Wild Cherry Orchard all quiet on the western front

Dimly aware he shouldn’t be so close to the claimed timber forest, Kjors cared little for potential conflict.  Beyond the cherry tress and through the brambles laid the sparse forest littered with stones that the Lagina queen had laid claim to the spring past.  While he’d never been there personally, he’d made sure to know where @Gent and his lackeys lay hidden.  Out here alone, it was entirely possible to be sprung upon by the Stonewatch King – he’d not put it past the aggressive alpha to assault a wolf on his own, even one belonging to an allied pack.

Needing a bit of space, he’d informed @Karina he’d be gone for a short trip back west.  What the swarthy man had hoped he’d find, even he wasn’t sure.  Things were simply…out of sort.  He’d not left Hearthwood River, despite the crisis of faith – he couldn’t drag his princess away from the family she was not willing to leave.  The dragon was simply forced to swallow down his pride and make due.  He was not sure how just yet, but he would try.  For Karina.  Only for Karina.

It lead the swarthy man to the cherry trees – he’d found Mahle here once before.  Perhaps he was silently seeking another divine intervention.  Instead, he found a flock of geese, taking a rest from their southerly migration.  Hunkering into the dying grass, Kjors slowly crept forward, singling out the closest bird.  Once a few lengths away, the wolf exploded through the dried stalks and barreled after the Canadian goose.  It squalled angrily as it began to run, unable to reach a sprint speed high enough to take flight.  Snapping at a wing, the dragon whipped it to one side, paws skidding across the dry earth as he rounded on the wounded animal.

Outraged, the goose charged right back, screaming and throwing its sharp beak in a frazzled donnybrook for its life.  With a snarl, he wheeled about, twisting his head to grab the goose’s neck as his ear was bitten.  Shaking the bird wildly, it only took a moment to snap its neck.  The bite was gone, and though his ear bled, Kjors tore into his meal eagerly, forgetting the rest of the world while filling his belly.  There was something so satisfying about a hunt.

(This post was last modified: Sep 26, 2015, 01:38 PM by Kjors. Edit Reason: that time Ace couldn't tell east from west )

C:<

This land was so rich, so fertile, so easy to thrive off of. Craw was not quite the body-broken creature he had been, stumbling in from the cold north, chased by shadows and nightmares. This land was designed for life, for vitality, and he had been eager to exploit it. The struggle had not been easy, and blood had been spilled, but he was no stranger to that. He had fought, and though some battles had been lost, Craw was on the way to a victorious campaign.

Then he would move to win the war.

Having no ties to the earth, to any one woodland or fjord or river or rock, his wanderer's feet had turned from desperation to exploratory for its own sake. When he slept, in whichever makeshift den or shelter he found each night, it was deeply and with confidence that the next day would provide even more strength. No longer did he shiver, hunger clawing at his belly, for the scavenging here was good and there were many lesser predators which were easy to intimidate. He had learned his lesson after his failure to steal a carcass from a healthier lone wolf, had learned to be more careful, more clever. Those wounds had set him back many days, but he would not let desperation force him into a mistake like that again. He would not die so easily.

The distinct shriek of an angry goose caught his attention, as the sound of a hunt always did. Though he had eaten well the day before, stealing the kill of a pair of flighty coyotes, it would have been remiss of him not to at least investigate the possibility of another meal. Something like a bird would be much easier to hoard for a coming day. The rest of the flock came into sight through the cherry trees, making their airborne escape, and raced away overhead, their noisy fleeing a rush which disturbed the otherwise quiet day. The cries had gone silent, so the hunter had either slain his target or lost them altogether. Once the smell of fresh blood touched his nose, Craw knew the answer, and moments later he saw the dark shape hunched over the limp feathered body.

He had learned his lesson. Coming to a stop, Craw eyed the pair, judging the situation poor for conflict; though he was healthier than he had been last time, the wounds closed and his frame less gaunt, it was too hard won to risk a setback. All the other geese had flown, and there was but one kill.

Hovering in the tree line, he chose to linger a moment and watch - living vicariously through what was obviously a healthier pack wolf - before deciding whether to wait for scraps or continue on.

yaaaaaaaasssss!!!!

The heady scent of iron was thick in the air, drowning out the fading sweetness left behind by the few cherries rotting into the earth. It was long since past the season of ripeness, the majority of the fruits in the bellies of birds and beasts. The trees were shedding their leaves in preparation for the coming cold, and it left little shelter for Kjors as he ripped through downy feathers to the warm meat below. Once through the thick breastbone, it was the viscera that was first to be eaten. The wolf gobbled up the protein and nutrients eagerly before moving on to muscle and flesh – a goose was no small bird, but it provided to be a decent meal for a man away from his pack.

