Nomads Pass keeper of the Pass

October 30th; Early afternoon; Cloudy, light drizzle; 45° F/7° C

Keeping close to the scent markers he had re-established in the past few days, Mapplethorpe meandered along the invisible fences using both sight and smell to ensure he had taken every inch of his territory into account. If the cubs were going to continue to test their superiors' borders, the least he could do was at least establish just where and how far they had wandered. Beside a dead tree and along a flat rock, up against a crooked scrub pine tree and across a flat expanse of chilled, dame grass and hard-packed mud, the Queen's Consort left his mark: scent gland secretions, urine, pockmarks in the ground from his nails and paw pads, and even bits of tawny fur. Anything to make sure that rogue wolves and wanderers from distant places, were not welcome here.

Once along his path, he stopped to catch a breath, to survey the land and find comfort in knowing that the stretch of land he was examining was void of larger predators. He lowered his head to the dying grass at his feet at the foot of the mountain range, his leathery nostril flaring as he inhaled deeply. Nothing. At the back of his head he began to wonder if heavily marking the pack's borders were keeping the migratory deer herds well away from utilizing the Pass as a thoroughfare to the other side of the Mountain of Dire. Absentmindedly, he wiped a paw against the sod, not that it helped (he was more than aware that all four of the bottoms of his paws carried his signature cologne) but it would be the only other prominent marker he would make along his beat.

He straightened up again quietly, lifting his tail and ears in utmost vigilance. His goldenrod irises fled to the side upon thinking he had heard a deer nearby, his gaze settling on a cluster of yellowing hedges that was just as still as the rest of the foliage around him. Perhaps it was just the wind picking up or the rain picking up in intensity. He couldn't be sure, but one thing was for certain, everything that had happened and realized in the past week - the rains steadily falling, the maturity level of the cubs under the pack's care, the wintery chill in the air, and the scarcity of the prey he usually caught for the pack's numerous caches - had him on edge.

MERCY get your things, we're leaving when the morning birds are singing, we're sailing. Mercy had not appreciated the steady fall of rain, and now found himself still less than impressed with the quiet drizzle. It was getting colder and it felt as though the added humidity made things colder than normal. It felt as though he'd never get this wet cold out of his pelt, that he'd never shake the moisture from his skin, at least not until the summer of the next year. He regretted not enjoying the warmth of summer and autumn more, as the steady onset of winter crept over the land, taking inch for inch the warmth and security he'd once felt. Now he was beginning to understand what it was like not to have everything given to him. There was a hunger in his gut that he knew was only going to get worse. Perhaps it was this new realization that survival would take everything he had that distracted him from his boyish woes; he appreciated, now, that even during his stubbornness, his mother continued to feed him and still moved closer during the night to lend him warmth. She didn't confront him any more, and he enjoyed the freedom, which at the same time, made him want to be closer. He was a pack wolf, and needed companionship and thus, that need to separate himself from his mother and those who loved them had eased and left. The time Crowe spent with him had charmed him, and had helped him to bury his demons. His even keel returned. And though Crowe was his idol and perhaps the most influential male in his life, the scent alone of Mapplethorpe nearby caused the boy to lower his stance. He wasn't as big and burly as Crowe, but his presence went beyond comparison. Though Mercy was intimidated by him, he knew that it was inevitable that they develop some sort of connection or understanding. So he moved forth with the urge to find and please the alpha male, so long as he was open for the company. It was easy enough to trail him along the borders, and Mercy gave a small chuff as soon as he saw the tawny figure in the distance- a beg for some of his time as the boy quickened his pace to catch up with the patriarch.<b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">

table by mimi

Strained eardrums readily picked up the eager sound that came from somewhere behind him and Mapplethorpe threw a glance over his shoulder. He stopped abruptly in mid-step. Upon first glance the dark-coated pup attempting to catch up with him had been mistaken for the silver-touched princess that was Aponi, but a second look - noting how the youth moved and how top-heavy he seemed to be up close - easily corrected his initial assumption. The triangular forms atop his skull came forward and his brows lifted. If anything at all, the masked man had always had a mind to look for the boy if only for a lesson or two rather than the other way around. The wary tail at his back lifted in a suspicious wag.

He let out a gruff bark in return, the reciprocated noise beckoning the boy to catch up. His right forepaw finally planted itself firmly into the ground and it was with expectant eyes that he watched Mercy come forward through the rain. Whatever the youngster had wanted from the Queen's Consort, Mapplethorpe was quite uncertain with just how easily he would grant his request. But, if it was the older man's company he had wanted, Mapplethorpe decided that it possibly better than having Sagacity's ward wander off on yet another adventure on his own. He would oblige.

