Thicket of Secrets incedo

death claims all things. it is law, not punishment, to die
OMNIA MORS POSCIT. LEX EST, NON PŒNA, PERIRE
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Mapplethorpe

December 5th; Early morning; Biting wind.

The evening and night had been chilly underneath the trees of the Thicket of Secrets. Mapplethorpe had spent a majority of the hours after midnight shivering, curled up against the base of a tree. Daybreak found him sprawled out on his side, staring at the vine- and-snow covered ground. He slowly lifted his head then laborously rolled over before scratching at one of his rounded ears with a slender hindfoot.

"Vae," he muttered to himself, gathering his legs beneath him. What dreams he had managed to remember about chasing deer and rabbits brought about his gut the pang of starvation. His stomach growled as he sniffed at the air; his golden eyes fluttered without further thought. While he knew he would not be greeted by a potpourri of scents - no game in a right state of mind would even dare step foot within 15 meters of a predator - the singular perfume of an erinaceous creature came to him. It tugged at nose and the more his legs urged him forward, the more he realized how often this particular part of the Thicket was visited by squirrels, mice, and other small creatures. Abandoning his sleeping site altogether, he strayed further into the thick undergrowth, knowing better than to think that he would return to the area to retire in the evening. Being stagnant made one vulnerable and prone to being hunted or stalked. He had to keep moving. At least the itching in his limbs suggested that he continue his trek aimlessly to the east... Out and away from this claustrophobic hell of a place.

He had made some progress in his traveling when something strange tugged at his nostrils. Once metallic, now subject to the process of rot and festering, old blood registered in his senses. Without a second thought, the spindly rogue slithered through the brambles until he found what he had been looking for. Forgotten in the snow and covered with new frost, the trail of an old hedgehog piqued his interest. One bat of a paw revealed that the elderly creature had succumbed to the cold, possibly overlooking hibernation in exchange for the abundance of plants underneath the fresh snowfall. Blinded by his appetite Mapplethorpe fell oblivious to the world around him as he clumsily tried to stomach as much of the frozen insectivore as his body would allow him to. Never mind if the spines jabbed at his tongue or the fact that the old thing was not the most tastiest of meals; according to the rogue, anything was better than nothing.

(This post was last modified: Dec 28, 2012, 07:39 AM by Mapplethorpe.)

It was not natural for the tawny woman to travel so far from the mountains, but desperation drove her as the days grew shorter. She needed to find him, and find him soon, or else her plans for a pack once again of her own would wither as the flowers had done so many months ago. Hope was quickly fading. Perhaps she would do best to make other plans with regards to her male counterpart? Perhaps... It was with blind disregard that she had travelled through the biting cold of the night, once again left grateful for the thick pelt granted with her mother's arctic ancestry, but not enough to leave her blind to winters grip. The snow numbed her paws and the cold of the air burned in her lungs, but despite her exhaustion she pushed on. She had to. She needed to find him. She needed to find him now. Her stomach groaned in protest. When had she last eaten? When had she last slept? A small growl to herself was enough to push the thoughts aside. She had a task that needed to be completed first. If only she knew where to look. But the smell of an easy meal was hard to pass up, and her stomach cramped as she paused. Carrion meant scavengers, competition... food another part of her whispered. Just a little, we won't stop for long. It was the same voice that had pulled both her and her son through the wilds. She knew better than to ignore it now. Lack of regular companionship was having it's toll on the woman again. Words were harder to come by, and instincts on high alert. Perhaps if she had been more focused on sustenance before now she would have heeded the scent of the strange male. As it was, she arrived just in time to see the beast finishing the morsel she had been sniffing out. Her tail remained low for now, her head dropping to protect her neck while her ears pricked forwards and wild topaz eyes assessed the stranger but never rested on his face. Her posture was defensive, ready. But she was more inclined to run should conflict ensue.

