Nightingale Palisade ghosts that we knew

Wraith How many days had it been? Wraith had lost count. That, too, was another notch of guilt on his conscience. Shouldn't he remember the exact number of days that had passed since he led half his pack to their deaths? At least he vividly recalled their horrified faces as they fell together while he could only scream uselessly at the top of the ridge. He'd been trusted with the safety, with leading them to success. Poor decision, father, Wraith thought miserably. The male had thought that he could escape his guilt by coming this far, but it seemed the more he walked away from his old life, the more the ghosts of his packmates haunted him. He could see them in his dreams every night, hear them with every step he took into this foreign land. Wraith whined and shook his head as their screams echoed in his head. "I know. I know I failed you. I'm so sorry. Please." Of course, no one responded. They were frustrating ghosts in that way. He panted anxiously now, feeling as if this forest he sought refuge in was closing in around him and passing judgement. While he felt he deserved every ounce of unfortunate tidings and mishap that fell upon him - and worse - the torture of this limbo was too much. On a growl, Wraith broke out into a run. Even the passing wildflowers couldn't hold his interest, though he hadn't seen their like in his homeland. Recklessly, he raced along a ravine with the sure-footedness of his upbringing without much care for where he ended up. His lack of attention was unfortunate for the poor wolf he careened into with his burly stature, for he knocked the poor thing off its feet and tripped over them himself. Immediately, Wraith was back on his feet and hunkering close to the ground in apology. "Are you alright? I'm sorry. I should have been looking where I was going. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?" "Speech." all my nightmares escape my head,bar the door, please don't let them in

(This post was last modified: Dec 12, 2015, 05:18 PM by Wraith.)

M for language ._.

As the winter drew in, the willows had finally started to feel like home. That sentimental, fuzzy word which didn't really mean anything significant beyond one's history, beyond where you were born and where your family lived. The far north had been home, had fed his father's pack and forced them to struggle which had, in turn, built such strong and hardy animals. As the cold seeped into his bones, Craw felt alive. The barely-dormant fires of anger and hatred had been fed by the memories he associated with the cold, with what he had fought for and lost there, with the revenge he ached for.

This was far north of the willows, but it was still all south to the wolf. Still playing the part of @Morgannas recruit, he had asked for the permission to travel for a few days, to scout a little further afield since the local game was drying up in the weather. It was mostly because all those feelings were rushing back, and he needed space to process them, to re-bury them until the time was right. As such, his paws had instantly struck a northward path, back the way he had come, back to the fjord he had spied all those months ago and the great ravine it had carved. The air was chilled, Craw's every breath a warm cloud, and the day was so quiet and still that the huge, pale wolf hadn't noticed the sound of something fast-approaching until it was too late.

The frost on the ground contributed to his lack of grip, along with the similarly large stature of the creature which ran head-first into him. It all happened a little too fast and a little too out of the blue, but Craw's instincts brought him back to furious feet in seconds - and his yellow eyes snapped upon the black wolf who had been so careless, Craw's fur standing high on end, his tail coming to curl up just like his lips, flashing off-white teeth in the fool's direction.

"Imbecile," Craw hissed, taking a moment to shake the snow out of his fur which had gotten there from their tumble. Stepping once towards the stranger, Craw's jaws snapped open and shut, his tongue lashing out to lick at his nose and teeth as he began to salivate at the unexpected adrenaline. If the dark man had had any response other than immediate penance, Craw's own reaction would have been rather more extreme than it was. As it was, Craw's instincts upon seeing another wolf lower themselves before him satisfied some base part of his nature which was hungry for any sign of respect at all. But he had registered that last question, and he jerked his head to the side for a moment, spitting on the ground. "It'll take more than that. What the fuck were you thinking?"

welcome to RoW! <3 I promise we're not all as, erm, nice as Craw c:

Wraith Back home, Wraith would have been quick to snap at any who would dare talk to him in such a manner. The male firmly believed in mutual respect even among strangers. However, the brute took it as part of his penance for his failure. Were this stranger to attack, he wasn't altogether sure he would even defend himself. In fact, Wraith stood to his full height in a subconscious move of defiance to goad the other into attack. Those yellow eyes which had held anxious apology moments before grew glazed and far off at the wolf's aggressive response. Hurting another could be such a passive action. 'This way.' They'd followed with such trust. Yes, as passive as making a decision. "Forgive me. I wasn't thinking." Now that he was, he took in the male before him. The pale coloration to his coat was an oddity to Wraith whose family had been composed of blacks, dark grays, and browns. Odder still were the vicious looking scars along his face. What kind of terrors had this one seen? A survivor, if Wraith were to judge. The only wolf he'd known that was scarred so thoroughly had been the eldest of his birth pack; Samuel. Raked across the face as a yearling while hunting a stag in the Southlands, he'd always told the youngsters. It served as a lesson for the pups to show caution even around prey. Wraith didn't think this one's scars were from a hunting mishap, however. Frowning, Wraith glanced around himself. He didn't recall passing any pack boundaries. The scent of a pack wasn't thick around him. But the confidence of this one didn't add up to a loner. Then again, the male's experience with lone wolves was limited to one; a skittish female too frightened to approach the pack en masse. Wraith had found her body at the bottom of a ravine two days later. The slopes of his homelands had always been treacherous and weren't kind to newcomers. "I didn't realize I had trespassed on your pack's territory. I'm not from around here.""Speech." ------ OOC: No worries! Thank you for the response and the welcome! <3 all my nightmares escape my head,bar the door, please don't let them in