When Mercy had come close enough, he gave him a curt nod. "Good day," he began, an inkling of uncertainty trickling into the tone of his voice as he slowly enunciated his greeting. "What is it?"

MERCY get your things, we're leaving when the morning birds are singing, we're sailing. The boy quickened his pace urgently to catch up with the sharp-featured man, scuttling forward through the snow so that he didn't hold Mapplethorpe back or slow him down. He was eager to please toe alpha male, whom he both respected and feared. Though he felt perfectly comfortable around their matriarch, the alpha male intimidated Mercy a great deal. Perhaps it was because he was so difficult to read, and Mercy found him unpredictable because of this. This made the boy nervous and very self-conscious as he desperately tried to be professional and composed while still making sure to show respect. He knew if he went too far in either direction, he'd be judged...And Mapplethorpe's gaze was keen- the intelligence the man possessed shone in his eyes, making Mercy feel both exposed and invisible at the same time. <b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">"Hello sir," He said, flattening his ears and tipping his head in greeting. There was a smile in his eyes, but on his lips the expression was fleeting. Mapplethorpe seemed to expect something from him- and Mercy felt slightly discouraged. He'd hoped that providing company would have been good enough- but now he felt as though he should make himself more useful, that he should prove himself. Simply asking to tag along sounded so babyish. He'd never had to explain himself when he'd simply joined Crowe, Naira or any of the other packmates, not that he could remember. He wanted to prove that he was being useful, that he was on his best behavior. He wanted Mapplethorpe to like him, even though he knew better than to expect the same sort of affection that Naira offered him so readily. <b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">"I was just checking on some of our caches," He said, with a nod. His ears flicked forward, eager to catch affirmation or praise. <b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">"Taking an inventory," He said, as a further explanation. <b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">"There's...Another one in this direction...We both seemed to be headed the same way so I thought I'd...y'know," He said, <b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">"Catch up." He chuckled, then, <b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">"T'keep an eye on you. Y'know, make sure you're doing things...And stuff..." He said with very meek humour, and with an awkward but hopeful grin, trying very hard to make a joke that might tease a smile form Mapplethorpe's lips. He knew too much cheek wouldn't be tolerated- but Mercy'd made it as clear as he could to show that it was an honest joke- there was no sarcasm to his voice, no irony- the boy was too honest and respectful to lend any weight to his joke. He knew fully well how much Mapplethorpe did for the pack- and appreciated it.

table by mimi

(This post was last modified: Dec 06, 2013, 07:33 PM by Mercy.)

The boy drew closer, obedient and eager as he closed the distance between them. His greeting was exchanged with a salutation that was both respectful and reverent, something that Mapplethorpe easily appreciated. The boy answered that he had been checking the caches, taking an inventory of what they had and which commonly used reserves could be refilled. The Consort nodded once more, thoughtfully this time as the boy continued to say that he knew that there was a food stash just up ahead. Good, he noted. The kid had a knack for memorizing places... Perhaps one day he would be running alongside his mother or proving to be a valuable asset with a role-ready skill set not yet present within he pack.

Mercy also added that he wanted to catch up with the older man and that he kept an eye on him; it made the agouti-pelted man raise a brow. Usually Mapplethorpe was the one wanting to seek the Crowchild out and watch him from a distance when given the chance. "Hmm," he sounded, amusement evident in the notes that vibrated through his throat. "Oh, I assure you I'm always doing something," he confided in the lad, his smile broadening mid-sentence into the rare sight of a grin. "If the Queen has no use for me or hasn't ordered me to rest, I always have my eyes, ears, and nose open." He moved forward in one fluid motion before continuing his beat around their borders, expecting Mercy to follow suit and possibly run ahead to show off to his superior his ability to relocate the cache he had referred to.

A trace of a smirk threatened to play along his lips but what came through instead was the playful smile that the boy had been after to begin with. "If you keep that up you just might have me running around to keep my place," he simpered. "Perhaps one day you'll make a fine Scout like your mother." At the mention of Sagacity, the tilted his head slightly in order to catch the youth's facial expression. "How has she been anyway? Busy, no doubt...?"