(This post was last modified: Dec 28, 2012, 08:39 AM by Naira.)

death claims all things. it is law, not punishment, to die
OMNIA MORS POSCIT. LEX EST, NON PŒNA, PERIRE
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Mapplethorpe

Mapplethorpe had barely heard the woman when she stumbled upon him but as her scent filtered and curled in his nostrils, one flicker of his gaze was all it took to fully realize she was there. He hastily drank her in, his eyes outlining her mottled coat, pinpointing the position of her ears and beholding the emotion in her fiery golden irises. What remained of the hedgehog laid in a bloody pile between his forepaws, a tangled mess of discarded quills and halved bones. His face twisted into a scowl, and the beginning notes of a growl vibrated in his throat as he stood up. He squared his shoulders. There might not have been much left of his meal, but he was not particularly pleased with the idea of handing over his leftovers.

"Cave!" he snarled. "Apage!" His upper lip curled up to reveal his yellowed teeth. Whatever this lady had wanted, he was somewhat certain he would not be able to provide it. The fur that should have bristled about his back and neck kept flat, matted and still. Truth be told, he was not looking for a fight; rather, he simply did not appreciate her interrupting his meal. "What do you want?!" he snapped, looking her over again before eyeing the remains of his frozen snack. "Have you come for the carrion?" With a flick of a paw, he managed to send a couple of morsels in her direction, "Here. HAVE it."

His muzzle smoothed out but his hard stare kept focused on her face, his ragged tail starting to lift from its previous position against one of his scrawny hind limbs. He snorted, "Surely you can hunt on your own..." A scoff left his chest and his last set of words came about with a hiss, "So... Your pack doesn't feed you or what?" He measured her up again, the unmistakable scent of other wolves coming to his senses from the fibers of her thick winter coat. He wanted to laugh but he held it in, it was apparent she wanted to run. But, from who or what? From him? How absolutely, seemingly pitiful. Thorpe, these days, could barely manage to keep himself on his feet for hours at a time.

(This post was last modified: Dec 28, 2012, 06:55 AM by Mapplethorpe.)

It was coming close to a week now since she had left, yet still their scent carried thickly in her fur, particularly those of Adonis, Belladonna and Datura. She had told those she had left before that she would return again. Adonis had been impossible to convince to stay, but at least he seemed content to amuse himself while she searched. He was old enough now, and with any hope would still be able to call on his family if needed. She had her own coping mechanisms. Garbled words left the man's mouth, little registering beyond the hostility of his tone. As he all but threw the food at her a growl grew in her chest, tail inching just a little higher, but never enough to be a direct challenge. Universal tongue of warning. Her stomach clenched as she dared to inch forward to snap at the scraps, barely enough to grasp between her teeth - cautious not to let her eyes travel far from the cove. More sounds came from his mouth and she skittered backwards, tail dropping yet again, legs splaying to offer her better balance as her brows drawing together, ears twitching as if catching the words on a different angle would change the sound, trying to find meaning in the garble that escaped his mouth. One word. Pack. Frustration grew then. Not her pack. Not her friends. No place here. She wanted to scream it at the wolf but her mouth simply couldn't form the words, they would come as echolalia from her mouth if she tried. A frustrated huff escaped her chest as she tried to calm herself enough to communicate. He hadn't attacked her yet. Her words were rasped, laced with exhaustion and hunger. "No pack. No more. New pack, soon." She still kept her distance. He may be pitiful to look at, as she had been not so long ago, and so she knew desperation was a strong motivator.

(This post was last modified: Dec 28, 2012, 08:40 AM by Naira.)

death claims all things. it is law, not punishment, to die
OMNIA MORS POSCIT. LEX EST, NON PŒNA, PERIRE
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Mapplethorpe

His goldenrod eyes, ablaze with the means to intimidate her, kept focused on her as he stood his ground. He watched as she sidled forward and, even as her tail rose and fell with the backward shuffle of her feet, the rogue effortlessly maintained his glower. Her ears quivered, but it was some time before she eventually uttered a single word. It was to his good fortune that the woman readily corrected him with words he could understand, enlightened him that a new pack was on the rise. Several lightbulbs in his head switched on, his mind hastily exploring the possibilities and conveniences to be had if he could be affiliated with this newly-formed band of wolves.

The sight of his clenched teeth disappeared with the relaxing his facial muscles but a sneer crept up in its place. The more he stared at her, gawked at her, drank in her figure and assessed her state of well-being, the more he dared to ennoble himself in her face. Who was going to lead this prospective pack? Her? The thought sent him spinning and his jaws opened to let out the most obnoxious guffaw. His ears even folded back briefly as he closed his eyes and tilted his muzzle to the sky to relish the absurdity of the notion. This lady seemed as if she could barely keep her wits about her.

