Shroud of the Lost always lookin up for higher floors

All welcome, with heads up to @Malien! Will be a subterritory discovery if approved. c: (-44.33957, -10.19531)
As the river flows north, there is a section which stretches wide and yet is arguably navigable due to a littering of boulders throughout the water. These create rapids, especially when spring melt quickens the current, and therefor are slick with spray and algae. Crossing here is ill-advised, but technically possible. Where some see a dead-end, others may see a bridge.

Clouse followed the westernmost branch from the split that @Loach and the others were camped out at, intent on a jog as was his twilight ritual. His coal-black legs took him swiftly along the river's bank and toward the looming presence of the southern mountains until he tired enough to relent. He had to keep in mind the return trip, for the Archer did indeed intend on spending a fair share of his time with that newly-acquired paramour of his, but he wasn't yet quite ready to turn around.

The water was starting to bubble and churn in a curious manner, drawing him further upstream. When he found the source of the disturbance, a crooked grin took up his gray-smudged muzzle. Great stones surfaced throughout the river's width, creating rapids and one of the most haphazard crossways he'd yet seen. His dark paws took him to the very edge of the earth, where it dropped rather than sloped into the water, and he began to estimate and prepare for the first jump onto one of those surf-and-ice slicked boulders.

(This post was last modified: Feb 22, 2023, 07:55 AM by Clouse.)

Gradually, Malien is becoming aware that he and Artyom are not alone in enjoying this corner of the Lore. There's those others whose scents he keeps running across, especially along the rivers north of the Wellspring. They seem some sort of pack-but-not-a-pack, a collection of wanderers and roamers just happening to stick together. It's weird, and Malien doesn't like it- not for the pack-not-a-pack thing but because he doesn't want them here. He wants this corner of the earth for himself and Arty and no one else. Just them him and the waters and the mountains.

But that's not how it is. Malien is torn between fleeing to the east, towards the willows and the cedarwood forest, or even running north, north of the Serpent, but at the same time he's compelled to stay. To mark his own presence. To let them know that they're not alone.

He's met Lantana, and that's about it. There's probably not much wrong with any of them. And yet...

There's a wolf up ahead, a dark smudge against the dark backdrop. He's crouched, as if inspecting something in the rapids, and Malien, well, he was kinda heading in that direction anyway. Closer, closer, a stray ray of moonlight should the other look up- and if he shouldn't, well... Malien sniffs the air. Yeah. He smells like those. Malien saunters on, doing his best to keep quiet, and should the other wolf still be on the edge when Malien arrives (and should Malien be undetected) he'd simply try to shoulder the other into the river. Gently. Accidentally-like. Oh damn I slipped and lost my footing too bad you drowned-like.

Clouse found himself hesitating a little, the more intelligent half of his brain clearly telling him that this was not a good idea. The others didn't even know specifically where he'd gone off to, and while the water would sweep him in their direction it would basically only be serving to gift them his drowned corpse. Yet he wanted to try and do it, his youth arguing back that he could make it, and if he didn't, he could just climb quickly back ashore, lesson learned.

Before he could make his decision, Malien had snaked his way close enough to make his move. Clouse had been leaning forward just enough when that little shove came, and while there was a split moment where he could have saved himself, the snow which collapsed beneath his paws ensured he wouldn't. Gracelessly, he was dumped into the frigid current.

He bouyed to the surface and braced himself against one of those giant's stepping stones, silver eyes darting back to shore to see who or what had done him dirty like this.

"The fuck?"

dice decided clouse didn't notice and didn't avoid falling. (rip)

(This post was last modified: Feb 05, 2023, 12:18 AM by Clouse.)

T_T

Thaaaat..........

.. didn't go great. The small, dark wolf plopped delightfully into the water, and Malien had like half a second to feel smug and accomplished before said small, dark wolf broke the sleety surface and shored up against one of the large rocks. Hence why it didn't go great, and Malien's half a second of smug satisfaction is replaced with concern. "Oops," he mutters under his breath. What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

Own it? Pretend it didn't happen? Run away? Interrogate the unfortunate wolf about what he and everyone else leaving tracks around here are doing?

Malien's ears flick politely forward and he frowns towards the soaked wolf. The curse barely even registers. "Do you need a paw?" he asks, sort of blithely, sort of sincerely; it's almost like he just happened to stroll along and find a wolf bobbing in the waters, not that he had anything to do with putting him there in the first place.

Stormy eyes landed on a man made of precious metals, and immediately narrowed. Glitter all he wanted, this wasn't some flippant accident or prank, however it had come about. He knew now that logical voice had been right, as the icy water sapped the heat from him at an alarming rate.

Do you need a paw?

Clouse's lips parted and his brows angrily knit as shock and outrage both bloomed all over again. His teeth began to chatter, and he shifted against the stone which felt both rough and slick simultaneously. He wanted to tell the stranger to fuck right off and find his own way out of this problem, but... was that second part possible?

"Yes. I would like help."

He spoke through the shivers plainly, articulating each word with pointed clarity and restraint. Pushing himself closer by using the embedded boulders, he stretched a limb up out of the water and toward the same bastard that had put him there to begin with.

