Sex: MaleIt was advantageous of the wanderer to keep hidden, which is exactly what he attempted to do. Despite the length of his stride and the bulk heralded within his body, the vagrant wolf slid with ease beneath the boughs. Moving with an assured gait and raised head, it was as if Luthais was not hiding at all; he ducked when needed and brought his slender self between the trees regardless. The boy had a swagger and it could not be tempered, even when the forest gave way to a blustery field of grass. Without the cover to protect him Luthais was made more cautious; he gave the silent meadow a preclusive sniff - as if to greet a fellow wolf - and felt ill to his stomach when the bare scent of pack reached him. It was far off to the north, but with the shifting winds and their strength, it felt as if the strangers were there before him, breathing down his neck. Heathens, he thought; it was not bitterness that flavoured his mind now, but a sense of righteousness. It was his duty to continue roaming, to complete his mission and find that which he sought so dearly.
The meadow quickly swallowed him up. Tall grass swayed across his chin from time to time, or was crushed beneath his chest in passing. The airy musk he wished to avoid seemed to take over the entirety of the meadow - although as he canted his head to the sky to watch the clouds, Luthais recognized that it was only the wind playing tricks. The spirits in the trees danced and laughed to him, shaking with mirth. A great sadness welled within his heart when he thought of the wayward wolves that lived here - he knew that they were hollow things, empty of the true faith, and thus unable to hear the gods around them. Luthais paused long enough to reflect upon this and then, briskly enough, adjusted his course to head north. Evidently the boy was oblivious to the pack that lived upon the north edge of the fields, but he would encounter them in time.
South, was not east.So she felt quite dumb, now that she was further south, and in a way she wasn't particularly fond of—did she not know the directions of the world? Could she not track by the sun's passage, and simply the scent of the wind? Feel in her gut which way she was going?Of course she could, and every step of the way she'd been aware that she was going south, but you did what you had to in order to survive, and it actually seemed more important to eat than to go hunt down her brother. After all, she didn't want to eat him, and she'd be quite inefficient as disposing of this upstart Queen he'd latched on to if she came to their doorstep crawling and weak. It was even possible that Mapplethorpe would try to laugh at her if she showed up in such a state—and frankly, she'd rather die without him than suffer that humiliation.And so she stood, angrily, at the edge of a meadow full of yesteryear's grass and melting snow and whatnot, annoyed that the game trail she'd been following had run out into nothing in this useless place. It was the only blasted reason she'd gone south, and now it wasn't even a reason, it was just dumb and stupid and the gnawing in her belly reminded her of awfully stupid everything but she was.And obviously she was some shade of stupid too, because she was old and out here and doing gods know what in her lunatic quest—it had gone from being freedom and challenge to some morbid obsession. Cézanne did not let go of grudges; she nurtured them, let them grow until they erupted in a frenzy of glorious vengeance.In this case, she had a notion she'd take it all out on Mapplethorpe's unfortunate idiot of a mate.Whoever the hell that was. Cézanne didn't particularly care.
And so, she found herself upon the meadow, glum and irritated, tracking the passage of distant, mockingly life-full birds, clouds, and whatever else, stalling and pondering and hating the harsh winter—it had stolen food and strength and refused to give it back. A low growl vibrated in her chest. There was no prey here, not now, whatever she had tracked had dispersed upon this glorious expanse of nothing and criss-crossed itself too many times; out of sight, out of mind. It'd take too much energy to circle the many trails and distinguish which ones led away.Stupid animals. Couldn't they just be convenient enough to lie down and die at her feet?But how boring that would be on any other day—she relished the thrill of the hunt, to sink her fangs into warm, fearful flesh, and watch the creatures drag themselves in desperation, trying to avoid their doom. Their fire would be her fire, and all would be well, until they would one day consume her, and the cycle was never-ending; and the stronger the flame, the more sated the beast's hunger.Some idiot wolf was out for a walk—another idiot wolf, her mind told her sourly, and she snarled at the air. It was one thing to have good intentions come to nothing, another to have annoying commentary in her head; she was the Queen, and she didn't give a damn if she was stupid or not. If she was to be an idiot wolf, she was a goddamn better idiot wolf than all the other idiot wolves, and the smoldering, ever-present embers of her anger thrummed with life, waiting to ignite.
