Stone Circle the away mission

He came over the hill with the scent of deer thick in his nose, leading west towards the mountains. The wolf took on an easy stride as he picked up speed; however, he did not get far before pausing, his bulk staggering against the momentum it carried and bracing against the exposed stone of the earth. The scent drifted across another collection of hills and in to a valley and that had been fine, except when he spotted the distant stone spires. They appeared to be arranged in an unnaturally even circle. Curious. The wolf was not here to cause any alarm—he was merely hungry—but for a vague few moments he was as still as a statue, listening to his surroundings, as if expecting an attack.

Merrit chose to be alone more often now, at home in the silence and quiet contemplation ever since Stark had left. He felt the weight of his father's departure seep through the length of every step, and he found himself restless, agitated - and this is why he withdrew. The pack would notice the change, and they would tell Valette, and mother had enough to worry about without needing to worry about him as well.

So the boy often kept to the maze of the clone forest, where he could lose himself until the shadows crawled out. Yet the tower of a man at the far, far bottom of Stone Circle pulled the boy from the edge of his cover today. This was a foreigner if he had ever seen one, and Merrit leaned forward to catch a better look. He was lean, spindly, and swathed in a canvas of silver and earth. He knew it was the place of his elders to intercept strangers, but with his father gone, he felt the compulsion to draw near - yet for now, he remained planted, his breath a cloud in the cold autumn air, and simply watched and waited for the man to make a move.

He was bracing for an attack that would not come. The wind whipped through the trees and over the grass, spiraling golden leaves around him. The stones drifted closer as he moved along but he didn't want to get too close, their strange angles coupled with the scent of wolf made him wary. He was so fixed on the structure that Tulimaq remained oblivious to the warching shadow; he did not know what force lured him in like this, but he was enchanted. Had he known his father's story he would have been charmed to know that Larus had a similar sensation upon first encountering the land of Easthollow.

The trees seemed to lend him cover in their sea of shadows - either that, or the stranger was blind to his presence or fool enough to ignore him. Merrit couldn't tell the man's intentions, but the way his head turned toward Stone Circle and settled along the length of Easthollow kindled something in the boy he couldn't remember feeling before: the strike of heat at the very centre of himself, and the need to advance.

Merrit lowered himself so that the wild grass brushed his sides, in the hope their blades would shroud him as he stole toward the man, but his limbs were too long, and he found himself exposed. That did little to stop him. If anything, the feeling of nakedness only stoked the burn in his chest and spurred him quicker to intercept the stranger below. Neutral in approach for now - but with each rattle of the ground underfoot, he felt his stability quake.

He should have been more attentive. Tulimaq had never seen anything like this circle of stones before, not even in the north where the stones formed icy cairns. He stopped moving forwards when he heard the sounds of steps, but by that point it was too late and the shadow was upon him. The wolf turns his attention away from the stones a split-second later and cannot help but bristle when he realizes he's being spied upon; but a moment later he realizes, due to his proximity to the stones, that there is a definite scent here. A wolf scent. This land is not open for crossing. Mentally he's cursing at himself for being so distracted, and steps back from both the stranger and the rocks with a deferential dip to his head. 

Tulimaq snakes back a few feet but doesn't leave yet; he is aware of his company and once he's a good distance away he stops, turns, and observes them. They appear young. Lean, tall, but well built. Perhaps they would make a good warrior one day. He lifts his head, finding his natural confidence again, and calls out with a boof that carries over the windswept hill; a very late hello.

The man sees his approach and shuffles in retreat, and Merrit finds himself with a choice to make. There is the natural bent to accept the deference and slow his advance. This is how he has been raised. The stranger clearly knows his mistake and shows himself submissive. But there is a darker flame that awakens in the shadow's soul, a deep and churning anger that is as foreign to him as the man on the hill. And he wants to welcome it, to rage and fight until his energy spills, until the pain is gone, until he doesn't feel this anymore - and he is afraid.

