Ankyra Sound once there was a bee named spider
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Ooc — lauren
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All Welcome 
backdated to to the grimeda party and when lycaon decided to BLOW THINGS UP!!  @Wylla


he plunged through the thick copse that marked ankyra's perimeters with haste, galloping alongside @Lycaon as fast as their injuries could allow. ingram's haunch was still matted with blood, and he favored his leg with each stride. lycaon's muzzle, normally a pristine alabaster, was besmirched by splotchy pink (mister, this sure doesn't taste like lipstick).

they thundered through the sequoia laden forest and out into the open strand, where wylla was combing the freshly laid bare tidal flat. "wylla!" ingram yelled, pulling towards her with wincing steps.
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Ooc — Chelsie
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There was a rage building in Wylla's core, fueled by Raptor's insistent presence in her haunting grounds; by Caiaphas' cutting words; by the roar of metal birds swinging over the coastline, harmless thus far but smelling of danger; by the cold season, and the effects it had on wolf-kind. It would come to a head soon, she was sure of that, but she didn't know where to direct it when it did. The sea witch and Raptor were the two obvious choices, but one was beloved by Lycaon, and the other she hoped to never see again. Maybe one of the newcomers, then.

She was combing the forlorn strand when her name came frantic on the wind. She turned quickly, ears pitched forward, and then drew back on herself when her brothers rushed into sight, and they were bloodied. "What the fuck happened?" she asked, pressing forward into their personal space to sniff and worry over their injuries. The rage in her belly bubbled, and she immediately wondered if Raptor and his two cronies were responsible for this.

She was already determined to spill his blood, fantasized about ripping his still-beating heart from his chest, but this... she never expected retaliation, especially when he was at fault for everything. "I'll kill them," she snarled, but no one would know who she was actually referring to; she'd already assumed the culprit.
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ingram was swift to slow his pace as he came across wylla -- mostly because of the monstrous thundercloud of anger that snarled over her muzzle, darkening her snipey features. yikes. she looked angrier than a moray eel caught in a tidepool, her yellow eyes vehement with toxicity and a sharpness to every motion. she ran over them like a concerned hen, her narrow muzzle running the length of his body and sending a slight chill down his spine.

he recovered his breath in gasps, and as soon as he was able to, spoke: "arrille - he was out on the coast and i was following him, and there was a wolf i met before, a long yearling and some of her friends." continued strangled GASPING because he was the equivalent of a fat man who had seen nothing but doritos and mcdouble mcdonalds meals for the last six years. "i don't know why -- but they attacked him. i had no time. i tried to stop it -- and lycaon came along and --" he cast a glance at his brother - he was not about to do the sibling equivalent of pushing lycaon in front of a semi by divulging what exactly was said, so he tactfully steered around that: "we tried to talk them down --" (read: INGRAM tried to talk them down. lycaon just brought a match to a gasoline fight.) "but they weren't having it, they attacked lycaon and i had to defend him. kierkegaard and arrille are gone. i told arrille to run before it turned into a brawl and i think kierkegaard went after him." he came up for air again and wiped a stinging cheek with his paw. "i dunno what they wanted with arrille but i couldn't let them hurt him -- there were a lot. they're from the pack on the cliff."
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"--continued strangled GASPING because he was the equivalent of a fat man who had seen nothing but doritos and mcdouble mcdonalds meals for the last six years." sames

the whiteclad beta kept pace alongside Ingram all the way back to the marches of Grimsnismlal, his concern for the claudication frustrating his brother's gait overshadowing any of the bitterness that still lingered for the breach of trust lodged between them. his own injuries were minor--a sliced up gum and an upper canine with the enamel hewed from jaw-sparring with the Drageda male, but neither troubled him more than his brother's tooth-raked, bloodstained leg. 

once they breached the borders of their home and found Wylla, who anxiously began worrying over the extent of their damage with anger splashed across her face like nothing he'd ever seen before, Lycaon shifted, ears splay, as she sniffed his face. "we're fine," he reassured, shouldering against her.

before he could begin to explain what had unfolded to result in such cruor, Ingram dropped a name--Arrille--and Lycaon realized he had no inkling what he'd even obtruded on before he picked a fight with the two hens and their dutiful capon. he shared a reluctant glance with his silvered brother as he worked towards inculpating him in the escalation of the situation, his eyes dish-wide and a quiet shake of his head given to discourage it. 

he listened to the story as a pair of fresh ears, too, despite being involved. he had never met the youth at the center of it all, and had questions of his own laden on his tongue yet he did not speak a word of them. instead, he turned his attention to Wylla and added his own contribution to the explanation of their present state. "Kierkegaard tried to let one of them run home to get someone... Heda?" he squinted, head tilting.
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Ooc — Chelsie
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Her eyes darted between them, assessing the damage as Ingram huffed and puffed and choochoo'd his way toward an explanation. Most of Lycaon's damage seemed to be his face, with pink-stained fur all around his mouth. Ingram's injury was more serious, and she felt the smolder of hatred and injustice swelling in her gut. They had done nothing to the tribe of barbarians upon the cliff to deserve this treatment; why, then, had they attacked her pack mates? She pressed closer to her dark brother, reaching to lick at his injured leg if she would let him.