Strands of green and pale gold shifted as if to suggest the breathing of the very earth, and for this mindful soul, the hills were indeed alive. Such fanciful notions drifted in the mind of the vagrant. He stood for a moment or two as still as possible, taking in the maslin which drifted on the wind. There was the chill of winter - something that could not be avoided - but also the budding green of spring. It was, quite possibly, all in his head. Luthais had been wandering for so long that he had begun to misjudge the passage of time. He knew only what the forest bade him to; that the trees were bare and trembling, and a heavy layer of ice and snow now blanketed their roots. Stagnant, Luthais was about to lurch in to a lissome stride - but the medley was spiked with a musk, and quite suddenly. At first he did not know what to make of it. Was it someone from the Clann? Doubtful. Being here had not been sanctioned - in fact, the elders had eagerly protested. It wasn't exactly proper of him. But the spice of life became both overbearing and foreign, marking the unseen stranger as an enemy outright. The boy felt his fur begin to prickle heedlessly, although he did not cower among the grass, holding firm to his conviction.
And as the predator noticed the prey, the prey noticed the predator, frozen, locked in his pose upon the miserable excuse of a meadow. It was hard to tell across the distance, but the creature looked tall, elegant, quite regular, just as the Queen was quite regular too to the eye—did the Flames burn strong in him, too? Scorching to be near, life radiating out of his gaze and every breath altering something in the fell canvas of this sinking, wretched world? Her head pulled up a fraction, fangs closing with a clicking sound. She doubted it. She doubted anyone compared to her—and if they did, she'd kill them all, drink their glory and rise on top of the world yet again.And old age be damned.Dark lips pulled into a sneer, ears flicking forward. Hunger and emptiness swelled in her gut, the finally oncoming spring not yet having turned the tables of winter, but all of that be damned too. She would eat stubbornness and her veins would pump life-fire before the end was come unto her, the sheer ferocity of her will enough to conquer mountains and raise seas; and this lone wolf, studying her as she studied it, was her target, the focus of all her pent-up wrath and dominance. The pose she cut was elegant and arrogant, formidable, because the thickness of her not-yet-sloughed-off fur hid the thinness of her waist, and the snap of her jaws was still hard enough to silence doubts. Slowly, her tail rose above the grasses, and her smoldering eyes cut to his figure, sourness written in their depths and the lines of his face.He shared the world with her: by default, that made him ugly.
A brisk shuffling caught his attention, mostly for the shifting of the grass and the release of a few bundles of pollen; they drifted on the wind and seeded their neighbours, landing on a few bits of soggy earth or half-melted snow. The woman was there, somewhere within the grassland that surrounded him.
Even though he stood tall upon stilted legs, the angular boy could not outright recognize her figure - the greenery hid her. Until such time that the tawny woman lifted her tail and approached, her teeth catching the light in a grimace. There was little glee in that expression, thus he mentally referred to it in another manner. There was a swagger to the stranger that was similar to the swagger he often held while walking. He adjusted his figure, turning to face her oncoming self, and observed. Studied.
Perhaps this was her meadow and that was why her silhouette was so ultimately hostile and commanding? But Luthais was not afraid of her; she was not protected by the gods of his forefathers, and it was this faith that made him superior. No harm could come to him even if Luthais was this far from home.
The dyad was at a stand-still; the old and the new facing off without a word. He chuffed softly to himself as he raised his own tail, thrusting his sharp ears towards her while a shine shocked the copper of his eyes in to an ignited red. He wasn't about to back down or run - what would be the point in that? - and instead spent his time combating her natural dominance with his assumed variety. Wordless, for now, as Luthais had nothing to say to the heathen before him.
She left space between them, called it tactic rather than cowardice. Ultimate strength lies in knowing your own weakness, and in overcoming it—not in brashly pretended it isn't there and falling into the dirt because you were too proud to acknowledge it.Lies and filth; Cézanne is always too proud.But she did not want to provoke him, did not want to give him reason to tarnish her arrogant glory and sinful pride, would rather skirt around it all and avoid confrontation. But old habits die hard, or at least so they say, and thus she stood tall, boldly perching on the border of what was socially acceptable and not, and probably crossing the line a dozen times in the process. Stiff-legged and commanding, her scorn for the world was written in her smoldering eyes. Cézanne was life itself, raw and fervent, a creature of emotion and deep, driving need.
