Ankyra Sound the internet is more than just good porn now.

He's a little beyond the borders but um yes :3

Only the raw ache of hunger writhing in his belly could have finally forced Whittier to withdraw from the shelter he'd come upon in his flight from the small, airborne demons. The humming from above ground had long since ceased by the time the Frostfur emerged, and yet the dread they inspired was still ripe in his heart. He cringed visibly as his paws stepped down repeatedly upon the awkwardly crunchy carcasses of the insects. Chills ran along his spine with each step, and he very nearly turned around and darted back into his protective dugout. But, hunger won out, and Whittier continued on through the horror the world around him had become.

It didn't take long for the yearling to discern that he was in some deep shit. All green had been sucked from the earth, and it seemed that all life in general had gone with it. He came down from the mountains feeling as though he was the only living creature left upon the earth. When last he had seen the field he now strode through, it had been teeming with wildlife. But now it was barren and empty; a great sea of brown that stretched onward for days. It was a horrifying sight, partially because Whittier was a lover of beautiful things and this was the exact opposite. Whittier was also a love of food though, and there was quite obviously none to be found for miles.

The young wolf had always made out decently well being on his own. Hunting was always a struggle, but he'd been clever enough to scavenge when he could and garner the sympathy of other wolves to assist him when he couldn't. But now he saw neither carrion nor gullible strangers. He was left to his own devices now, and even those were useless considering there was no living life around either. The disgust he held for his bug-covered surroundings began to fade as the gravity of his situation settled in.

He really was in some serious shit.

The hours disappeared before him as the young Frostfur wandered, hungry, lost, and far more worried than ever he had been at any point on this journey of his. When he finally stopped it was because his nose had warned him to do so. There was a strong odor of other wolves knocking upon his senses, and Whittier paused to suck in a deep breath to learn more about what these scents had to tell. He was still a fair distance off from the borders of the pack he had come upon, but still tension rose within him. His last run-in with one of his own kind had ended poorly, and he was not entirely eager to experience that again. But still, something kept his paws in place as he gazed across the terrain, thoughts swirling in his hungry, hungry brain.

like whittier, caiaphas had been drawn out by hunger. it showed in the pinched slant of her cheek, the dull fatigue of her eyes. she had given up sourcing anything but fish, and her ventures outside of the sound had been fraught with disaster or disappointment. she did not immediately notice whittier, not until she had been nearly upon him -- quickly she adjusted her posture and her gaze narrowed in on the agouti male. he seemed neutral, and lacked the posture suggesting an aggressive motive. brazenly she raked her muzzle against the wind to identify if he came alone, but she could not tell. like her, he looked hungry. she stopped when she was but a mere few feet from him, her yellow gaze lifted up to view him fully. "what do you want?"

*tosses kja in here b/c fam~*

Kjalarr patrolled the borders, dutifully, though he wondered if the constant hunger that plagued him and the waning of strength, precious as it was, he would be of any use if any wolves crossed the border. He was thinner than he'd been two weeks ago — they all were — and the lack of food was little more than depressing. Food, if he survived this, if they survived this was not something he would ever take for granted every again, he vowed. His children and grandchildren would hear of the famine of the Gods and they, too, would not take their luxuries for granted. It was true that you didn't know what you had until it was taken from you. Still, he patrolled and ate what scraps of woodland creatures he was able to catch — though they were just as thin and ragged as the wolves that hunted them; the worst part that not every hunt was successful and it could be all night or day before he stumbled across something else to hunt. Kjalarr was trying his best to temper his growing irritation, borne of his neverending hunger.

Just because they were slowly starving didn't mean his duties to Saltwinter changed or relented. He did what he could and tried to push his boundaries so that he knew where they were. There was no better to test them while they were already being tested by the Fates. Subconsciously, he'd been following Caiaphas' trail when he picked up on it and arrived on the scene only to catch the coywolf queen's last word to the familiar figure. Sight alone was hardly enough to tell Kjalarr anything, but scent told him that the gray blur near their borders was familiar. And family. “Whittier?” Kjalarr called out to his (adopted) brother, unable to remember the last time he'd seen Whit. They'd both still been fairly young, if memory served correct. For the sake of not being redundant in case Caiaphas had more or less asked it, he did not inquire as to what Whittier was doing there, confident that the young Frostfur would tell them soon enough. For the moment his sour (hella grumpy?) disposition and hunger was momentarily forgotten in the anticipation and joy of Whittier's presence.

