Arrow Lake Fight the break of dawn

It lapped at the water, sending out ripples that disturbed the smooth, glassy surface and momentarily distorted the moon's reflection. As soon as Toothless finished drinking and pulled up its head, the undulations ceased and the moon's image slowly reformed, becoming a solid but imperfect circle of light once again. Shining green eyes stared at it for a long moment before lifting to peer at the real moon sailing silently in a great sea of darkness.

Yawning, Toothless bowed forward, its rump in the air and its legs outstretched as it coaxed some warmth into its muscles. It then hopped back into regular formation and began to lope around the lake, its tiny black paws silent on the sandy shore. Without a sound, it located a break in the trees and slipped into the shadows, following a familiar, winding towpath through the foliage that eventually gave way to the rocky mountainside.

Moving with leonine grace, Toothless stalked to the edge of a bluff overlooking the lake now a hundred yards below. Reclining on its sleek onyx haunches, it lifted a paw to its mouth and licked at it like a cat. All the while, its eyes lingered on the horizon, eventually drifting toward the east. Beyond the nearest mountaintops and the dark clouds gathered there like a flock of dozing sheep, Toothless could see the first pink smudges of daybreak coloring the sky. Dark lips peeled back from its mouth and its large ears slicked backward, pinning to its nape even as it uttered a low, soft growl of displeasure.

The large wraith moved slowly, but without trepidation; she moved with all the confidence of a drifting continent, uncaring in what it may inevitably collide with. Let it come. The first—and so far, the only—daughter of the Tartok matriarch was ready now to take on the world. The woman had many trysts with pack life, which she had enjoyed; but ah, now it was time to create for herself. The process would be a slow one, and perhaps it was not here she desired to create. Tonravik was very much so her mother, and yet, not her at all. She was strangely far more physical than she was; though perhaps this was because she only had brothers, and because her mother had only accepted her as she dominated them. Tonravik had proven herself time and time again. And yet, she had not been named the true heir; none had, yet. Siku had found her as she drifted from the lands of Lore, having left a brother she did not know—Ataneq—there to continue her legacy without her to guide him. Besides her father, Siku was the only wolf Tonravik could truly say she respected. She enabled her to go her own way, but her looming hand (fist, more like) was always a shadow she could feel.

Tonravik moved throughout the lands, tail swaying at her hocks as she lapped at a lake she had smelled a bit off. But ah, the silhouette of another caught her peripheral, and soon enough Tonravik strode in the direction of the creature who hated day, ascending to eventually arrive at the very same bluff the sexless being found itself loitering at.

Caught up in its anger toward the coming dawn, Toothless did not see the hulking she-wolf visit the lake below, then begin to ascend directly toward it. However, its sensitive ears soon picked up on the signs of approach—perhaps even pursuit. It forgot the light creeping into the eastern sky as it moved like liquid toward the edge of the bluff and seemed to melt over its side even as the colossal wolf appeared at the head of the path leading to it.

Like a bat, Toothless clung to the underside of the rock for a split second before gravity naturally took hold, exerting its will upon the creature's lithe black body. It dropped a few yards onto another and much smaller outcropping below the first, then darted into the shadows underneath. As if the two bluffs were teeth in a great dragon's mouth, Toothless squeezed itself in between them like a microbe intending to clean its gumlines. It would stick there tenaciously, refusing to be rousted from the groove, even if the beast above came at it like the world's most aggressive, battery-operated toothbrush.

Upon arrival, there was nothing there. Tonravik was quite used to tricks of the imagination, and so she would have been on her way had gravity not had its way with the wolf below. Hearing the click of nails against stone caused her to double back, furs along her shoulders pricking upward. As Toothless was darting, Tonravik descended. It was hard for a beast of her stature to truly be silent, but the attempt was made despite that. Her mother had been a tracker, and had taught her daughter well in her youth. It had served her brilliantly in her time in the North, finding wolves that had been hiding from the pack she had stayed with. She had no idea who this wolf was, but she picked up a scent. And when she did, she followed the being that tried to elude her (or at least the scent).