(This post was last modified: Dec 12, 2015, 06:46 PM by Wraith.)

A soft growl bubbled at the back of Craw's throat as the black man slowly stood up, his apologetic manner replaced by a rather colder one. There was a hint of bait there, an opening offered to strike, to get penance for the insult he had caused. But even when on the ground Craw had seen the other's size, and now, when stood tall, it was easy to see that the pale wolf only had a few inches on the other. There was more than that, of course; Craw knew all too well the weaknesses which being a loner brought, which ate into muscle and bone and mind. There were no scents of interest on the black wolf save for his own; the other was very much alone. With Craw's pack more than a day's journey to the south, he was also alone, but the difference in two creatures - one well-fed and well-rested and the other enduring the daily struggle of survival, and in winter no less - well, Craw fancied his chances.

But it wasn't worth it. He had made the mistake of not picking his battles more carefully once, and it had lost him everything; to waste his time and energy in exacting punishment now, and risk setting back all the progress he had been building... no. He was no longer the half-starved beast who had thrown himself at @Kenelm, and there was no need to channel that kind of desperation. The black wolf offered another request for forgiveness, an empty excuse. "Obviously," Craw spat, but he took a cautious step backwards to place a little more space between the two, having decided that violence was not optimal under the current circumstances.

The growl had died by that point, though as the black wolf continued, Craw huffed in spiteful amusement. "Nobody owns this place," he said coldly, tail twitching once to the side, sharp yellow eyes still trained on the other equally yellow pair. "But that doesn't excuse you, and neither does being foreign. You have a nose and eyes - use them." Now that he thought about it, though, there was a curious nature to that scent, something... somehow familiar. Lowering his head a little, Craw angled his head at the other as he watched him closely, fresh thoughts and questions bubbling up from a deep place. "Where are you from?"

Disappointment and relief intermixed equally within Wraith as the stranger put space between them. The guilt he'd been traveling with since he left his homelands seemed to grumble like the angry ghosts hanging over his head. The male wondered if their rage would be quelled if he hung around this stranger's venom. He shook his head to himself. No. There was no single punishment that would be fitting for his failing to his pack. A long lifetime of misery was what he knew he deserved.

The black brute didn't respond to the kind suggestion that he use his nose and eyes. Now that he was in the presence of another, the hunger in his belly was driving him to distraction. Wraith had avoided hunting the herds on the tundra-plains he'd crossed to get to these woods as punishment to himself for running away from what he'd done, and now he was feeling it sorely. He would need to hunt today if he wanted to keep up some semblance of strength to survive the winter. Whether he deserved to survive it or not did little to ease his belly.

It was the probing question which pulled his thoughts away from finding a meal. "Far North of here across the plains. My pa- I lived in the mountain ranges beyond there." He was a loner now; no pack to speak of or claim to be a member. The word itself, he imagined, should fall from his vocabulary. He had no right to it any longer.

"Your pack is near here then? You said no one owns this place."

(This post was last modified: Dec 12, 2015, 07:42 PM by Wraith.)

Far north was the reply, and some mix of dread, curiosity and paranoia settled in the pit of Craw's stomach. Perhaps it showed on his face. Unbidden, his mind leaped to every possible conclusion, although he knew that he had never seen the man before nor recognised any family line in his musk, so if he was some kind of spy then he was a new recruit - and perhaps wouldn't know who Craw was now that he had been found? Or there was the very real possibility that he was a pure stranger, and not one of his father's worms, but then Craw's memories flitted back to @Pharika and the hatred and fury bubbled a little hotter in his gut.

"Two days south," Craw answered gruffly, but he wasn't interested in discussing the willows. They were a diversion, a means to an end. Ears twisting forward, the hostility in his manner fading by a fraction, he regarded the black beast in front of him anew. "I was born in the low hills near those mountains," Craw rumbled quietly, the rasp in his voice almost more pronounced when he spoke softly. He suspected very much that he knew the mountain range the wolf spoke of. Craw's parents had never ventured there, out of some kind of superstition, looking back - but no matter. High or low, life was the same out there - cold and hard and miserable. And what had brought another northern creature to this place, so lush and green in comparison? My pa, the loner had said, and Craw wondered if it was a slip of the tongue... or was meant to imply more.

