Secret Falls ninetails

@Mace

sooo this is not quite set in the falls area, but he's heading south and i didn't want to make another thread at turtleback xD i will of course have this moved if there are any objections <3

Southbound through the seemingly unending forests of the Loreland, Skellington drifted without a destination clear in his thoughts. He let his body go where it will, hardly seeming conscious as he went -- livening only when presented with a chance to eat. After a year of continuing to push on without anyone beside him, the lack of stimulation was beginning to wear on him. Already he missed the scents of his kind, and it had only been a day and a half since his last encounter. He could hardly feel the crusted wound on the left side of his neck now, and his sable daughter-turned-assailant had been lost to his thoughts as time had gone on. Because for every vile thing that the wolf was, vengeful didn't seem to be one of those things.

Even without the ache of injury, he still moved slowly; his haggard appearance and dragging steps making him appear weaker than he was. He wasn't even bothering to do much hunting, although he had eaten enough at the lake to stave off hunger for some days to come. Skellington couldn't even find the fire in him to stalk a herd of deer looming in the drowsy, tree-lined valley beneath him, no matter how quaint and delicious they looked. The twilit hour did not promise him anything except a hard time -- so he chose to reserve his strength for the morning, where he might have a better time seeing his targets.

He turned away from the food bowl, and made way from a small break in the trees to his left. Distant clouds that seemed to carry a weighted drizzle covered what little moonlight there was to give, but the cool, dark glen filled with frog- and cricketsong seemed to be just what the wolf needed. Skellington flopped down, the grass collapsing beneath him as if he had taken a scythe to it, and a groan rose up on the air as he stretched into the damp, loamy soil and closed his voided eyes for a time.

For all that he enjoyed the company of his pack and the cubs, and for all that he took pride in his job as a sort of aegis for Hearthwood River, Mace needed some time to himself. He hadn't had time to be alone since the swelling of the river, and while it had since calmed, Mace's heart was still in turmoil. Whenever he looked at a rushing body of water, he felt panic well up in his breast. Even water's still surface seemed to wrinkle and toss in his mind's eye, causing him to worry for no reason at all. The long dormant fear of his childhood had a strangling hold on him now, such that he wasn't sure he would ever fully recover. The pack's cubs kept him preoccupied most of the time, but even they weren't enough to quell his lingering concern.

So he left the pack territory in the morning following a short howl so no one would wonder after him, seeking a reprieve. He gave Turtleback Lake a wide berth, remembering with a pang of guilt the wolf he'd encountered there not long after the flood. It wouldn't do to repeat that experience. There were only so many times he could pass off his fear as accidental, after all, and word would get around if he kept doing it.

He ended up somewhere south, somewhere indiscernible to him. He'd passed by this way on his trek north, but Mace wasn't familiar enough with the area to recall anything of note. As he plodded along, he was met with the scent of wolf was unable to tell whether it was a distant pack smell or a single creature. Only when he very nearly trod on Skellington did he have his answer, and he fell back from the pale form that suddenly appeared in his path with a startled yelp.

(This post was last modified: Jun 12, 2017, 04:30 AM by Mace.)

gorgeous set by kydnt

Skellington had not been asleep for very long before the sound of a steady approach woke him. One eye creaked open, but in feeling that he had no reason to assume he should move or otherwise make himself known, the wolf remained in a brick-like state until he was very nearly used as the pavement he pretended to be. For a wolf that didn't like to be touched, he sure didn't seem to make any effort to avoid it. He could have gotten up the moment he realized the steps were too close, but instead he staved a reaction in favor of sense of dark humor. The brute almost wished the other had stepped on him, giving him a reason to react violently.

As things were, he merely had to act startled, leaping to his feet with a snarl as the dark figure hopped backwards in sharp alarm. The prickling Omen took several steps back, the deep shadows over flawless black fur tricking him briefly into believing he was looking at Sith -- his vengeful daughter here to maim him further -- but the specifics came quickly after that. This figure was too tall for his first progeny, and the eyes were all wrong...

Skellington's teeth fell away, and he huffed irritably. His ears turned backwards and he tucked his chin in defensive resignation of something he may have started. The fight had fled him as quickly as it had come; with his neck wound tender and still darkening with aging scabs, he had no interest in having it opened again via pointless skirmish. Besides, the stranger carried with him the lingering emblem of others, and the lone titan had no desire to find out how near or far his comrades were at this time.

The river male's face twisted into a silent snarl as he lurched away from the pale shadow that from the grass, taking the form of a disheveled lone wolf. They were equals in size, two males in their prime, and the energy that briefly crackled between them set Mace's nerves on fire. His lips twisted in warning and he pulled back his ears in preparation, but before anything could come of the standoff, Skellington stood down. The Hearthwood wolf took several seconds longer to relax, but eventually his figure slumped and he peered across the distance at the light-haired man.

There was nothing really striking about him. Dark eyes, pale coat, bladed fur about the shoulders. Mace kept his pelt tidier, but had he been bedraggled, they might easily have been brothers. Shadow and light. But where Skellington's features were hard and harsh, Mace's were softer. When he ran with the Bloodbreakers in his youth, he had worn an expression like that, but there was always something about him that couldn't succumb fully to the severity of a situation. Even in his grumpiest hour, even with the threat of violence etched in every line of his body, Mace would always cut a gentler figure than this fellow. The Attaya read it as a mark of experience that he simply lacked.

Perhaps the juxtaposition between Skellington's looks and his reaction, for the loner would probably have won the fight if it came to one, was what bid Mace to ask, why are you without a pack? Surely a wolf of this one's stature and presumed experience could find a place with any pack he wished?

gorgeous set by kydnt