Throughout the meal, he remained aware of the ghost lurking on the fringes of his vision. After galumphing through the woods, he stood little chance of remaining hidden. A smirk curled his lips as mere presence alone was enough to keep the larger loner at bay, and when he finally pulled his head up, the single eye shifted to @Craw without hesitation. His thick tail flagged high over his back as his tongue swept out, mopping the red glisten from his grizzled muzzle. Nothing could wipe off the sly smile as he arched his neck and stood proudly near his kill, watching the white wraith intently.

Pushing whiskers forward, he hummed. “Y’gonna keep standin’ there an’ waitin’ ‘fer me t’ leave, boy?” he barked, a throaty laughter brightening his gravely voice. “’er y’gonna do somethin’ ‘bout yer hollow belly?”

It became rapidly apparent that both were keenly aware of the other. Craw had made no attempt to hide his presence - in part because such actions could be misconstrued, and while he was covetous of the other man's meal, he had no intentions of harming himself for it. A game bird was not worth the energy exerted to win it.

Instead it was curiosity toward the hunter's easy confidence that kept Craw lingering, particularly when he noticed that the other man was missing an eye. How did he survive with such a vital part lost? It must have been because he was in a pack, with the rest of his members to support his disability and make up for it. Then they were either charitable, or the dark creature had some value great enough to overcome it, and it was the possibility of discovering that value which kept him stood, watching.

Finally the dark, one-eyed man deigned it fit to pay his company some attention. Craw did not rise to the aggression implied by the other's dominant stance and expression, instead choosing to stand passively, ears comfortably forward and tail neutral. But just as he did not attempt to challenge the wolf's display, he did not submit to it. When the hunter spoke, his choice of words struck Craw instantly; not since he had been under his father's command had anyone referred to him as boy. This dark man was older, but that did not make Craw a child. Though his yellow eyes narrowed at the term, he made the decision not to take the bait, for this man was either a fool or not to be underestimated. Craw knew that his body was still far from its peak, and its swift recovery was his priority, not impressing some one-eyed animal.

Still, he took a single step towards the other, coming out of the cover of the trees he had been lurking in, his own laughter rolling low and rough in his chest. Did the man think that he was afraid? "Is that an invitation?" he crooned, testing to see whether there was a bluff to be called, or if the smaller, older one-eyed hunter truly thought himself untouchable.

Another husky laugh tumbled free from the man’s chest, terribly amused by the entire situation. Ears swiveled on his head, his tail remained flagged against his slender stature, but he did not impose any more aggression upon the other wolf. His hackles remained smooth against his shoulders and neck – teeth remained veiled by dark fur and old scars on. Bobbing his head once, he took a step back from the remains of the bird. There wasn’t much left on the carcass, but if the other wolf was hungry enough, there was still some meat to pick from the bones. Kjors had little reason to gorge himself, not planning on remaining out in the wilderness long. There was a cache in Hearthwood River, and plenty of fauna still milling about the forest to soothe any hunger upon his return home.

“Suppose so,” he rumbled after a moment, taking a few steps away from the remains. Settling down upon his haunches, the older wolf began to clean the blood on his left forelimb, wiping his muzzle as he worked. There was no need to tromp around like a barbarian. Once the other wolf moved closer, he studied him, left eye always facing the stranger. In a decent mood and fine health, he was sturdy, confident, but he was not stupid. Any loner might try his luck, and an obvious disability struck some as an invitation.

After several silent moments, he tipped his head to one side. “Leave some a’ th’ downy. Want tha’ ‘fer me princess,” he decided, knowing it wasn’t a ridiculous request. It would make their nest a little more comfortable for the coming winter. A thought struck him, and he eyed the ghost again. “Y’know, there’s a shitton a’ them about. Could catch another.”

Two wolves would have an easier time than one.

Maybe we could see what SoW throws at us? c: Do searching/tracking posts count towards hunting?

He hadn't expected that. Always so ready for conflict, for adversity, when the one-eyed man stepped back and answered Craw's question in a completely different way, it gave the pale man pause for a moment. He was distrustful of strangers by default, for he felt no requirement to help them and expected the same treatment in turn. But this was different, for this time they were not both loners, only Craw himself - and reason could be found in a pack wolf behaving altruistically towards a lone one. He had done it himself, many times, and gained much loyalty through it.

The notion that he might be on the other side of that coin turned some gear inside of him, but he did not spend too much time analysing it. For now.

Either way, it seemed that his patience was to be rewarded, as it so often was. He had just never had a hunter willingly relinquish any part of his kill before. Slowly moving forwards, always watching the one-eyed man for any sign of trickery, Craw reached to grab the stripped carcass, but meat was meat and he had put in virtually no effort in obtaining it. Once it was in his jaws he took a few more steps back, just putting safe distance between the two, before crunching down on some rib bones and the soft flesh strung between them. Never for longer than a second did he look away from the dark hunter.