MERCY get your things, we're leaving when the morning birds are singing, we're sailing. One thing about Mapplethorpe that made the boy a bit nervous, was how calm he always seemed to be- he was very self-assured, and no matter what the situation was, Mapplethorpe never seemed to be nervous or put on edge. When he was calm, he was calm; when he was angry, he was angry- there was no hesitation or thoughtlessness about him, which made Mercy all the more aware of how much he fumbled and bumbled and felt awkward. Of course, this made him self-conscious, and he tried to anticipate everything the king would say and do, so that he could respond quickly and accurately. The consort seemed to wise and sagely, and the boy dearly wanted to impress him. He was very pleased, then, to receive a smile. Mercy wagged his tail and smiled all the more when he received this response, and nodded. He had absolutely no doubts that Mapplethorpe was always doing something practical- he was every inch the leader that the pack needed, inspiring Mercy to be as useful as he could. He surged forward when Mapplethorpe began to stride off, his ungainly lunge putting him back in pace with the much more graceful leader. Once he caught up, his head lowered and as a habit, he held his nose just a few inches above the snow's surface, picking up any scents that they happened to come across. It gave him the appearance of not only being attentive, but subordinate to the leader with whom he walked as well. His eyes brightened when he received a bit of praise- and he was somewhat surprised, as well, to feel proud of his mother, who'd been complimented by the leader just then. <b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">"Thank you, sir, and yes, she has." He said- but there was something that he couldn't quite keep back. He admired his mother for being so dedicated to her role in the pack, and hoped that he too could be of such use- but scouting wasn't exactly his aim. <b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">"I...Actually...I'd rather be a hunter," He said, hoping that this wouldn't disappoint Mapplethorpe.

table by mimi

Upon hearing that Sagacity was doing well, the Nomad Leader dipped his muzzle once to acknowledge the fact. Truth be told, it had been ages - or, more accurately, months - since he and the Scout had seen one another. It had usually been assumed that Naira was the one who communicated directly with her, allowing Mapplethorpe to have one less individual to deal with. It stirred within the aging man a curious sort of satisfaction as he noticed how Mercy swelled with pride. It only made sense, he supposed, if anyone lent him their compliments towards his parents, or grandmother, surely, he would have been so grateful to have known them... even descend from their very bloodline.

As the boy shook the hesitance from his words, Mapplethorpe's ears perked as Mercy voiced that he would have hoped to be considered as a pack Hunter. Well, now, that was new. Hmm. The corners of the man's mouth angled upward and for a moment he eyed the lad over. Already Mercy was showing the makings of a large, though somewhat willowy and agile, specimen. Whoever had left the youth behind by the means of a fatal accident had definitely suffered quite the loss... but in light of their loss came Sagacity's, Naira's, and even Mapplethorpe's gain. "A Hunter could be a good fit for you, too," he noted, the warm tones in his voice still palpable in every syllable.

"You have your whole life ahead of you," he added, still casually advancing along their territory borders. "Your yearling days, even... but even then I don't see a problem in your desire to become a Hunter. Actually..." He paused in a way that could have been considered dramatic, but, really, he had taken a moment to think, "I don't think Naira and I have appointed one yet. I'm sure you can ask Chulyin or Faol though. Maybe even Crowe. I'm sure they have enough experience to get you started on your way." He stopped briefly to give the silver-haired boy yet another smile, wholeheartedly wanting to encourage him further. "It's all about knowing how to track," he apprised. "How to read the trails, when to move and when to stop and listen, and knowing how to rely solely on your instincts and instincts alone."

The tail at his back had lifted in a genial wave that swung about in the midst of their lighthearted conversation. "Where I come from, we call it, honos lupum. Honoring oneself... The wolves we are by nature."

MERCY get your things, we're leaving when the morning birds are singing, we're sailing. Feeling Mapplethorpe's gaze on him tested the boy to keep himself from weakening. He could feel light scrutiny and judgement, but most of this was merely born in his imagination. Mapplethorpe was simply evaluating him physically, and the boy did his best neither to puff himself up or tuck himself in- instead, he tried his best to show little to no reaction so that he might be seen as steadfast and sturdy. He continued to move forward, head low and nose active, though one ear was continuously turned toward the consort who considered his every move. He was surprised, pleasantly, when he received a positive response, and lifted his head for a second before he respectfully lowered it in an appreciative nod. <b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">"Thank you, sir!" He said. It tickled the boy pink to know that Mapplethorpe thought he'd be well suited to becoming a hunter. He knew his mother still hoped for him to become a Scout like her, but he was much more interested in practicing his hunting skills and being an integral part of the pack through those skills. Mapplethorpe went on ahead, taking in a way which seemed as though he was thinking out loud. Mercy'd become a bit distracted by the scents he'd begun to pick up and, like any canine on the trail of something, his gaze focused and he'd tuned out until Mapplethorpe's mention of Crowe caught his attention. He lifted his head again and nodded, eyes suddenly focused again. <b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">"Yes, sir- I've been training a bit with Crowe. Stealth and ambush," He said, but once again his voice faded out as his olfactory sense took prevalence. He did listen to Mapplethorpe, and caught himself mouthing the words honos lupum, and uttered a soft and thoughtful noise in response before he froze in his tracks, and suddenly changed direction, moving away from Mapplethorpe and pausing with one front foot dangling in the air as he scented the snow only feet from the base of an oak tree. His nose twitched from side to side as he evaluated the scent and snorted lightly with satisfaction. <b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">"That one's still there," He said with a pleased tone as he trotted back toward Mapplethorpe. <b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">"Hare. Hasn't been touched since it was stored there." He said, so that Mapplethorpe would know what he'd been talking about and, should he need it, know where to look and what to expect if he went for it. Realizing that he'd gone off-topic when he'd gone after the cache, he nodded to his superior. <b style="font-family:georgia; color:#fefefe;">"Sounds like you've had a lot of training in that area...What was it like when you were growing up?"