Oh, the nerve. He challenged her rights to the world, he challenged her right to dominate him, raising his tail in youthful arrogance and glaring right back, ears perked. A ripple ran along her pale lips, just barely containing the growl wishing to resound in her throat and chest, swallowing the sound together with the—bitter—knowledge that she was too weak to invite a fight.So she held her ground, let her tail droop not an inch, gaze boring into his. Bend, her eyes seemed to say, backed up by the subtle sneer on her muzzle, and her heart commanded him to break with each beat.If Cézanne's willpower had been enough to break the spines of others, oh, what a different place this world would've been.
The woman watched him, and it was as if her haughty gaze implored motion; telling him to keep walking, buddy, or something of that effect. As if the air he breathed now was solely of her own larder, and his inhalations were akin to thievery. The boy chuffed to himself at the thought, and finally did shift his figure. Dominance remained whole and unaffected by her constant eye, for Luthais was not afraid of an agitated old woman. He turned away from here more out of boredom than true deference. One swish of his tail was all that betrayed his irritation with her, before returning to its lifted state.
As the wanderer turned away, he granted himself on step as well, only to stop and turn - watching her through his peripheral vision the way a cat might stalk a mouse, keenly aware yet feigning disinterest.
"What is it you want." He blandly queried, although Luthais did not feel energized enough to add the lilt of true inflection upon the question; how dreary he sounded, but how pointless this situation! As he drew a deep breath, the pale wolf turned to face the onlooker - fallen silent again, but this time with a sharp expression upon his face. Speak now, heathen, he mentally implored. The thought evaporated nearly as soon as it came to him, for Luthais could not fathom a native animal of these lands having any form of understanding.
What a fanciful stalemate they had, tails tense and saluting the sky, neither of them inclined to bend to the other; Cézanne did not know how to bow. Only at the utmost need would she crawl in the dirt, and only with force, jaws around her neck to push her down, could she be convinced otherwise. Sly, and not entirely stupid—but for how long could she feign deference to another? The life as a pack wolf was not hers. She was too restless, too haughty, too proud, and she wore her heavy crown with practiced ease.It satisfied her hungry soul when he spoke—provoked into speaking.But, she doubted she would have any use of him, except to feed whatever pride she had left. And then, to move on, before he grew too vexed and found out just how weakened by winter she was (and how sharp her teeth). So, with a curl of her lips, as if to say it wasn't quite worth the time to reply, she spoke: » Of you? « What a laughable notion. » Nothing. « Barely worth the breath to respond.She was here for the sport, the sport she couldn't partake in if it came to blows, she was here to conquer and prove to herself who she was, and she hated it. She hated it all, the reason she was here, the sky, this wolf, the hunger and the prey and everything, because it all pointed to some fundamental weakness in who she was, a flaw in her character, something ruining the feral perfection of her soul. Laughable and pathetic, that she needed someone, that alone, she was still not fulfilled and whole.The fur along her back trembled, a wave of bristling hair cascading down her before the dark blanket settled again.» What do you want? «Some small part of her hoped he would at least be entertaining.
The silver wolf had been checking borders, occasionally leaving the borders to look for prey, when she had caught the scent of not one but two loners. She wasn't sure if they knew how close they were to her territory, but Nari would quickly educate them on who exactly hunted within the Hush Meadow.
Cranky due to her head injury, Nari was in no mood for loners who had no wish to join her pack loitering around just outside of her territory. The gray wolf glided forward wincing as the bright sunlight further angered the ache right behind her eyes. The hellebore Nari had remembered about did help her headaches, and allowed her to do her duties. However it never took all the pain away.
Pausing to scent the area and to pin point their location, Nari moved forward slinking through the tall blades of green grasses, tall flowers, and golden sedges. She made her way toward the pair only to catch the male and the females last words.
"What is it you want?"
"What do you want?"
"What do you both want so close to my territory?" Nari answered the pair alerting them to her presence and stepping into an opening of shorter grasses. Her electric blue eyes trained on to the lanky white female then switched to the gray male expectantly awaiting a reply from the pair. Her tail arched above her back while her silver crown tipped upward as Nari moved herself into a dominant stance. No snarl formed on her features yet, but depending on each wolfs answer the gray she wolf might be tempted into an angry face.