She came to a chasm that swallowed the dark being whole. Her murky brown eyes sought a figure, but could not see the other all that well in her hiding spot. But Tonravik reclined onto her haunches, and then slid onto her stomach, staring into the hole, wondering if she would spot movement. The scent led her to here, but it seemed as though there was nothing.

Squished between a rock and a hard place (literally), Toothless remained very still, its large ears quivering as it listened. It heard the scrape of leathery paw pads on the shale above, followed soon after by the clatter of debris as the wolf descended the cliff. When it spotted the shadow, which loomed closer, it pressed itself even further into the crack. It then became motionless again as it imitated just another shadow, even squinting its bright chartreuse eyes to lend to the charade.

When the hulking she-wolf lowered herself to the smaller ledge, Toothless froze like a deer in headlights, the fight-or-flight instincts waging a brief battle in its head. It very nearly burst out of the groove like a bat out of hell, screeching its fear and misery, but instead it shrank back as far as it could and grew still again. It watched as the beast of a wolf settled itself just feet away, simply watchful, as if she hoped Toothless would put on a show.

For ten solid minutes, Toothless didn't move a muscle. Then it started to feel cramped and the sensation of a thousand beestings began to scrawl up its rear legs. It squirmed slightly, to no avail. Eventually, it could not deny the urge to move. It knew it would be spotted and there was a good chance it would be killed instantly. Yet Toothless knew it had no choice.

Pressing close to the ground and slinking like a beaten pup, Toothless spilled out of the space in which it had been wedged and tried to creep around the large she-wolf. Its body clung to the earth, its ears pasted backward to its nape and it kept its tail fearfully tucked as it tried to sidle past unbothered. All the while, it kept its eyes narrowed, not out of malice or ill intention, but instead out of fear of the inevitable blows that might rain down upon it.

As soon as it felt it could, Toothless fully intended to dart like a rabbit. Only a few more feet...

Patience had never been her strong suit. But it paid off, more times than it did not. What prevailed was her ability to never give up rather than her desire to leave due to the chance that nothing at all may be there. Ten minutes passed. Nothing. No movement, no so—

Ah. It moved, its gestures incredibly submissive. Tonravik rises to all fours, victorious; her tail arcs and waves left and right as her eyes scrutinize the beaten-looking creature, who seemed strangely graceful even when so low to the ground. As it moves to shift around her, she shifts, too, so that she can meet it step for step. Her ears fall to her crown before pricking up again, and the Tartok woman seeks to sniff the being, emitting a sound that promised for the moment she was a peaceable girl, pacified by the presence of the dark eunuch who had at last emerged.

Tonravik had an overwhelming desire to dominate, but she already had; and so, she was appeased, enjoying the presence of the Omega-behaving critter, moving toward its side, hoping to prevent means of escape by simply overwhelming it with the desire to keep her presence. Tonravik was not so good with words, but physically, she could keep company; the male was met with kindness rather than her typical savagery for his good behavior.

It sensed, more than saw or heard, movement and paused, cringing expectantly. When no blows rained down upon its head, it slowly arched its neck to look upward, lemon-lime eyes rolling slightly with fear. The hulking she-wolf stood right above it, then moved to sniff at Toothless's body. A great quiver stole over its small form and it remained very still in the hope that it would remain uninjured just as long as it stayed still.

Every time the female's nose came close to it, Toothless flinched as if pinched, and at times felt so overwhelmed that it let its head sink to the ground in utter defeat. When the she-wolf eventually stepped aside, it felt a sliver of hope and nearly bolted. However, she remained close, standing just a foot away, so Toothless knew it would never make it. It had no choice but to lie there and wait for whatever was to come.

To make matters worse, the sun had risen during the course of this unwilling confrontation. Toothless hated being out in the light, where it would be exposed. During the day, it could be spotted and overtaken much more easily. Although it no longer recollected specific events from its previous life—such as instances where members of its "family" often used Toothless like a plaything, torturing and otherwise abusing it—it nevertheless still harbored deeply-seated instinctual fears, the roots of which lay in those unseemly days of yore.

The fact that it had already been overcome didn't prevent it from fearing the dawn. Still prostrate, Toothless tried to curl into a ball, its eyes squeezing tightly shut as it let out a long, low, plaintive mewl of anguish.