Merrit's face remains impassive, save for the disconcerted turn of an ear, and he draws to a stop with the poise he has often watched his mother carry. He doesn't know what to make of the tumult that swirls like the leaves about them, so he ignores it. There are other matters to consider - tangible ones right before his nose that are far more pressing than anything else. Why are you here. His voice betrays his youth, but he keeps himself tall. The wind whips and tangles his fur, and he steps against the gale, not once taking his attention from the foreign man. He is filled with a mix of tension and curiosity, and his stride is tight. A fight of its own.

Tulimaq is not afraid of anyone outside of his own family, mostly because he has not encountered many that are strong enough to contest the might that is Tartok; he has that innate sense of bravado that is often found in an uncontested wildling. So when he stops, when he calls out, there isn't a hint of fear. He is curious and that is all—and that curiosity strengthens when the stranger draws closer and calls out. His voice is lightened by youth and this might've surprised Tulimaq had he not suspected as much; still, he thinks this young wolf will grow in to something formidable. Perhaps he should linger here—study the boy, test him, train him—but Tulimaq himself isn't a master of the warrior's arts. It is an entertaining thought but not a practical one.

The question, though, hangs in the air for a moment. The young man's ears pivot to catch it, but he doesn't respond instantly. He is considering his options, trying to be tactical despite the obvious need for diplomacy over combat. He cannot help it. Tulimaq wants to test the boy physically to appease his curiosity but that wouldn't be the right thing to do, not here, not now. They stare at one another for a long minute before he finally admits, I have never seen anything like that before, with a motion of his sharp snout towards the towering stones.

I take it they belong to you? Perhaps not this boy specifically, but to his people.

Merrit thinks little of the silence. In fact, he is rather glad for the pause. The stagnation gives him time to truly appraise the stranger at his nose, and his gaze shifts. There is height to the man, an air of wildness about him. The boy wonders if this thought is tainted by the fact that this stranger is alone, and carries no distinguishing scent; a rogue, if he's ever seen one, and he wonders -

The stranger interrupts, his voice deeper than expected. Older. Experienced, and Merrit lets his eyes narrow as he acknowledges the stranger's words with a downward tip of his nose. He doesn't need to turn to see what the man has gestured to; the boy knows the proud rocks that stand like a lighthouse over his pack.

"To my family," he corrects, and for a moment his anger subsides, and his eyes relax with the softness of who he knows he is. The stones are the mark of their kinship, and of the unbreakable thread that passes through his blood to generations back. He had heard of the wolves who are buried here, of their nobility, their fidelity, their legacy. Keoni, Murdock, Steady. Though he does not know them, their names are ingrained in his heart - yet one is missing.

The momentary warmth saps to coldness again, and his face chills and hardens. "We are Easthollow," even his voice is lined with frost, and with pointed words, he draws another long step forward, "Who are you?"

Hope you dont mind Greyback in the background, haha!

Walking through the meadow the wind to his back, the man raises himself to the ridge of the hill, overlooking the lands that are his home with a profuse amount of pride. It doesn't take long for him to spot the lean body of raven fur that belonged to Merrit down below. The boy was growing more and more each day, surprising Greyback with how much he looks like his father. 

What surprised him mostly is the thin figure of another, their fur brown and mixed. He didn't know of anyone within the pack with such a pelt nor build, and came to the only conclusion that it must be a traveler. However, that didn't explain why they were doing so far within the territory and why Merrit was alone with him at such an age.

With perked ears, worry swept through Greyback as he watched from afar, tempted to walk down and intervene, but stood still as occurred to him that perhaps this would be a good chance for the young Easthollow wolf to get experience. Neither of them looked as if they were on offense and about to attack so he remained where he stood.

Like a stone himself, the bear of a wolf stood tall above the two, the fur of his cheeks, back, and chest lashing in the wind as he stared down at them with furrowed brows and a pressed mouth.