It had to be something Arrille did to rile them up. Wylla couldn't find him blameless in this, it was too unprecedented, and she combed her brother's faces critically. "What did he do? Insult them? Piss on their borders? He had to do something, and he just left you there to get beat up for him?" She just couldn't believe that wolves would go around picking fights with everyone around like testosterone fueled idiots. Arrille had to be at fault somehow. Then again, she knew nothing about the wolves that lived up there. They had been of zero consequence to her until now, but even then, her rage was aimed toward the wolves that had not defended her brothers while calling them pack.

"He did what?" Wylla repeated, eyes snapping to Lycaon when Kierkegaard was mentioned again. She paid little mind to Caiaphas' mercenary friend—he was too old to really run in her circle, and his connection with the witch made him unfavourable to her. However, she couldn't help but to seethe now. "Why? Is he in league with them somehow?" Suddenly the idea that they had traitors and spies in their midst seeking to end them wormed its way into her mind and she snarled again, tail lashing. Why else would Kierkegaard try to get their opponents to call for back-up? It made no sense.
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Ooc — lauren
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as lycaon came upon them ingram stepped back, still recollecting his breath with jagged gasps. he filled in lycaon's narrative with eager nods of his head, glancing from brother to sister with a careful look. as for what arrille had done -- ingram genuinely did not know -- he had arrived too late to make much sense of it, and arrille had left shortly after the first tuft of fur began to fly.

"i don't know. i.. i think they knew him." which meant to ingram that arrille's past was worth delving into, to an extent. he furrrowed his brows and set himself on the sand slowly, carefully applying gentle licks to his wounded haunch. "i dunno about the old man. he said something in a different language and they understood him, i think. he went after arrille." ingram was unaware he had already stated that -- he was still hopped up on wild adrenaline.
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upon their introduction Lycaon had thought of Kierkegaard as nothing less than an estimable man—if not hopelessly tongue-tied—given his contributions to the continuance of his adoptive mother’s existence. for that alone, Lycaon possessed a solemn respect for the argent stoic.  of course, he’d never heard the sound of the guy's voice aside from a single grunt of acknowledgement when they were acquainted, up until their encounter with the Drageda dregs. 

their sister’s fierce accusation that his mana’s guardian could possibly be behind some conspiracy against their pack caused alarm to stir up the boy’s spine. his ears flew back with dilemma—could it be true? he remained silent, as Ingram was quick to field the questions directed towards them; accommodating his silence with dilatant inward reflection until there was room for him to speak. 

”pretty sure they were speaking in tongues.” he mentioned, feeling pretty helpful with this input--considering he had nothing better to offer.
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She shuffled the puzzle pieces in her mind, attempting to fit them together in ways that didn't work. In the end, Wylla's strategy was to snap off the intervening bits and make them fit, and the image she compiled was one that made her feel sick to her stomach. She ought to have seen it from the very beginning. Both Caiaphas and Kierkegaard had made very little effort to integrate with the rest of the pack thus far—the witch was excused because Wylla didn't want her, either, but it made a lot more sense if the warrior was a spy for their enemies, which her brothers all but confirmed when they mentioned a different language.

A deep snarl twisted her features and she spun in the sand, stalking forward a few steps with a lashing tail before swinging back around and claiming, "he has to be with them, right? He knows their language and shit, and sent them to call more fighters. He's got to be a spy for that pack!" Her fur rifled along her back as she glanced between them, seeking validation. She didn't really know what to do about it—it wouldn't do to go throwing accusations at him, that would only get her brothers in trouble—but she had to do something, didn't she?
you're going to keep my soul,
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#9
ingram childishly chortled at lycaon's quip they spoke in tongues -- but in truth, they may as well have. the words kierkegaard had uttered were coarse and unintelligible to the luschyon brood, but ingram was surprised when wylla's mind came to a different conclusion than his own. she had always been smarter than him -- maybe it was his fault for being too trusting of others, but it hadn't even occurred to him that kierkegaard was a spy.