*snuggles*

Whittier failed to notice as he was approached by the other wolf. His mind had begun to wander amongst the possibilities for where his life was to go next. Allure was still out there somewhere, alone, with no one to look after her (or so he had always assumed). He needed to find her, but he'd been searching for so long now and had come up with nothing. He was determined not to give up on his search, but the outlook was suddenly seeming quite bleak. It was a miracle he'd even made it this far. How much farther could he go now that the odds had suddenly stacked so very, very high against him?

It was her voice that shocked him out of his inner monologue. He started visibly and faced her with fur standing on end, tail high and ears perked. She was like an otherworldly skeleton and for an instant, the imaginative yearling was absolutely convinced that he smelled gravedust and afterlife upon her. But then, he realized he had no idea what those scents even smelled like. His shock ebbed, and with it went the ethereal dark glow around her, and soon enough she was just another wolf like him. Only she was standing dominantly. And so was he. Oh, of all the fucks.

Whittier fell into submissive overdrive after a few short seconds - ears planting upon the back of his skull, body flopping towards the ground and tail tucking. He averted his gaze from her sharp face to her skinny legs. The movements happened in unison with his barking a "Crap! Sorry!" at her, which he realized quickly was not a great thing to say. Wincing visibly, he tried to rectify things. "Sorry, I just. Sorry." Maybe rectify isn't the right word. We'll never know.

The Frostfur felt absolutely certain that he was about to get another walloping like the one he'd suffered during the swarm. He cringed, not looking forward to this at all. "I didn't mean to come here," Whit explained quickly, hoping it would delay the approaching ass beating, "I just. I didn't know where I was going and I." He what? Came to sing Christmas carols? "I'm like. Super hungry." Because that's relevant. "And my mind just. It's not. I'm sorry. I..." Good. The insanity plea. "Please don't." A pause, and then came an abruptly different tone than the panicked prattling he'd begun with, taking on curiosity and surprise just in time for the finale: "Jorunn?"

caiaphas had wearily expected begging -- food -- anything -- and unfortunately, had already fully devised a way in which to whisk whittier away. with a sigh she composed her response, though she was left somewhat slackjawed by his retorted height in posture. like a little flame doused with gasoline the salt-witch flared, temper rousing and hackles along her spine lifted in sharp ridges. the nerve -- how dare! she cut him a steely look and was about to sink her teeth into his flesh when kjalarr approached, his expression that of joy. suspiciously she stowed her teeth, noting the recognition that seemed to flood both. her posture remained begrudgingly dominant and she scowled at the stranger, her voice somewhat husky. "you know him?"

For the first time, Kjalarr noted the tense atmosphere in the small spaces around Caiaphas and Whittier — but was left clueless as to what had caused it as his arrival had came after the Frostfur's (accidental?) dominance display. He glimpsed between the two for a contemplative moment, nearly cringing when Whittier spoke his old name. The name of the boy had long ago drowned in the Sea. In fact, he'd been Kjalarr so long that he wondered if anything was even left of “Jorunn”. Despite that he accepted that the Frostfurs addressed him as it, it was strange to hear it spoke aloud, nevertheless. “Actually, Whittier, I go by Kjalarr now.” He informed him gently, wondering if this meant he might, eventually, get around to correcting Floki and the others so they all addressed him by the name that he'd been going by for months.

His gaze moved to his coywolf queen when she inquired as to if Kjalarr knew Whittier. “He's my brother,” Kjalarr told her. Blood or not didn't matter to the Norseman. He'd grown up with Whittier and thus the Frostfur was his brother. He shifted his weight then and looked back to Whittier expectantly.

sorry for the shoddy quality of this post! :c

Whittier could almost feel the woman's rage at his faux paux. He shrank even further into submission to appease her, but short of rolling to expose his belly, there wasn't much further he could go. He would certainly pull that one out if he needed to, but considering he'd gone belly up for a woman just a few days prior, he was feeling a little reluctant to have to do it again.