The boy is proud to claim the standing stones, and Tulimaq felt fortunate he was not older and more likely to give in to basic instinct. He did not wish to fight anyone as he made his rounds, and certainly did not want to make enemies when he was alone in this wilderness. He had come to learn, to make a name for himself - to earn a proper name, too - and found it was a nice change of pace from the constant activity of Tartok. Then again, Tulimaq was a beast of routine and ritual. He enjoyed hunting, chasing, tracking, and all manner of physical activity. A part of him wanted to test the boy and entertain himself, but he knew such behavior did not lend itself towards diplomacy.

When asked about himself, Tulimaq answered with his gruff voice, sounding just as proud as the boy did about the stones: I am Tulimaq, son of Saghani, a warrior of Tartok. The names would likely mean nothing to this boy but it felt good to finally have an opportunity to speak them aloud; the rest of his kin were not strongly vocal (often relying on more natural systems to communicate), and he was one of the few that found value in the voice. He let a smile creep across his face as he spoke, and then added, My people are travelers, conquerors — but I am mostly an explorer, if I'm being honest.

There is a strength in the moniker Tulimaq offers, a heritage and a pride, and Merrit feels his thoughts begin to wind. This man is no rogue. Merrit doesn't know what he is, except that he is, perhaps, something greater than what he appears. Should he feel threatened, in awe? Truthfully, he feels neither - just a raw curiosity, and Merrit leans closer. Tulimaq's titles mean very little to him, for the names are all but foreign, yet their mystery allures him, and he feels a stir toward the power they seem to wield.

"A warrior," he repeats, his voice tipped with wonder, and he lets himself taste the word on his tongue. He has never heard that title before, but it is clear it is one that is important to the man, for while he claims himself an explorer, it is the mantle of a warrior that he runs beside the name of his family and his clan. "What does a warrior do?"

He's caught the boy's attention and feels a swell to his ego because of it; even if they don't know the history of Tartok, it is favorable to Tulimaq to be seen for what he is, and he feels as if the curiosity of the boy equates to that. It doesn't offend him that the strength of Tartok has left these wilds either — he's heard stories of his forebears coming here to continue the legacy, only to be thwarted at every turn. Maybe he's tempted by this very thing, this absence, this opposition from the land and the people.

What does a warrior do? asks the boy. Tulimaq realizes he hasn't requested his name, but doesn't feel obliged to even after the thought strikes him. He's more intrigued by the question - it seems so obvious to him that he almost doesn't answer.

When he does, he's quickly elucidating. A warrior defends their homeland, protects their people, and keeps the laws of the land intact. There was more to it than that; Tulimaq did not want to gush about the glory of war, the physical superiority one felt when they confronted an enemy, or the taste of blood — he had yet to be to war himself, but had sparred and hunted with the best of them. You're a warrior yourself, boy. You could have held back and let me pass, but you chose to confront me when I neared the stones. You have a warrior's instincts.

The further Tulimaq explains, the more hungry he grows, and Merrit knows that this name of a warrior is one he wants to bear. He could be a defender, a protector; he could be what Ezra is, and what his father should have been if he hadn't left... if his illness had lifted... if someone had been around to heal him...

"You're a warrior yourself, boy," and Merrit is shaken from his thoughts with a resounding no. No - he was a poet, a scholar - but he doesn't object. Instead, he feels a fire in his chest that only radiates outwards, a warmth that he recognizes, but has never quite felt this strongly before. This is different than what he feels when his mother or sisters praise him, different from when Ezra offers him a silent look, or a nudge to encourage him along. Those feelings are good - but this feeling is different, and he clings to the praise of this man with a hunger he didn't know he had, and a burning want to feel that fire again.

"I will be a warrior," he says, fixed in his resolve. He will learn to defend and protect his people, his family. Stark is gone, but Merrit - well, he is still here, and he will become everything his father will never be. "But... no one's called a warrior here," and his eyes shine as with a fever, intense and wanting. Instincts were not enough; he needs to learn. "Will you teach me more?"