Ordinarily he would not have cared for the request, but this situation was not ordinary. He made no obvious sign of assent, though made no attempt to spoil the bird and its softest layer for the hunter. His brows did raise momentarily at the word 'princess', for it added more intrigue to the hunter in mixed ways. Craw had never enjoyed terms of royalty within his own kind, but that this older man had some young girl as his own was enough to make up for it. A daughter or a mate, though? Right now, it was no matter.

The hunter then surprised Craw again, further reinforcing that he was on the opposite side of a table he had sat at many a time. How deliberate was it, though? Craw had never shown kindness or aid to a loner unless he had wanted something, but he had met wolves with less pragmatic views. Nothing about the one-eyed man struck him as unnecessarily benevolent, though. Taking his time to chew and swallow his mouthful, Craw surveyed the other, and simply nodded. He wanted to see how fully the other man would play this part Craw knew so well.

There is a deer that was killed by a lynx nearby. +10 Health

It was pleasant, Kjors decided, being the wolf with the power play for the first time in a very, very long time. He was not an alpha, he wasn’t even a beta, but for once, it seemed, being a pack wolf was beneficial enough to put him on the high ground. The loner was regarded with little interest as the older male continued to cleanse his legs, and once his paws were taken care of, it was his muzzle that was next.

When the older wolf refused to speak back up, he did not take slight. He was a smart man, he often though, and picking a fight was not going to gain him anything. The glory of beating a beaten down wolf? Kjors could do without. Settled in his chest the dragon lay, with only a simmer of pride and the dying embers of paranoia to keep the animal warm. With a posture that could almost be classified as lazy, the male slowly picked himself back up and stretched out, relishing the feel of each vertebra moving before he opted to bespeak the other male again.

If he chose not to respond a second time, the one-eyed beast would cut his losses and move on, collecting the down and returning to the forest from whence he’d come. “More geese, up ahead. One wolf t’ flush, a second t’ catch. Only need two. One fer you, an’ one fer me. Easier t’ carry th’ down home when it’s still ‘ttached t’ th’ bird,” Kjors drawled nonchalantly, his nose up to the air. They wouldn’t have to go far to find a second flock. The forest was practically overrun with birds this time of year.

The one-eyed man was enjoying his status very much, it was clear to see. He was also making a grand display of feeling extremely comfortable with the situation, taking the time to preen himself in front of a total stranger, as though it were just as safe as being within his home's borders. Had Craw been in better condition, and not a clearly hunger-driven loner (though his luck and strategy was improving) he might have been insulted. A year ago, he would have considered himself someone to be intimidated by, someone who did not put a total stranger so at ease. It was possible that it was all a show, but it was a very convincing one.

Craw studied him as he crunched on the goose bones and scraps of flesh, far less trusting than the other. How he wished the roles were reversed. It felt so utterly wrong to be on this side of a display of power.

One day.

Luxuriously the hunter stood and stretched, and Craw could not deny some high measure of distaste at the very obvious display. Their positions with one another had been established early on; to salt a wound was going further than Craw was comfortable with, and he began to doubt that this was any kind of recruitment at all. Or perhaps the man simply liked to see how far he could push loners. Or maybe showing off in front of lone wolves was the only time he got to posture at all? The corners of his mouth tugged up at that very real possibility.

Then fine; two could play at this. As the hunter deigned to address his lowly loner company again, Craw tossed the rest of the goose back towards him, and proceeded to ease out the ache in his own bones, pushing his forelegs forwards in a long stretch, tongue rolling free of a yawning mouth. His shoulders clicked and cracked at the relief of it, and then he stood to shake them, finally falling relaxed and at ease with the hunter's proximity. Taking a deep breath, which rattled loud in his throat, he replied huskily: "I'll flush. I make a... poor stealth option. Just make sure you get two."

The ghost was going to play the game. A hint of a smile curled the edges of his lips. One golden eye twinkled with far more mirth than the rest of his body showed, and Craw was given the briefest tip of his head. If the loner was watching, he might have caught the brief acknowledgment. The dragon wasn’t stupid, but he was watching – it was important to know just what, or who, he was dealing with.

“Well, y’ain’t stupid. Ah’ll give ya tha’,” the dragon rumbled, a hint of laughter in his gravely voice. Between the bulk, the health issues, and the bright white pelt, it would be difficult to sneak up on anything in a landscape so mottle by greens and browns. Once his companion had settled himself down, he gave a short nod, tail settling behind his legs as he nodded off down the orchard. It took him a moment to make sure the two were square, but the wolf headed forward. One ear was swiveled back at all times, keeping tabs on Craw where he could not see him. In silence he worked, taking them to the next row of cherry trees, and another row after that. It stunk of birds there, and so he began to slow, falling into stride next to the larger wolf.

“Close,” he growled softly, whiskers pricking forward as he tested the cool air for a second time. They would have to be quiet now, and keep themselves down wind if they wanted two birds. What a feat that would be. “Can ya corner two?”