autumn, when the taste of Advisor's blood had stained his maw, he had had a mind to mark the tree where the cub-napper had taken his last breath so that others who came that way would know that the lands were prone to being haunted... not just by the dead ruler but by the very wraith who had claimed his very last breath.

i'm a dreamer, i'm a man

i'm doing whatever i can to make the bad things go away

The sky did not head his concern, nor did the Mother offer him any immediate solution to his plight. Onwards the dark wolf traveled, almost disappearing among the bark and shadows, but his cloak could not shelter him from the skies once they opened above his head. The clouds crackled above as if they could read his mind, sending a prickle and shock straight down his spine. As his pelt stood up on end, near doubling his width, his skin began to crawl underneath and he compelled to give a violent shake, trying to ride himself of the supernatural sensation. Unfortunately, it clung to his sides like bloodsucking parasites, leaving a horrid, burning itch in their wake, and Kjors plunged onwards.

Had another bolt of lightning not raced across the sky, bringing with it that great flash of light and acrid rush of air, he might not have noticed the large, black wolf studying tree several yards away. The dragon paused despite the storm ready to break with any breath, curiosity piqued by the animal who so carelessly disregarded all the Mother's fury. It leant to bravery – bravery, or stupidity.

Tucking his ears against his head, he approached Sköll with his spine linear. His head was ducked for safety that the heavens might crash down around them, his tail straight out in a display that communicated both a confidence self and a lack of desire to start any true trouble. He drew up next to the stranger on his seeing side, golden orb studying the wolf for a brief moment before flicking up to study the tree. To him, the mark was meaningless – there were hundreds of trunks in the forest, with all number of scrapes and scratches he presumed. They came from wolves, bears, even the white-tail and the caribou.

None from dragons, he thought, nose twitching as he faced the other again. His own scent was faint upon his pelt, always careful to avoid carrying on with others too much. It was perhaps a bit of sequoia, if anything stayed among his guard hairs on his several days of travel – more distinct was the perfume of the young female he spent almost all his time guarding over, pummeling anything else that tried to cling to his thick pelt.

"'lo," he greeted the other wolf carefully, watching him for any hint of movement. "What're we lookin' at, eh? Not 'bout t' get us out of this storm."