The Wildwood roots

]Massive paws pressed into the earth as snout brushed across the snowy terrain for an instant, perked audits twisting atop her head as each of her senses enabled her to gather her bearings. The Issumatar had successfully brought about many battalions, and her ambitions had yet to die. She needed to spread them further. Valley to valley. Her Snapjaw wolves were one place. Her Bloodbringer's another. And now, again, she would settle down herself, a land bountiful with prey, and bring about the line of Tartok, her family.

She had traveled with her mate, who hung in the background with Sitamat and Ataneq. Nunataq remained with Stormspire. Skull would train him. Tonraq she had ushered back to Seahawk, to learn beneath Lecter. The massive, bear of a wolf would need to immerse herself in these lands as she had no other. Her eyes fell to an aperture in the earth, and she moved to it to inhale heartily. No quarry within. With a grunt, she lifted her great head and peered into the horizon, blotted with trees.

(This post was last modified: Apr 03, 2013, 07:54 PM by Datura.)

Lips curled with distaste as his gaze surveyed the forest before him – burnt, a pile of ruins. He had never heard the tale of the woods, or what had become of it, but it was clear that fire had once scoured the very trees before him, licking the leaves with a heated rampage.

Turning, the ivory male prowled forward, his pale fur standing out brilliantly against the silver bark of the woods. His tongue slipped past his teeth, licking the blood from his chops as he moved away now from the pheasant he had caught, it having been the best meal he held for awhile now, given that he had strayed further from Willow Ridge territory.

He had left Borlla earlier with the promise of a swift return. The two spoke little of their circumstances, but the pale wolf was certain she was pregnant with his cubs now – her scent had changed ever so slightly, and his eyes would skim her belly in expectation of the swell they would soon see.

The wind, still carrying the frigid temperatures of winter, drifted past him then, bristling the wolf’s pelt before notifying him of another close by. Stilling, one paw hanging heavily in the air, Phineas lifted his nose, nostrils flaring as he inhaled sharply. It was unfamiliar, and dutifully, the Argyris male prowled closer to the direction he believed the scent to come from, the hopes of another recruit pushing him onward.

He found her – a large female with scars that littered her body proudly. A creature to be reckoned with. With his tail whipping through the cold air, the male ushered a small bark to gain her attention, his fiery eyes calculating as they studied her.

The scent of ash and char would forever mar this land, even long after it was cured of its death and decay. The world would not allow its inhabitants to forget the power it held. The earth was fickle. When the suns heat grew too much for the earth it had neglected to water, it burned. The fleeting thought came and went. Audit flicked as she heard the low bark of another wolf, her head turning. Siku had not smelled him. He had been downwind of her.

Licking her chops, she swung the whole of herself around, looking at the creamy wolf before her. He was large, but not so large as she; she did not discredit him for it. Her family truly surpassed many, and although she was heftier and more compact than the lean Phineas, he was no less formidable himself. Siku understood she was a sight to take in. The woman was a soldier, and in her time away had fought and brought ruin to many that threatened the well-being of her growing cubs, and then some. The male was a handsome one, and were it not for Aves and had her season not passed, she may have been inclined to move nearer to flaunt her prowess. As it was, there was no need to impress him; and there was a smell to him that suggested he might be taken regardless. She would not have cared for that; Siku was a fighter. His mate, she was certain, would fall limp between her fangs.

She regarded him with her full attention. The Issumatar stood, her posture lax and her plume swaying limply between her thighs. She was no leader here—yet—but there was a distinct aura to the Issumatar. Never would she tolerate disrespect. A low rumble sounded, seemingly accepting his company. Other than that—as ever—she was silent.

(This post was last modified: Apr 03, 2013, 07:54 PM by Datura.)

She studied him – the hefty she-wolf swinging around to fully look upon him, and as she so outwardly did, he returned such an act. His eyes traced the contours of her scars, the height and bulk of her figure. He even caught a quick glance of the pale blue of her eyes, though only in passing. He was not a submissive wolf by any means – especially to others than Elettra, and now that he was forging a pack of his own, he was not going to grovel upon the ground before the creature before him.

But she did not seem to desire this, and only when a soft rumble escaped her jowls, the male gave a quick shake of his pelt, relaxing the situation before them before taking a sauntering step closer. His tongue smoothed across his lips, cleaning away the final stain of blood as he ushered a low snort to the she-wolf. “Impressive battle scars,” he finally stated, breaking the silence between them.

She did not smell fully of the lands he had grown accustom to knowing, and it was his assumption that she was new within them – whether permanently or temporarily was yet to be asked. He almost feared recruiting this one – she might eat Borlla whole.

He inhaled sharply then, halting his pace after having closed distance between them. He had only found himself in one brief heated moment since his arrival within these lands, but he was no stranger to a spar or fight. Somehow, he felt this interlude could very much grow in that direction.

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He was quick to break the tension. It was clear, the sort of wolves the two of them were. He recognized it, just as she did. His eyes shifted, and her eyes lingered before they, too, respectfully averted. She was not a leader in this instance. Matriarch, always. But her role as Superior had fallen onto the backburner. From time to time, when she traveled, this happened. It made her no less of the leader that she would come to be when she resumed her role.

His words were met with a savage grin. You should see theirs. Siku was not one of many words, but her battles were things she did not mind speaking of. If ever there was a good thing Siku was meant for, if not ruling, then it would surely be fighting. As he moved forward, so too did she. You are a native, she assumed, her voice saying but the tilting of her head asking. Siku, then, was not looking for a fight. She was looking for information. That was what she needed. And if he was not a native, then he was as good as a waste of her time, unless he could offer her something of substance.