Tulimaq did not consider himself much of an ambassador and furthermore, he was hardly a spy. His abilities were physical out of necessity, and he was more mindful of things than the typical brute, so being an explorer suited him. Yet he had never encountered a family of passive creatures before; it seemed odd, when the boy spoke, that there would be such a place that did not employ warriors. Who kept the pests from stealing off the land? Who ran down the deserters? Who fought in their wars?

He contemplates these things between the boy's comments, and twists his ears attentively forwards when he hears the question. If this place doesn't have warriors, it makes it ripe for the taking. A dark thought; one he entertains solely because he's been trained to think of things in black and white, violent ways. But he smiles; the thin line becoming something a little more genuine.

I could teach you more, Tulimaq drawls without letting promises cloud the air. But I doubt your family would appreciate a rogue coming and going on your land. Still, he hasn't said no. The man's smile dims and he looks thoughtfully at the standing stones, observing them for a minute or two, and adds: I could return this way in a few days and meet you somewhere for lessons, but you would need to get permission first.

At the very least, it would be a nice way to pass a few hours.

Tulimaq has a point, and Merrit shifts his gaze aside to think. While he isn't privy to what goes on at the borders, he knows only family is allowed in the land of the Standing Stones. Family, along with those deemed honourable enough to join them - but Merrit has never seen how this process works. That decision belongs to his mother - and he has no desire to overstep his boundaries with her. But maybe, once she meets him...

"I'll ask mother," he thinks out loud, and almost suggests they just rally her now, until he turns his eyes to Tulimaq, whose gaze, he notices, has once again shifted to the stones on the hill - and a doubt slips into his mind. The face of his mother, and the final words of no - and he reconsiders. "There's a meadow just around the other side of Easthollow, to the West," he says instead, "I can meet you there."

I'll ask mother, states the boy swiftly, and Tulimaq is pleased. He was wise to go the route of the scholar rather than the conqueror this time. While it would have been easy to use his warrior training upon the boy and investigate the stones thereafter, this was much more condusive to his curiosity. Fighting a boy who did not come from warrior stock was not much of a challenge anyways.

Tulimaq nods. He repeats for his own clarity, I will meet you to the west in a few days time, and there we will discover your talents. With that confirmed, the man bids a silent farewell with a dip of his snout and makes to extricate himself from the conversation. Mid turn, the air shivers with a breeze, and he realizes someone hae been watching their exchange. He does not mention this, nor do his suspicions display across his face, but he makes note of @Greyback's scent as he departs.

He watches Tulimaq leave through brighter eyes, unable to pull his attention away even as the rogue retracts himself from the Stones. There is a subtle excitement in the skyward lift of his head, and he feels his thoughts turn from the cover of darkness to something vibrant and alive. Everything feels surreal - like the earth itself is hardly enough to ground him. 

Even when Merrit turns away, he keeps glancing back - almost expecting the man to disappear, and all his hopes with him. But every time, Tulimaq is there, if only a little smaller, and a little further away than before - but he is there, and eventually, Merrit sets his sights on the Standing Stones, and his heart on finding Valette.

That's when he sees @Greyback, perched with the rocks like some kind of a gargoyle, and Merrit practically feels his skeleton jump right out of his skin. His breath catches along with his feet, and he stumbles forward for the better half of a second before he finds his footing again. "Greyback!" he blurts. Yeesh! How long had he been watching?

His heart hammers, his chest, and he tries to regain some kind of dignity or composure, but yeah... that's pretty much gone.

Though Greyback cannot hear the words the two wolves are exchanging, he was gauged on every movement of theirs. With honey-amber eyes, he watched closely. Somewhere along he way, he had laid down, his paws hanging off the side of the hill in a relaxed position.

The stranger down below was very interesting to the older, and with more time he watched Greyback found him more interested to know more about him. Merrit seemed to like him to an extent, and that in itself was more than enough for the Gamma to find interest. He had never seen the boy in such a nature, it was endearing.


However that didn't mean Greyback trusted the newcomer.