he shifted, uncomfortable with that possibility -- he felt betrayed just thinking about it, but he also felt like he was the betrayer. he didn't have enough interactions with the older male to have a full picture of whether or not he was worth defending, but he rolled his shoulders at the surmise uttered by wylla. "he seemed like he wanted to stop anything from getting out of control, but i don't know him. have you seen arrille since? do you think he is okay?"
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like the tot in the vanguard of playground conspiracy politics, Wylla paced and drew up conclusions of her own about the intent of those in their midsts. Lycaon slipped his brother a hesitant look as their sister glanced between them seeking affirmation--maybe a corroborating statement that would pin him down as the spy she surmised him to be. "well... i-- Caiaphas is always with him... how could he be?" he thought aloud. the man was practically grafted to the sandwitch at all times. where did he find the time to propagate intel, were he truly a mole? 

Lycaon shifted nervously. he didn't like the sensation of paranoia slipping its gropey hands under his blouse. his ear listed towards Ingram's voice, the rationale behind his possible explanation putting the beta marginally at ease. perhaps there was a better time to showcase his ignorance, but as things had unfolded, Lycaon couldn't help but ask: "remind me again who Arrille is...? the kid they were harassing?"
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"Maybe she's a spy, too," suggested Wylla in a voice that fell low and slippery. She didn't trust either of them; the only reason the salty little Luschyon tolerated Caiaphas' presence was Lycaon. She felt nothing but chilly threat from the witch, although that was subject to change if they came face to face. She'd never actually met the coywolf and had no desire to change that. She just assumed from Lusca's tales that she was a wretch, two wolves sewn together, one the head of a wicked crone and the one the body of a thrall, sworn to do the hag's bidding forevermore, that she might live eternally with younger organs.

Or something equally heinous.

"Who cares?" she had to ask as the brothers wondered after Arrille's well-being. He'd been fun enough to play with in the caves, but in the moment and with bias painting her memory, she thought of how he'd stared blankly into a pool of water, swirling his paw around while supplying bare minimal conversation before she initiated play. Based on that, and the fact he'd single-handedly incited violence from the neighbouring pack that they had thus far ignored, she neatly surmised that, "he acts like he's fucked in the head anyway. Complete retard." Her eyes darted between them and she asked, in hopes of changing the subject back to something other than the weak links in the chain of Grimnismal, "but how are you two? C'mon, you need to get cleaned up."
you're going to keep my soul,
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ingram squirmed alongside lycaon, who looked just as visibly distressed as he -- thankfully the topic changed, though to a wolf he knew even less about than kierkegaard. ingram had limited interactions with the sea-witch -- mostly because he was kind of a little bit terrified of her and her weirdly bright eyes -- and also, because she wasn't that nice.

"maybe.." he offered, if only to support wylla in her suspicious accusation of the old crone -- don't want to leave a bro hanging, and all. when she switched her fury back on arrille he shifted once more, still visibly uncomfortable -- he had liked arrille, they were buddies -- possibly the only friend ingram had that wasn't yoked by blood to be tethered to him.

"he's not dumb.." ingram futilely responded, though he was happy to see the conversation switch once more. "yeah - i'm gonna go for a swim.. last one to the beach is a bloated seal!" he announced, forgetting he was grievously wounded as he bolted into a run and then immediately yelped, slowing to a pathetic limp that would easily be passable if either of them tried.
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sewing this one up

Lycaon was leery about the situation in entirety. he wasn't intimidated by Drageda's overweening lot, but the suggestion of an operative in their modest few caused him distinct discomfort. he didn't have anything to hide, so unless they sought the hallucinogens thriving without check in their lush forest, he didn't understand what purpose an agent would serve. they weren't exactly rife with secret information, this place Grimsnimal. Lycaon shifted, again, visibly unnerved as Wylla practically wine and dined his paranoia that his mother was in on the scheme too. 

to his relief the subject was dropped, at least momentarily, and he released the tension he was holding in his toes and shoulders with a heavy sigh. "i've swallowed a lot of blood." he said vacantly, smacking his lips with a face screwed up in nauseation. he knew that if he agreed to race to the beach, the sand would soon be painted a lovely sanguine, so he followed after his brother and sister at a stiff-legged gait. he would happily be the bloated seal this time if it meant his guts went unspilled.

once the three of them made it to the seashore, Lycaon rinsed his mouth with the salt water and cleaned the roseate hue off his coat. the trio spent the rest of the evening tending to Ingram's gored-up leg and filling up on what remained of their cache.
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