This really wasn't going the optimal way. He has to hand it to the other though- he's bearing this whole ordeal with a lot of poise and grace, considering the most likely culprit is (I was going to say cheerfully but Malien doesn't do cheer) offering him help from the safety of the riverbank.

But this isn't a time for admiration. This is a time for making up your mind. He's got a few choices, as the other advances and reaches towards him with a shivering limb.

None of the options are good. It's a delicate position, and one that has put him at risk, too, unless he finds some way of actually killing the other outright. Sure, he can just toss him back into the river, but that's no guarantee.

Fuuuuuck-

Malien advances gingerly towards the edge, digging his toes into snow and trying to brace himself among whatever rocks and roots might protrude. Inwardly cursing himself he leans out oh so slightly, trying to grab hold of the other's leg as far up the forearm as he can without putting himself at undue risk. If the whole maneuver were to be successful he'd try to pull Clouse up closer by the leg, then try to grab him by the scruff and bodily haul him onto the shore.

All the while expecting an attempt to throw him into the river alongside the other. Wouldn't that be fitting, if they both drowned?

Malien was likely giving Clouse too much credit on the graceful bit, and was smart for anticipating retaliation. The decision had been made without deliberation, and in spite of the risk it presented for him. There were moments of second thought, as the stranger's much larger frame began to effectively pull him from the river's grasp, but the truth may have been that he simply couldn't help himself.

When the onyx and silver wolf managed his second grip, Clouse made his move. His own fangs clamped suddenly onto the loose skin in that vague area that was all at once throat, neck and shoulder and in the same motion his hind legs kicked out hard against that sheer bit of river wall. He'd even swipe at the guy's forelegs with his own to try and guarantee success as he fell backward, but all he had to work with were mere seconds and this mystery wolf had nearly every advantage against him.

(This post was last modified: Feb 21, 2023, 01:14 AM by Clouse.)

And this, Mally, is why you don't perform heroic deeds. (Nevermind that you're the one who put your damsel in the river in the first place.)

His paws are firmly embedded in the snow, teeth in Clouse's scruff but the grip is surprisingly tender - as if he genuinely does not wish to hurt the other, just hold on hard enough to carry his weight. This final heave would be the last hurdle, to drag that body over the edge-

Did you have to, Clouse?

You could've been saved.

The black wolf surges and the feeling hitting Malien is two-faced: part unbridled wrath, part resignation. He thinks, ah, and for a moment he teeters on the brink-

But, truly, he never stood a chance. Clouse is too heavy, the snow too slick. Had he had roots and rocks to properly dig his paws in among then perhaps he would've been able to withstand the sudden tug and the sodden weight, but now it's winter and the snow which had been so eager to toss Clouse in was equally as eager to fell Malien. Between the river's tug and his disadvantageous position, leaned forward and down, Malien topples after what feels like an eternity.

His grip tightens on Clouse's scruff as he plunges into the icy rapids because by god you're going down with him, boy.

Success. Even as he plunged back into the biting waters, fully enveloped under Malien's weight, a victorious smile shaped his lips. Maybe it really had all been an accident. Even so, the stranger deserved this.

The current was still pushing, and the boulders only large enough to hold one of them without risk. If they didn't separate, they would drag each other downriver and both be at the mercy of fate. Clouse's instincts kicked in to try and brace against the large stones once more, but the other wolf hadn't let go and there was far more now pulling and dragging on him. He didn't stand a chance, and so Clouse simply let go.

If this was the end of him, at least he wasn't to die alone. The river could take him wherever it wanted so long as it drowned Malien too, and if he happened to lock eyes with the other man at any point, those twin moons would show nothing but a steely determination to see this judgment to its end. Perhaps he was his mother's son after all.

It is disorienting. The cold is like a full-body punch, and whatever air is in his lungs suddenly seems so pitifully inadequate.

The only thing which seems even remotely real is Clouse, in his mouth, against his thrashing limbs. He is the faintest trace of warmth in the rapids.

It feels like ages, but it's barely even a second before Malien follows his grip on the other towards the surface, finding enough traction and strength to push his head out of the water and float- only for the current to take them both.

(Later, he'll think there should've been more thoughts, something more tangible to whatever went on inside his skull. Words, painful, pleading hope, or some litany of damnation.)

He feels too cold for fear. The swirling water carries them along: sometimes, it pushes them beneath the surface, and sometimes, it smacks them into rocks and debris. Malien's eyes are hard and merciless, but he can't tell what he's feeling. There's no poetic dreaming of Artyom; no disappointment that it is to end like this; no resignation to his fate. It's like the water washed everything out of him.

The river narrows, picking up depth and speed as it hurtles through a rocky pass. Beneath the surface all sound is swallowed, the solid, wet smack of wolf colliding with rock muffled. He can't tell if Clouse is wrenched from his grip, or if he just kind of lets go as he blacks out for a split second. All he knows is the other is carried away by the roaring waters, out of sight-

He's too cold for disappointment, too.

At some point he gets close enough to shore to haul himself onto it, and away from the surging, icy river, and into some semblance of a chance at continued existence.