Watching him turn around and walk away brought a long sigh from the man he didn't realize he was holding, one that licked at the crisp air around him. It was only when Merrit turned around and stumbled that Greyback shot upward and blinked, all tension from his face fading to show his surprise as well. Did he startle the boy? He heard him say his name, but wasn't sure if it was in surprise or a call.

Walking down the hill, he gave a smile at the boy and leaned down to press a lick to the center of his forehead. Though Merrit was not his biologically, he couldn't help but think of him as his young. "I didn't mean to scare you," He looked up and watched the last of the stranger's figure disappear in the lands. "Who was that?" He questioned, curious if the boy knew of him before or if he was willing to tell him anything.

While he recovers from his stumble (he really has to work on that...) Greyback covers the distance left between them, which doesn't take long. Merrit is tall, but the older man is practically a mountain and is soon upon him with a kiss to match. Heck no - only his parents, Arlette, and Keen can do that - and Merrit shrinks away, just managing to duck from Greyback lick, and he shimmies aside until he's well out of reach. "I wasn't scared," he scoffs and gives a casual roll of his shoulders, even as he feels a flicker of ire bite through his words. Honestly, he doesn't know why Greyback has to act so much like a mother to him.

"His name's Tulimaq," he says, with a tone much cooler than before - neutral and even, like the Merrit he'd been before his father had left. A slim part of him is tempted to lie, if only because something in the question irritates him, but he knows he has less than nothing to gain from that, and everything to lose. "He's an explorer," he says instead, but adds a shrug, trying to show the man that it's no big deal, and that he shouldn't worry, "he said he could teach me to be a warrior, if mother's okay with it," and he shifts a bit further away - as if to ask can I go now? while already having made up the answer for himself, "I'm going to ask her now."

Something drops in his gut as the young boy ducks away from his affection, making Greyback realize that perhaps he had overstepped his boundaries. It makes him nervous, but he throws it off with a little chuckle and a shake of his head. "My apologies, of course," he replies.

As the boy talks about Tulimaq Greyback eyes him suspiciously under a confused gaze. Something about the raven pelted wolf's words makes him unsure if the boy is telling the complete truth. Though he accepts the words and gives a nod, unsure of how to continue. He is older than most wolves around, and he finds when talking to younger yearlings that he can't always connect with them. Watching Merrit shift away reminds him of that.

"That's...cool," He draws out in an uncertain tone. "But be careful Merrit. You can't always trust everyone." He turns away himself, ready to leave but uncertain if Merrit will respond or not. He only wants what is best for the boy, for the pack.

We can wrap up with one more post from you, or we can keep going if Greyback decides to stop him - I'm game for either (: This has been so much fun <3

He notices the way Greyback eyes him, how suspicion bleeds through every word, and Merrit feels his stomach drop and his throat constrict with a chill. No one has ever looked at him like that before, and he suddenly feels very small.

You don't believe me.

The words never leave his tongue, but they fill him in every other way: the rigidity of his legs, the hardening of his stare, and the full turn of his body away, to keep Greyback from seeing the pain that stains his face.

"Yeah. I know that." His words are pointed, and for the first time, he doesn't feel bad for them. If the elder's advice had only been words, maybe he'd be okay with that, but his advice had been more than words. They were an accusation, even though after every thought that filled him, he had chosen to be honest; he had chosen not to lie.

You can't always trust everyone, and Merrit couldn't help but feel that Greyback meant him.

Would love to wrap it up here!

When the strained words of "Yeah, I know that." leave the mouth of the child, Greyback lets out a soft sigh and drops his shoulders. He can tell the boy has had enough of him and wants to be alone- and although Greyback wants to follow him and comfort him he knows it is best to leave.

Looking past his shoulder to spare one last glance, he sees the dark yearling has fully turned and can't help but feel the pressure in his gut getting deeper. "Alright." he whispers softly, almost pained before setting off from once he came, leaving the boy to his own. He will talk to Merrit at another time.