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The grin that formed across her features was accurate to his assumption, and despite the sadistic nature of it, the ivory wolf could not contain his own smirk. For a moment, he was reminded of his reign in Asphodel Meadows – a regal to not be crossed, as Desdemona’s birth pack had discovered. Of course, then he had played the fool, and taken the remaining daughter as a trophy, only to have her punish him for his crimes later. His disgust and anger at her would always rise, but it did not mean he did not deserve what she had done to him.

“I don’t imagine they’re alive to show them,” he intoned, his gaze studying the most pronounced scar upon her muzzle, though making no comment. The Argyris wolf had never found such blemishes of the skin to imply ugliness, if anything, he felt it added to the female’s prowess.

Her statement caused his own muzzle to mirror her actions, tipping slightly and a shrug to lift from his broad shoulders. “Only by two seasons,” he informed, dissuading any assumption she might have held that he had been born in these lands. “I reside in the Willow Ridge pack currently.” There was a small pause as he gauged her reaction to what he spoke next. “Though my mate and I are dispersing and traveling across the mountain to settle away from the packs that have gathered here.”

A roguish tilt of the head—a cold glint in her glacial eyes—was all that was offered in response to his words. As though to say, perceptive. Indeed, he was right. Their legacies left were the scars she wore proudly. For their progeny could not boast of them despite them dying the heroes death. They were dead. And perhaps she had killed their progeny just as well; lines not worth living, if you asked her. They came from the weak. If not by her fang, then by who's? She and death were by no means friends. She offered him souls. One day, he would come for her own. But Siku knew well it would be by the fang of no other. Two seasons. Two seasons was enough to know plenty; she was a native, now, for a day. Native was not the word. Foreigner was. Immigrant. Vagabond. Willow Ridge. Ah, she had heard of that. And she had heard of him. As though she were all-knowing, Siku spoke his name: Phineas. He could be no other. I know too little of these lands, these wolves, to do the same.< Her own implication was there: one day, I will not be. Here there were two suggestions. If she understood him, and he understood her, perhaps they could... help one another. Even though they intended to settle away from the rest of the wolves, Siku had much to learn here. It was different from the Coast and from the inland world that was Wyldernis. Very different. I have come here with my mate and my sons. She had her assets. She was sure he was in need of some.

(This post was last modified: Apr 04, 2013, 08:26 PM by Siku.)

He took the meaning of her look with an amused glint of his own – a hint of the old Asphodel Meadows Phineas compared to the new lovesick puppy Phineas that romped within Relic Lore. Elettra had brought his old purpose back with alarming clarity, and while he sought to court Borlla and raise the cubs he had always envisioned, he also knew his dreams and goals lay upon the other side of the mountain, where he would lay claim to them. He had been gentle and kind to his pack mates from Willow Ridge; such was something he had always carried to those he considered family. His. Yet at the Meadows he had also ruled with an iron paw – at least, until Desdemona had aimed to send him spiralling to hell in depression. A flicker of his old spark arose in him once more, ignited by the ivory she-wolf who stood firmly at his side with the same intentions as he. Borlla and he.. they would sweep the world as a storm.

“You seek to claim land once you are more settled then?” There was no reason not to – a creature such as herself, with both mate and cubs at her side would only need to familiarize herself with the lands to do such. His fiery eyes regarded her, his own figure lifting slightly, not in challenge, but with the knowledge that these two could help one another greatly over the next few months... if he could find trust her.

He understood. Siku observed the males coming to moment, his head lifting in recognition and her eyes coolly remaining upon his face. Her tail twitched slightly as she thought of her own position, and then, she nodded. Yes. That was it. She was looking to place her roots here, eventually; and it would happen. The males ego did not seem like one of plethoric proportions, and he did not seem arrogant. Siku knew many many wolves with a plethoric ego that had come to lead; they did not last long. They disappeared. They died. Siku did not have an ego that could be called {word}plethoric[/i]; she was confident, but her self-confidence was appropriate, and by no means boasted. It was simply known. She wore it, and wore it without thought. Others suffocated beneath the heavy robe and threw it around. It settled nicely on her shoulders. Siku remained silent. Would he make the proposition? It was certainly not her place to offer her abilities to a pack she would eventually come to leave. It was up to him whether or not he was content with the notion of her eventually leaving; it went without saying that she was a strong and capable woman. She could speak of her loyalties when he offered an invitation, if he should.

She remained silent at his words – an acceptance that this was truth and the male’s tail gave a mild lash in thought. He wondered more of the male beast that had come with her – such a creature as herself wouldn’t likely take a wolf much weaker than herself as a mate and equal, and it brought forward mistrust to what their true nature could be.

Yet she did not strike him as a she-wolf with malicious intent; had she held such darkness within her, she likely would have attempted to strike him down now. He did not fear her – he held no doubts about his own battle prowess, yet he held Borlla in hesitant thought. Any move made upon his mate would result in attempted death to the fool who tried it, but if there were two of them – Siku and her mate, his chances of protecting her spiralled even further down.

Calculating the risks, the Argyris wolf released a soft sigh, a stoical mask placing itself ever so carefully upon his features. No, he felt her an honourable enough creature, and lifting his muzzle up higher in tested dominance, he regarded her quietly. “You and yours are welcome to join us until you feel it is time for you to branch off. The more hunters to help feed my mate during her pregnancy, the better.” The offer was out there, now it was up to her to accept his terms or not and submit to him – it was a test to see how far her pride would bend, because as it stood, she would be subordinate to Phineas and his mate.