table by mimi

The boy was thankful, and for that Mapplethorpe was appreciative of Mercy for being good company. What was even better was that Sagacity's ward was even preparing himself accordingly, announcing to the Leader that he had been practicing with Crowe, particularly the techniques involved with utilizing a 'stealth and ambush' approach. As he watched Mercy stalk along at his side, he stopped when the youth abruptly changed direction and waited for him to return before giving him another approving nod.

"Good," he commended, wholly impressed by now. The Queen's Consort was about to start moving again when Mercy decided it was his turn to bestow upon his superior some praise, "Sounds like you've had a lot of training in that area..."

"Not particularly," he quickly admitted.

"What was it like when you were growing up?"

Ah, there it was. The curiosity, the wonder, and the undeniable conversational curve ball. Mapplethorpe had to take a second to realize that perhaps Mercy's sudden interest in his past was not at all a bad thing. After all, not very many, save for Naira and Taima, knew where he had hailed from and what his life was like before coming to Relic Lore. "Well," he started, pausing long enough to thoroughly think his answer through. "If you're asking me, I was just like you. Almost, but not quite." While he had enunciated certain parts of his answer, he wanted to establish a connection with the boy, but at the same time wanted to keep their worlds separate. Mercy, in all actuality, was adopted into the pack, while Mapplethorpe had the misfortune for being born into a matriarchal hierarchy. They were hardly the same, but at some points still had some similarities.

He slowly sat down, a hint towards the fact that he could very possibly have a lot to tell, depending on what Mercy was specifically curious about. "I'm not from here," he revealed, "I came from the east, a place called Vigilate Keep." He made sure to look and point with his muzzle away to the lands opposite of the mountain, "and I also had sisters who were just like Aponi and Nova. Four of them." A grin settled along his snout, curious to discover how Mercy felt about that... If he thought he had it bad with just Aponi picking on Nova, Mapplethorpe, himself, practically had two Aponi's and two Nova's picking at him as their middle-born brother.

"Should consider yourself lucky," he half-chortled. "You just have the two girls to worry about."

This was SO OLD I hope you don't mind that I've wrapped it up?

Mercy was quick to brighten up when praised, but only a moment after his tail began to swing he ducked his head in an appreciative bow. He was glad that he was able to please the consort who, though he admitted that he hadn't been trained a great deal in the way of a hunter when he'd been young, still posed as an impressive role model for the boy. Mercy had a hard time believing that Mapplethorpe hadn't been trained extensively in every area of life- scouting, hunting, guarding and so on- given the poise and charisma he had, so he assumed that, perhaps, he was simply being modest...But the honesty was so tangible, he couldn't be so sure.

The even greater form of praise came when Mapplethorpe described himself as having been quite a bit like Mercy when he'd been young. This stopped Mercy cold, stilling his tail and the blood in his veins. Mapplethorpe had been like him? Mercy wouldn't have ever guessed this- the mere thought of a puppyish Mapplethorpe didn't even seem like it'd ever happened. Not that anyone could ever step into the world with their head held high and keep it that way forever, but if anyone could, Mercy figured that Mapplethorpe would've been the most likely candidate. "Wow," Came the boy's hushed, amazed answer. This thought gave him a great deal of ambition- if he was like what Mapplethorpe had been like as a child, then there was a chance that he, too, could become something great.

...Especially since Mapplethorpe had had not two but four girls to contend with. "Four?! Mercy asked, brow wrinkling in disbelief. But it was true- and the consort would go on to tell Mercy about his childhood, something the boy had never thought would be something he would hear, a tale reserved only for those who reached a certain sort of status. Hanging on every word the man said and trailing close behind him, Mercy listened to every syllable the alpha dropped in his direction, and found himself, for the first time, seeing Mapplethorpe as less of a statue on a pedestal and more of a real, tangible being. It was fantastic.