Tonravik had not noted the rising of the sun. But at the anguished wailings of the wolf before her, her attentions divert to the sky. Her own brows furrow. While she did not fear the day, she disliked it and the heat it brought. Deciding that now was as good a time as any to go, she looked to the meek creature before her and let out a gruff whuff.

And then she was on her way. She was certain that nearby there would be a roomy nook for her. She could not have fit into the one Toothless had deposited himself into, and so she would need to find another.

Likely baffled by its inexplicable behavior, the great she-wolf finally seemed to grow tired of Toothless. She woofed under her breath, then turned and began to pad away. Surprised into silence, Toothless watched her go, hiccuped, then gulped loudly. On wobbly legs, it began to push itself to its feet, keen to scramble away before the she-wolf perhaps changed her mind and came to back to eat it in a single swallow.

Like a bat, it flitted back into the crevice, feeling safer there in the tight space, wrapped in shadows. It squeaked lightly as it settled, though no more than five minutes passed before the cramps assailed its legs again. Murmuring, it poked out its head, then crept away from the small outcropping again. Immediately, it dropped its slender muzzle to the ground, combing the earth for the brute's scent trail so that it could avoid it.

Yet it led into the cover of the woods, offering Toothless a sense of safety that it could not resist. It found itself tracking the smell and it came up behind the beastly wolf as she resumed a search for her own niche, where she hoped to escape the day's encroaching heat. Slinking along behind her, Toothless watched her every movement, its curiosity blazing despite itself. It quivered like an arrow freshly released from a singing bow, ready to beat a hasty retreat should the big black wolf turn and spot its tiny shadow.

It had been difficult getting to the lake itself, it by no means being an accessible thing to those that hadn't the mindset for perilous paths and challenging treks. Tonravik reveled in such things, being mountain-born and mountain-made. The ice and snow of the place she had been in while she was a yearling merely carved her. Her strides grew longer as she ascended a particularly difficult pathway, nose poking and prodding as eyes sought old and abandoned dens. Her nose would find it before her eyes would, but still, she looked.

That Toothless followed her thus far went unrecognized. But it was only as she turned quickly finding the trail of something that she noted a blur again in the corner of her vision. The Tartok woman spun on her heel and attempted to summon the being that hid—not knowing it was the same cowering wolf—with a welcoming chuff. The wolf would have nothing to fear if it was obedient, but if not, Tonravik would seek it out, feeling now that she was being followed and the intentions were not for good.

Toothless went unnoticed for so long that it grew bold, though no less stealthy. It now trailed after her quite willingly, scooting behind tree or shrub when it thought it might be spotted. As it traipsed along after the brutish she-wolf, it observed her from afar. Surely such a magnificent snout, rimmed with fearsome teeth, was capable of unknowable cruelty. And those enormous paws could smack the life out of Toothless or any other small animal that crept or crawled. However, she did not seem outwardly fierce. At ease with herself and her surroundings, she seemed more like a great, big, friendly bear than a ferocious dragon.

When she spun around with a friendly chuff, Toothless nevertheless scrambled behind the screen of some brush, tucking itself against the forest floor and waiting. Through the sparse foliage, it could see her eyes, which were brown and wet. Something about them silently coaxed the sylph-like wolf forward, so that its muzzle peeked out from the bushes. Its head then emerged, lemon-lime eyes blinking rapidly and ears bent backward submissively.

There it stopped, staring in the general direction of the large she-wolf, careful to avoid looking directly into those warm espresso eyes. It mewled inquisitively, the fur at its nape ruffling with instinctive fear as if it respected a rebuke for its vocalization. Its tail slithered from side to side, unseen, then stiffened behind it like a poker as it waited for the she-wolf's reaction.

She began to bristle, and certainly she would have stalked forward to seek the being that had thought it wise to hide had the being not presented itself. The very same wolf that had been cowering before emerged, and Tonravik stood all the taller, head cocking to the side. She was only used to those that knew her doing such a thing, but this anxious wolf had done so even without knowing her. Murky brown eyes did not soften at the notion that perhaps the other might like her; emotions were beyond Tonravik, who like her mother could appreciate very little.

