Dragonveil Fold rise and rise again

Rated M.  Includes curse words, and graphic violence.

There were rumors.  Names, thrown around.  Nothing solid, no concrete evidence, and so for a while, Kjell gave up his hunt.  He hadn’t come here to chase ghosts; he’d come with Bishop, once upon a time, so she could reunite with her brother.  It didn’t come through, no, the girl got cold feet and left him for Renegade’s Reach – but all was not lost.  There was Pip.  There was adventure, too, and for Pip, he stayed.

For Pip, he will come back.

But for himself, Kjell breaks the crest of the pass and moves southward again; where the trees reach the sky, that is where he needs to go.  The wind bites at his nose, at the naked scar tissue littering his chest and throat, but the dragon ducks his head down and keeps tracking down the slope, determined to answer the question for himself once and for all.

Hours later, the hint of a scent tickles his nose – frozen as he is, his nose still works.  Brows furrow.  Can he trust his memory after so many years?  But what choice does he have?  And so Kjell keeps moving forward, until the ghost of days past appears before his eyes, upwind and unawares.  He cannot help his cruel smile as he appears from the bedraggled brush, ears laid back as he inclines his head.

“Brother,” the dragon snarls, and relishes in the look of utter shock adorning the wolf’s face.

(This post was last modified: Dec 29, 2016, 04:36 PM by Kjell.)

 

The weather is cold, but the dragon is not surprised.  When is it pleasant on this Mother-forsaken mountain?  Perhaps in the summertime, when he and Karina saw it last, it seemed green and fertile enough, but now?  Now, it seemed like a death trap.  Each day they lingered like shadows beneath skeletal trees, and each day Kjors wondered if this day would be their last.  Taking care of one’s self was a difficult enough task, much less making sure a growing cub never went to sleep with an empty belly.  It was a near impossibility, that.  And when one also dealt with a wolf who refused to eat meat?

Kjors’ stomach growled and he snorted to himself; today, he would hunt.  Fishing would have to wait for a day that would not freeze the hairs inside of his ears with the chill.  As the sun began to settle low in the sky, he sent Bennet a little further west.  She was growing, big enough to help chase, to help kill, and between the two of them, Kjors did hope for a warm meal.

At the very least, they could scrounge up a few rodents.

What he was not expecting was a third loner to happen upon them, hidden by the wind.  The voice was that of a ghost who called to him in dreams and Kjors whirled around, brows furrowed as his single eye fell upon the brother who once conspired against him with his very own mother.  But how could this be?

“Ah killed you,” he snapped, fur bristling.  The hunt was abandoned as he moved forward, paws shifting over the snow with no thought.  “Ah’ll do it again.”  Bennet was here, somewhere.  “Get out.  Get out.”

The dragon roared and lunged for his brother’s face, nothing but ill intent in his eye.

to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

KJORS SØRENSON

to feel your weight in arms I'd never use

 

“You did a fucking shit job of it, asshole,” Kjell replied smoothly, proud of his temper, kept under wraps.  See that?  You see that? he wanted to preen, but Bishop had stopped caring for him ages ago, and he’d left Pip behind safely in her home.  Even if he’d told her where he was going, or why, even if she’d wanted to come along, he’d never let her.  Not let the beast before him lay a claw on her, just like that shitbag he’d tossed into the sink hole.

Ears swept back as Kjors lunged; but his brother was never much one for talking things out, was he?  Hated it whenever things went anything but his way, exactly the way he’d pictured them in his mind’s eye. 

And what did happen to his eye?  He’d ask, but—

The older dragon was upon him in a blink, and Kjell couldn’t help the half-crazed cackle that bubbled free as he melted to the left, relishing this new blind-side.  He couldn’t have hoped for better luck.  Teeth grazed over his shoulder and found his leg, pulling him downwards as the wolves tangled, taller brother grabbing the heir’s neck and forcing him downwards as they went, letting gravity do its job.

Kjors wanted to scream.  How could this be happening?  How could this--  How could this even be possible?  For five years, for five years he’d lived with both the grief and satisfaction that he’d murdered his only brother in cold blood, knowing only it was kill or be killed by Avari and her schemes.  That Kjell was no more than a boy factored little into his rage then, for he was not yet an adult himself, but to think he’d left a bloody corpse that had somehow lived?

Would his father be grateful that his favorite son was not guilty of fratricide, or disappointed in his heir’s failure?

The dragon would consider it a trick of the mind, a test of the Mother, but the sharp taste copper on his tongue told him this was all too real.  When he set out to hunt a mere hour ago, Kjors expected to fight and to live, to return victorious with a meal for himself and his cub, not to stumble upon his long-lost kin.  Not to be the hunted.