Fortunately, Jorunn was a good distraction from the tension. Whit's eyes shifted back and forth between the female's paws and his brother's face as he responded to both of their inquiries. He found it odd that Jorunn was no longer Jorunn, but Kjalarr. It stole his thoughts for only a few seconds though for attention was redirected to the spindly, angry woman who looked like she wanted to snap his neck. She didn't really look like she could, physically. But she did look like the twitch of her ear would call down a swarm of crows that would rip him to pieces while she sat back and ...continued to glare.

"I'm sorry I came too close," Whit said slowly, feeling eyes upon him, "I can leave, and it won't happen again." Whit stole a glance at Jo - Kja.. Kjally? Lars. We'll work on it - he paused. Maybe he didn't have to go. Maybe this was fate? Destiny? Oh good lord, did he really need to start pulling this shit out of his ass to convince himself to go for it? ....apparently. "Can I stay here maybe? Instead of leaving, I mean?" He felt idiotic the moment he said it. His brother would know more than anyone else that any skills he may profess to have would just be a bunch of bullshit. Whit was useless, but he wracked his brain to come up with something anyway in the likely case the question would come up.

so sorry for the wait, i suck

caiaphas allowed her gaze to unravel from the stranger to kjalarr, the wolf she identified as saltwinter's most trusted confidant. she allowed her bitterness to abate, though there was a skepticism in her flinty gaze that remained. sullenly she observed the interaction between the two, though a somewhat bleak expression crossed her snipey muzzle as whittier exposed his intentions. if he had not been of kjalarr's blood, caiaphas would have spun him then and there -- but her softness for kjalarr hastened the ruination of her resolve. "that is up to kjalarr to decide," the she-wolf spoke from clenched teeth; "i would hope you could provide some use to us if he ruled in your favor."

It was not the time to explain to Whittier the desire to change his name to one that befit him more than Jorunn. Later, the Viking told himself. Later, he would seek to catch up with his brother — regardless of what happened here and now — now Whittier had done something to upset Caiaphas so and Kjalarr had been fortunate enough to intercept. Whittier apologized to Caiaphas, informing Kjalarr as to why Caiaphas had been so angry to begin with, the puzzle pieces falling into place in an 'ah' moment. Kjalarr hesitated, knowing that in all aspects he agreed with Caiaphas' ire. Trespassers — or wolves that he deemed to close to Saltwinter's borders — wasn't something that the Norseman tolerated himself. To tresspass was to bring death upon one's head, and to be too close was to invite aggression. This created something of a dilemma for Kjalarr who did not stand to face with a stranger but one of his brothers. Obviously, harming his brother was inherently out of the question for Kjalarr.

Whittier asked if he could stay instead of leave and to Kjalarr's immense surprise Caiaphas spoke that it was his call to make. Kjalarr stole a glance at his sea witch queen before, slowly, his eyes slid back to Whittier, sizing him up. They weren't kids anymore, and though he (and Pasha) had been in charge of looking out for Whittier when they'd been sent to track the bears (the thought of the giant beasts made Kjalarr's scarred muzzle ache with a phantom pain) he was a man now. Still soft but hefty. With the right training Kjalarr didn't doubt he could be a heavy brawler. Whittier wasn't useless and Kjalarr saw a potential in his brother — a potential he'd always seen.

Kjalarr was silent for a few moments, weighing his decision heavily. He trusted that Whittier would pull his own weight and be a contributing member of Saltwinter. “He can join us,” Kjalarr decided aloud, addressing both his brother and his queen. “but as punishment for straying too close to our borders he will run patrols with me and help me scavenge what we can for the caches.” A way for Kjalarr to catch up with him; but Kjalarr was all about hard labor and felt that putting Whittier through his paces would allow him to work off his punishment instead of actually bearing it (unless Kjalarr's "hard labor" proved to be a form of punishment?).