At the emitted sound, Tonravik wondered at the age of the being before her. The wolf was coltish and flighty. Was that fixable? Did it need fixing? These perplexing questions popped into her head, though she pushed them away. Too much. She would find out. Invitingly, Tonravik gestured toward her side, enabling the other to journey with her should he desire to. It seemed easily disposable, should it be troublesome, but she imagined that it could be quite useful, too. Were the day not coming, she would have attempted to test him by hunting, but the heat of the sun would soon shove through the trees and be a hindrance to her. She turned to begin to seek out another sort of hovel, and while she preferred the coolness of rock and stone, it was clear that tonight she would get insulated earth. Now, she supposed she might need to find an area big enough for two. Sisamat did not check to see if the other followed; her ears would tell her, this time, accustomed to its near-silent movements to listen for them, to know them at that moment.

When the bearish she-wolf gestured, Toothless flinched and shrank backward, almost melting back into the screen of shrubbery. Yet she only thrust a single paw, beckoning it with the universal come hither motion, then stood and began to plod away. Its eyes followed her, widening as each step carried her further from sight. Their lemon-lime depths gave away all the silent inner conflict it experienced in that moment.

Eventually, she disappeared around a bend in the path and Toothless started, then froze, then climbed from its hiding spot. It stood there for a few beats, then let out a little bleat that would have broken hearts had anyone been there to overhear it. Alas, nobody was; even the hulking she-wolf was out of earshot. Realizing this, Toothless suddenly scrambled forward, moving through the forest in her direction with the speed of a cheetah and the stealth of a jungle cat.

It squeaked involuntarily when it found her again, moving around the scrub forest that surrounded the bowl of the lake. She was clearly exhibiting searching behavior. Toothless eyed her curiously, head tilted, then simply assumed its new role: follower. Hanging back far enough to retreat should the need arise, it tagged after the colossal black wolf, unaware that this random encounter had changed its blighted life forever.

For a while, there was silence. She heard the sound of distress, but did not turn to meet it. The stranger had not welcomed her, despite its curiosity, had not joined her side; Tonravik was not clairvoyant and could not know that the call was one for her, something of a wait!. But in due time, she heard the wolf again, and gazed at him in a sidelong manner. He had joined her, then. Nostrils flared as Sisamat scented an old and abandoned place, and she buried the front half of herself in it. The size inside was enough for someone her stature and would even fit Toothless, with even some leg room. Tonravik was glad for that; the other was flighty, and even though she was certain she could overwhelm it, she did not desire to intentionally distress it.

She barks in the direction of the den multiple times, legs splayed, ears forward; and when nothing emerges at all, she thrusts her own wide girth into the earthy hole and lays herself to rest. This would do for the both of them, and by day, she—they—would go home.

It felt apprehensive at first, watching her every movement carefully, still mistrustful of those bladed teeth, those blunt paws. Still, she made no motion to hurt it and didn't even acknowledge it save for an occasional passing glance. Mostly, she kept busy searching, until eventually she found what she was looking for: a temporary den.

She wedged herself in there, leaving enough space for Toothless to join her, like a tiny kitten slumbering beside a German shepherd. Toothless remained at a distance, sitting suddenly and blinking at this development. It sort of understood, yet it didn't. Its head canted and its black nose wiggled. It whined lightly under its breath, scaring itself, and lapsed into abrupt silence again.

Finally, it tiptoed forward, though its rump remained stationary. The result was that it lay like a watchful sphinx, still several dozen yards away from the big she-wolf. Yet it did not flee. In fact, it made a decision, though not consciously, that it wouldn't flee—not ever. It would cling to the dark wolf like a black sock fresh out of the dryer, happy on some basic level to be welcomed by its own kind for once in its life.

It did not want to sleep, did not want to let down its guard, yet time took its toll on the sylph-like critter. Its heavy head fell and its eyelids drooped. It slept with its eyes partially open, its breath coming in quick, restless pants, but it stayed. And when its new leader rose thereafter, Toothless would—after fearfully bursting to its feet and scurrying behind a bush, naturally—unfailingly fall into step behind her.