Drooping Willows out here, everything hurts

@Sven, read-only. PP with permission of Cade.

Meet me here tomorrow, when the sun rises, he had said, and then left to prepare.

While Craw's sessions with @Morganna had been frequent and regular, Sven's desire for something similar had to be treated differently. Ever wary of Skoll's influence in his son's life, Craw had been eager to foster a connection between himself and the intriguing bastard Archer boy which didn't raise concerns. Morganna was old enough and had enough authority to freely decide who she affiliated with, but Sven was trickier. Craw saw a lot of potential in the bitter, hostile boy, but could not be obvious about his interest. He had to play it safe, play it by ear, and as the white boy grew his autonomy would increase. If Sven chose Craw's company, then, well, who could deny him his own free will?

Teaching the child was itself a complex issue, for the sheer size difference in the two pale wolves made ordinary sparring difficult, so any sessions far more resembled traditional play between adult and boy, where Craw never lost the upper hand. Sven's instincts were vicious and angry, the boy filled to the brim with resentment. Craw could empathise. Feeling injustice at being born into an unfavourable situation was something they shared, though he had not told Sven as such yet. Softly softly, slowly slowly he fostered their connection, it still young and fresh and careful. But it was time to offer Sven something more, plant the suggestion that Craw could be more than just another adult in the pack who would help him. Not that Sven likely had many adult allies among the willow wolves.

From the pack's cache, Craw had taken a morsel he'd contributed the day before, the meat still well-preserved. He'd let it sit outside of the snow and in the sun for several hours, to really let its aromas stew, to remove any frost from its fibres. By the time the evening came, it had a nice pungent smell, incredibly appealing to any hungry creature. As the moon rose, he grabbed it and prowled to the edges of the territory, making his way into the neutral willows, and then, planting the tempting piece of flesh at the base of some foliage - not out in the open, forcing any investigators to root at the base of the shrub - he retreated downwind, tucked himself away and waited.

The first nose to twitch in interest would have been quite easily missed had Craw not been paying close attention. The stoat crept silently forward, drawn in by the idea of an easy meal, but it was not his intended prey; with a low snarl, Craw twitched forward to announce his presence, and in an instant the small creature vanished. Returning to his spot, Craw settled in for a wait, content that something desirable would take the bait before the sun rose.

Hours later, and the night's sky was just being touched by a hint of light as he made his way towards the place he had dictated the day before. Craw himself was silent save for the wheeze in his throat, perhaps a little laboured from exertion, but his travels were far from silent; continuous and whining cries followed in his wake, as the battered coyote complained at her cruel treatment and was terrified for her life. Dragged unceremoniously by the scruff (and having most of her neck grasped in his jaws as well) she no longer put up much of a fight, save her long screams; one hindleg was horribly broken,  her right ear torn off and a large, messy gash tore up the same side of her face, her eyeball only narrowly missing the carnage and still intact. Craw's grip on the back of her neck was equally as gentle, with his teeth carelessly puncturing her skin and muscle to better hold her in place. She would still twitch and flail, but to no avail; she knew that she was stuck, and her only chance of survival would be to hope he got careless. While battered, there was still a frenzied desire for life in her eyes; she hadn't been broken, not yet.

Reaching the rough area they had last spoken, Craw stopped, and pushed the coyote to the ground, still gripping her tight. Placing one paw on her throat, and the other on the bleeding fracture of her hind leg, he slowly released opened his jaws, testing to see if she needed more restraints. Struggling to breath as he blocked most of her windpipe, the coyote shuddered and gasped, but could not move. The agony in her leg as he pushed on it was torture besides. Content that she was secure, Craw glanced through the willows, licking idly at the blood spattered over his jaw. Chuffing once, a quiet announcement of I'm here, he waited to see whether Sven had decided to come.

Once the bastard prince arrived, Craw gave his gift freely, and encouraged the angry young wolf to take out his frustrations without holding back. He showed the Archer where was vulnerable, where was protected, where was delicate and where was tough, and, ultimately, that a living creature can only endure so much before the body gives up.

He left the corpse with Sven for the boy to do with as he liked, satisfied with the lesson.

(This post was last modified: Jun 09, 2016, 09:13 AM by Craw.)