Wrenching Kjell’s leg from beneath him, he felt the larger wolf’s weight come down across his neck.  Kjors grunted unhappily, ears swept close to his skull as he tried to wrestle free, releasing his grip to twist and snap instead at his brother’s exposed side, relishing the twist and the surprised yelp as he snatched away fur and flesh.

“This time,” he snarled, spitting sulfur and heat, “Ah’ll finish the job.”

Y’never shoulda come.

to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

KJORS SØRENSON

to feel your weight in arms I'd never use

There is a family of deer nearby. Hunt Opportunity

The young billy goat stepped out onto a ledge below her, and Bennet smiled, pleased with herself.

Instinctively she lowered herself, already advantaged by her dark coat when stood in the shade of the trees overhead. The goat was utterly oblivious, searching for tufts of grass revealed by the patches of melting snow. By all accounts, it wasn't having much luck, the beast wandering around with its head to the ground, nosing at the snow in search of treasure, grumbling with each disappointment. Bennet watched it silently, without moving, fascinated by its singular goal - not to starve. Were all animals other than wolves this simple, or did they talk to each other of Good and Evil and all matters spiritual? Did they even have those same concepts? If only she could talk to them, could communicate other than with her body language - and even then, all she would want to be able to say is 'I want to eat you'.

Even to Bennet, that seemed like a rather rude thing to say to someone.

She knew what her job was now, which was to backtrack and report her find to her father. Taking the goat down by herself - even a young one - incorporated too much unnecessary risk, and was very likely to result in not only failure, but also injury. That would help absolutely nobody. Better to go home to her mother with nothing than with a limp, which would make their already hard-earned survival even more difficult, for she wouldn't be able to contribute on their hunts until she recovered.

So as much as her stomach growled with need, a rational mind won out, and Bennet began to shift her weight to move backwards... but then the goat lifted its head, and Bennet froze.

It happened remarkably fast, and yet it felt as though Bennet were the only one out of the loop, because the goat reacted to some invisible presence and had twitched and skittered away before she even knew what was happening. Bennet moved not a single muscle as she stared, wide-eyed, as a fully grown cougar landed almost in the exact spot that the goat had been only a heartbeat earlier, but rather than pursue... it stopped, and watched its quarry flee. Some part of her was indignant at having her goat stolen, but far more important was the rising urge to not become the next victim. She knew that cougars didn't eat wolves, but that didn't mean one would happily abide a young rival lurking nearby after witnessing a failed hunt. Feeling her blood pulse all the way up in her ears, each pump coming a little quicker than the next, the young dragon had to decide on the best way to extract herself from this suddenly perilous situation. If she had been risk-adverse before, now the rules of the game had changed entirely. Now, to make a clean getaway and go home with nothing was suddenly the best possible option.

Swallowing her rising panic, fighting to keep composure despite the incredible danger, the girl instinctively took solace in the one thing which she could always rely on to bring her strength; the sky. Glancing up, she sought out any soaring and swooping shapes, but was too distracted to look too hard, and saw nothing to draw strength from, and so her eyes dropped back down.

And met with the sharp, slanted irises of the cougar, nestled in two pools of hard brown which were staring right back.

The child staggered backwards, struck by fear, ears falling flat even as her lip curled back to reveal smallteeth in a confused display of both submission and aggression. The cougar blinked at her, those large round eyes calculating and cold, and turned its body towards her, almost casually, and such a nonchalant gesture of hostility was more frightening than if it had bared its teeth and snarled at her. Because - because it knew she was no threat, because it knew she was outmatched, because it knew that all the power belonged to it and the outcome of this situation rested entirely on its own decision.

A few heartbeats later and Bennet honestly believed that it might consider her not worth it. It watched her with a haughty indifference as she was unable to move, but she had to move, to get back to her father, to get out of here - and taking another step back broke the spell.

There came the low hiss, the display of terrifyingly long teeth, the bristling of fur, and Bennet ran out of options.

Tension bursting into energy, she whipped about and fled, paws scrambling over familiar rocks and earth and elevation as she sought to find her only salvation: her father. Whether or not it was a good idea to bring a cougar right to him hadn't yet made it into her consciousness as her world became one of running, hearing the most terrifying sound in the mountains of the echoing yowl of an antagonised cougar behind her, and then she could feel it behind her, feel it in her guard hairs, in her nerve endings, and she yapped in wild panic between bounds, desperate for him to hear - anyone to hear - with the frustrated killer on her tail and gaining ground, fast.