Craw thought back to all those he had left behind, to his allies and enemies alike. None had come looking, or none had found him, and why would they? It was a vast world and he but a speck of pale fur inside it. When the time came, though, he would rise like a beacon of revenge and all that was righteous. His tongue flashed out again at his lips, a hint of tension, a slight hesitation. He didn't blink, fixed on the dark face, determined to sniff out any deception. "Did you know Scolus?"

There is a family of deer nearby. Hunt Opportunity

Wraith's ears pinned forward, interested by the sudden tension in the wolf's demeanor. Was he hiding from something in the Highlands as well? Fate was a strange mistress to have brought the pair together today. The location of the stranger's pack disagreed with what Wraith was sensing until more information was revealed. Born close then, but living elsewhere now. Funny how his family had never known of another pack. How secluded and protected they were from the rest of the world high up in their dangerous, beloved mountains.

The ghosts within Wraith's mind had no trouble recognizing those in another. He knew better than to pry, however, as he had no intention of sharing his own reason for avoiding those mountains. That confidence the other male had exhibited before was faltering now and the brute found himself even more curious why revealing the origins of his home could cause such a reaction.

Scolus? "It's not a name I know. I'm afraid my life has not been rich with meeting strangers. I know no one save for those in my birth pack. You're the first I've met since I left." Despite the other male's tension, Wraith felt at ease. Without the experience of the fights a lone wolf was prone to, he had yet to develop the proper fear towards wolves from other packs. It made sense to him that there would be caution between them, though not outright aggression.

"My name is Wraith. My father is Chief, my mother Bette," he shared, though he doubted the names would be of any significance. As far as the male knew, his family had resided in the mountains for many generations. None who left would return.

For a half-second Craw thought he saw something there, but in the next instant knew he had been wrong. He could detect no subterfuge in the other's reply, no wavering of the tone or glimmer of recognition or anything to suggest that this was anything more than just coincidence.

Satisfied, Craw took another step back, needing to gather his thoughts and personal space even as he listened to the black wolf continue. Just as his offered name had fallen on ignorant ears, so did Wraith's, which was a little extra comfort. Craw wanted to be entirely in control of any kind of reunion with his pack, whether with friend or foe. When he was ready.

Gruffly he shook his head, indicating that he was just as unfamiliar with those names, but as every moment passed the aggression was slipping away, because this was definitely proving to be a trip through his past - and this very set-up was one he had experienced before. A wolf, alone in the cold, in need of feeding if his showing ribcage was any indication - yes, Craw had been here before. Craw was nothing if not an opportunist, and he saw an opportunity here.

"It's far less harsh in the south, but the winter will still kill you if you're alone - and careless," he added, with a smirk, referencing the unfortunate way they had been introduced. As was his way, he withheld his own name, preferring to wait and see if it was worthwhile. So instead he baited the hook and cast the line. "Though I believe any wolf who can survive those mountains is hardy... and a valuable packmate."

That earned a hint of a smile from him. He had always been able to appreciate the humor from his uncle who spoke as baldly as this male. It brought a small sense of home to these gentler woods. For a moment.

This time, it was Wraith's turn to lick his lips and turn away. A valuable packmate? He'd believed he was once. He worked hard for his family, doing the best he could to care for them as his father taught him. He would play with the pups each morning before heading out to scout the area for either prey or leopard, though both were usually scarce. Wraith recalled with some pride the one he'd killed. It had ambushed one of his younger sisters on one such scout, leaving her with a nasty gash across her flank. With all the fury of a protective brother, he had leaped upon its back and grabbed it around the neck, crunching with such force to sever the spinal cord immediately. Luck, his father had told him. Wraith knew Chief was struggling between pride and fear that day.

But such a feat was so easily overshadowed. In his head, he could see the face of that very same sister twisted in horror as the ground gave way beneath her paws and she howled all the way down. They all had, their voices rising together in a loud, disjointed song before ending with macabre finality. His eyes squeezed tightly shut as the image of their mangled bodies flashed in his head.

Bitterly, he thought of his value. Yes, he could hunt over difficult terrain, teach pups how to survive, care for his family with all of his being, and lead them to their deaths. A packmate worth dying for? Not by choice, he imagined.

Wraith's silence was prolonged enough to make his fur prickle a bit and he knew some kind of answer was expected of him. No matter his doubts, isn't this what he'd come this far South for? A second chance?

"It...would be wise to withhold judgement on my worth," he murmured quietly. "However, I'm not certain I am well suited for the life of a loner either."