He managed to get a hold of himself but as he stood, collected and seemingly cool once more, he stared daggers at her. Delight might have been one word to describe the expression on his face, but if one looked slightly closer than normal, the glint in his dark pupils suggested he picked up on something he had been dying to hear about. A pale tongue drew forward from between his teeth and curled against one side of his muzzle before settling back in its proper place. His unkept tail jerked up from its former relaxed position at his back. "New... pack..." he echoed, sounding out the words in a slow, deep tone as though he were learning them for the first time. "When?" The smile on his face grew with the excitement that was building in the depths of his being. "...where?"

(This post was last modified: Jan 02, 2013, 10:02 PM by Mapplethorpe.)

He wasn’t afraid to meet her eyes, and something in her stirred. A burning desire to put him in his place? Or perhaps to measure the man, judge his worth... To see if there was any way she could make use of him. Scrawny as he was, perhaps nearly as cracked as she, could some sort of alliance be formed here? Her eyes narrowed regardless, if it came to a fight, she knew she would need both of her eyes when she walked away from this to march on the mountain with her pack. Perhaps Rhysis had rubbed off on her. She was becoming cocky. At her words, his whole demeanor shifted, yellowing teeth vanishing back beneath his lips, he laughed for a moment and her tail inched higher, her eyes remaining cold as her hackles itched to rise. She was a queen, once, and she would be again. So what if she had been broken with grief and honestly, carried on half mad, half of the time, happy to slip into the darkness where there was only life and death, success or failure. Her challenge had been proof that she had changed, she was more now, or maybe less... She didn’t care to dwell on it, all that mattered was her final goal. She thought the message was clear, step aside or be thrown there in pieces... Apparently she had been excessive. She only saw it as determined. She held her ground as the stranger wolf stood, his eyes as hard as her own, although his face looked far more happy for it, excited even - perhaps. As he questioned her, her posture remained rigid, she was still weighing up her options. It was by far in her best interests to keep everything vague, this she knew, but another part of her was desperate for numbers. If it came to a fight, seven against six, or maybe even six each would be far better than four... If Valiant didn’t come through with his extra and she never found Rhysis... With numbers, they might even be able to drive them off all together. The thought sent a pleasant shiver down her spine, and for a moment, even her eyes thawed. Complete destruction. Utter chaos. Her voice was smoother this time, more herself the longer she spent in the presence of another, regardless of how tense the situation may be. “Soon.” was as simple an answer as she could give. “Away from here.” Her eyes darted in the direction of the mountain before settling back on the wolf before her. He wasn’t to know she had spent months trying to escape the wilds on the far side of the mountain, or what drove her back there now. He may never find out. This was such a delicate dance she found herself in.

death claims all things. it is law, not punishment, to die
OMNIA MORS POSCIT. LEX EST, NON PŒNA, PERIRE
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Mapplethorpe

"Soon," she replied. "Away from here." One brow rose in interest but immediately fell back into place. Even his smile dwindled. Her being vague, he decided, was turnoff; but, on the flip side, it only engaged him further. Maybe he wasn't asking the right questions and, perhaps, she knew more if only he had the specific words to prompt her. His tail flicked idly as he thought and processed the fallout caused by her simple answer.

His eyes went from her face to her paws then back again, and as his gaze rose, his irises seemed to burn with the accusation that she was possibly lying to him. He swallowed audibly then boldly took a step forward, tensing to a standstill in order to gauge her reaction. Maybe she stood a chance, he opted as he continued to stare her down. Maybe... just maybe... underneath her skittish exterior, a forbidding mistress was waiting for her opportunity to seize the day in which her reign on the snow-covered peak would begin. If first impressions were forever, however, Mapplethorpe wasn't quite sold with the idea of her as a leader. "Audaces juvo," he sneered, the two words fleeing his mouth with sharp, almost cutting, diction, confident she would not apprehend his gibberish. He added slowly to let the statement sink into her senses, to make sure she understood the second part of his doubt and skepticism, "You don't look like a leader."