For as clever as Kjell thought he was, there was little substitution for the experience a lifetime of fighting brought a wolf.  Once upon a time, up at Widow’s Peak, he was a hunter – but that skillset, while similar, was not that of a brawler.  He brought the dragon down, but the older Sørenson was not so quickly discouraged.  No sooner had he been forced down did he abandon his first prize and shift, snatching at Kjell’s ribs a moment later.  Fur flew and he yowled (he most certainly did not yelp, thank you), hissing as a sharp tooth slash skin open.

Thankfully, it was only skin and blood as the younger dragon whirled around.  A distant call caught one ear, but he did not falter as he lunged for Kjors’ face, claws crunching against the snow as teeth snapped.  Whatever, or whomever, had put the cry to the wind had most certainly caught the older brother’s attention, putting a sharp halt to his next movement.  He didn’t even seem to try and stop Kjell or protect his face, only a startled grunt falling from his lips as teeth made contact with delicate flesh.

Kjell snarled and pulled down, down, down – he would take his brother with him.

The upper hand – he had the upper hand.  Had Kjell on the run, skirting around him with boyish cries, and all that went away on the wind with one, single, terrified note.

Bennet.

Time seemed to slow with horrifying clarity as he lifted his head, ears straining forward as he sought to pinpoint of the exact location of the panic-stricken scream that had risen up from the trees.  Even if he’d never heard that exact tone come from his daughter, he knew, without a doubt, that it was the young girl who was crying, evidently so frightened by whatever she’d found that words had escaped her.  Only from the corner of his eye did he notice Kjell move, and even then, his mind couldn’t seem to kick into gear.

It was blind reaction that made him flinch, and even then, his brother still got his tender ear between his teeth.  Kjors gave a startled grunt and shifted out of pure reaction; the spark of pain was finally enough to shake him loose from his terrified trance, snarl returning to his face.  He didn’t have time for this.  Kjell be damned.

Shifting his weight again, Kjors pulled forward and away with little regard for the well-being of his ear; indeed, what was left of it burned in the icy wind, blood matted against his face as he surged forward.  It didn’t matter.  Bennet was in trouble; everything else would have to wait.

to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

KJORS SØRENSON

to feel your weight in arms I'd never use

As good as it felt to land a solid hit, victory was a fleeting feeling.  Contact, made, blood, felt, and Kjors did not strike back like the viper he knew his brother to be.  No, instead, instead, the older wolf had pulled away as if the strength of his jaws was nothing; and indeed, his teeth did come down with the strength of a vice grip.  The older wolf left behind the majority of his ear as if it were something he did on a daily basis.  Kjell was abandoned with a piece of flesh hanging from his teeth, blinking owlishly as his brother retreated down the slope to the sound of the cry.  Why would he—

Spitting out the mangled remains of the elder’s ear, Kjell sprinted off after his brother, his own ears swiveling as he tried to process.

“What the fuck!?” he shouted at his brother’s back.  “What the actual fuck are you doing, huh!?  You fuckin’ coward!  Can’t stand to lose, huh?  Can’t stand the brother you tried to murder, you fuck!”

But for all the abuse he hurled, it all just rolled off the man’s back like water off of a duck, and Kjell was left to sprint harder, trying desperately to catch up.

He was bleeding, he realized distantly.  He was bleeding a lot; his face was already starting to feel sticky, even if the blood matted on the same side of his face he lacked an eye.  At least it did not impair his vision, even if the thick, coppery scent threatened to make the wolf woozy.  Ahh, but the hazard was not anything greater than was threatening his baby girl, and so Kjors ran through it, adrenaline overpowering pain, fear, anger, and everything else bubbling away inside his chest, threatening to suffocate him in place.

Behind him, he could hear Kjell yelling, throwing barbs and harsh words in hopes of hooking his brother and turning him around.  The golden-eyed wolf snorted softly and only increased his efforts, veering suddenly at the sound of a loud yowl.  He knew that sound.  Heard it before, in this place, with Karina, sweet hell why had he brought his daughter here!?  How did he and Karina forget about the other tenant on this awful, stupid mountain?

“Mother damnit,” he snarled under his breath, stumbling over a rock before hurtling a fallen tree.

“Bennet?” he called, ears (or what was left of them) pressing forward.  “Bennet!?  Where are ya!?”

to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

KJORS SØRENSON

to feel your weight in arms I'd never use

(This post was last modified: Dec 29, 2016, 05:18 PM by Kjors.)