He snorted at her, his smirk twisting and lifting the lines underneath his eyes. "How many?" his voice rumbled in his throat.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

His mouth was an ocean of angry whitecaps. Froth and saliva spilled over his lips as the waves crashed against his teeth again and again. The foam oozed down his chin and dripped down in a steady stream that burned through the snow. His chest was slick with warm slime, half melted clumps of snow, and the smell of sickness — of fear. Anxiety billowed up like steam from the poor wolf who slithered through the snow. Only his head and his back were visible from a distance, although the snow couldn't have even come up to his chest. But he was afraid, afraid of everything: this strange place with it's lawless, heathen peoples, their towering mountains so tall they blocked Unelanuhi's eyes... and this sickness. It had taken Blackcrow... Would it take him too?

He hadn't wanted to come here. What use was he here? But Fleetfoot had not been swayed by his pleas and his excuses, and he had never been capable of putting up much of a fight. And so he too had scaled the mountains and now he was beyond the reach of his beloved gods and their protection.

Drip.

"No pack. No more. New pack, soon."

Voices. A fearsome shudder overtook him. I have no choice. He would have to get closer. Though it was cold, it was clear that is was fear that made him shiver so as he slunk towards the sounds of those terrible voices that spoke in short sentences. Brutes. Can't even speak properly. One voice, the deeper, more masculine one, seemed to speak a sort of gibberish that made him queasy. He didn't like the sound of these strange words.

But they spoke of packs, of order, of organization... There was some semblance of civilization here, it appeared... This feminine voice, she was gathering others, it seemed. To what end, he could only guess — and his guesses were dark and terrible in nature. What if she was gathering wolves to come and kill the Aniwayan? What if they meant to do war against Unelanuhi? Suddenly he halted — he did not want to get any closer to these wolves. He had gathered enough... his work was done for the day.

The undergrowth rattled as he reeled about and broke into a run in the other direction. In the bushes, yards and yards away from the two wolves, he had forgotten to wipe away streaks of foam and puddles of the sickness that leaked out of his mouth.

Drip.

The air was drenched in fear.

Drip

His garbled words kept her balanced on the edge. Was he speaking a language she did not understand, or was she slipping back in to that deep, dark place again? What harm was there in numbers? For all he knew she had gathered pups and yearlings (although she had every intention of gathering the former on her way out). "Six at least." She responded somewhat more cooly than before. Something still had her on edge, but she could not place whether it was the stranger before her, or something else. A whiff on the breeze was all she was offered but it was enough to throw the tawny woman into overdrive. Her hackles shot up, stance heavily angled prepared to fight for her life, and a wildness flashed through her eyes as the memories crashed down. Huddled in the back of the den with her siblings, the coyote between them and their escape - eyes glazed and mouth foaming. The fierce battle that ensued and the uncle, then exiled for saving her. Because they could not risk his wounds. The rattle in the underbrush set her on its tail, charging past the stranger male. The healer in her knew there was only one cure when that stink came and she braced herself, ready for wild eyes and flashing foaming fangs. But none came. She paused for a moment, her eyes falling to the disturbed snow, watching as the trail fled into the trees. A growl was sent in its general direction, a warning to stay away from her - and hers. Eyes fell back to her tenuously contained companion, an eyebrow raising in question. If he had more to ask - or add, now was the time to do so.

death claims all things. it is law, not punishment, to die
OMNIA MORS POSCIT. LEX EST, NON PŒNA, PERIRE
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Mapplethorpe

Six. Six. Si-- What was that? The rogue's eyes widened and for a brief second his attention abruptly made him turn to look over his shoulder, where an air of panic wafted in their direction. The trace of something foul derailed his train of thought and he had to recompose himself before looking back at the woman. What? his face managed to spell out wordlessly. The short conversation they had been engaged in crashed back to the forefront of his mind all at once after her growl and the disappearing rustle of foliage pierced his ears.

"That's it?" he half-ridiculed, the expression held back after realizing that someone might have just eavesdropped on them. "Tsssk," he sounded, insecure now about even thinking of affiliating with her. Best you cover yourself, his conscience instructed as he became aware of the growing dread that had taken root after the spy's leave. "You want loyalty, O Regina, you have to earn it..." he stated darkly, his frown returning to his masked face. Then, rather too calmly, he stated, "A storm is coming." He moved to begin traveling in the opposite direction of where the eavesdropper had departed from, "Vigilate. Be. Watchful."