The female did not seem to be his biggest fan. He was torn on how he felt about that. On the one hand, she was creeping him out. She was like a spider, all thin and spindly. But there was also something that intrigued the yearling about her. Something that was confusing,exciting, and mostly disturbing. But also something he was going to ignore for now, as she'd passed the decision about his acceptance to Jorunn - Shit, Kjalarr - instead.

Whittier was tempted to feel relief at this, but was not entirely certain that this was necessarily a good thing. His brother was well aware of his limitations, having been one of the ones to compensate for his mishaps and shortcomings during the time they'd spent growing up together. Truth be told, Jo-FFFF-Kjalarr wasn't even his real brother. Whittier had never considered that to matter before, but suddenly he was beginning to worry that maybe it did. Dire times brought out odd thoughts, apparently.

The boy looked almost surprised when his brother declared him to be worthy of joining the ranks of the pack. He went on to mention punishment, and while usually Whit would have agreed that any form of actual work was indeed a form of slow torture, it didn't sound bad at all if it meant that he would have a regular place to sleep, and the constant company of familiar faces.

"Thank you," the Frostfur replied, smiling briefly until he caught sight of the spider's scowl (assuming it hadn't gone anywhere). The words of gratitude for being given the opportunity came to his mind, along with words about how he wouldn't let them down. But he deemed the latter to be likely a blatant lie, and the former unneccessary. Instead, he remained crouched until he was lead into his new home. A member he may now be, but that didn't mean he was ever about to let his guard down around the spider - a nickname that had apparently stuck. Hopefully never to actually be uttered aloud. Fuckkk what had he gotten himself into...

caiaphas' gaze swept over kjalarr as he considered his mark, answering in a pragmatic and rational form. to some perhaps the punishment was a strange one, but to caiaphas she felt the beta's verdict was fair. "an acceptable compromise." the saltwitch responded, though her cold demeanor had yet to shed. perhaps her poor mood was the direct result of the slow starvation they all faced; in any event she was quick to turn on her nimble heels and make for the grotto. the duo were welcome to accompany her, though she knew kjalarr would likely want to catch up with his relative in private.

Caiaphas seemed content with the proposal that Kjalarr had thought up and the Viking offered a sage nod, watching as the coywolf queen and began to make her departure. Kjalarr's silver and caribbean gaze followed her for a few seconds watching as she disappeared into the horizon before he turned his head back towards Whittier. For a moment, the northman was silent as he studied Whittier's familiar face. Familiar and yet also different. Aged — not unlike Kjalarr's own scarred appearance. His paws shifted slightly as he allowed the beat of silence to continue with a gesture of his muzzle for Whittier to join him within Saltwinter's borders. “That was Caiaphas, she's our Alpha,” Kjalarr made the introduction late, and though he figured it was probably unnecessary to indicate that she was the one truly in charge he did anyway. Though Kjalarr could not truly place it he held an unbidden affection for Caiaphas, part intrigue and part ...something else he did not currently have a name for. He hadn't ever allowed his thoughts to linger on the foreign emotion long enough to place words to it. “I'm her second in command.” Kjalarr informed Whittier softly, out of habit as opposed to what he thought as necessity.

“Come on, I'll give you a tour. Are you hungry? Maybe we can find something to wrangle up for you after the tour.” Kjalarr didn't hold out much hope — woodland creatures were about all the two brothers were going to find — if Whittier took Kjalarr up on the offer, that is — and for now it would have to be enough. It was funny, Kjalarr thought absently as he began to walk, gesturing simply for Whitter to follow along, but the older brother instincts Kjalarr felt some times in his twins' presence during the infrequent times they were together these days had risen up and seized him and manifested itself towards Whitter; naturally nurtured his instinct to provide ...or at least offer it. He hadn't been sure that Caiaphas would let Whittier in given whatever had transpired before Kjalarr's interruption and when his gaze slid to the Frostfur the Viking wondered if he realized how lucky he was to be apart of their ranks as opposed to food to sate their neverending hunger.

It wouldn't have been Kjalarr's first time shattering the fragile boundary line mother nature had carefully lain and fed upon the flesh of his own species, though there were certain hesitations about the idea of eating his brother and quickly Kjalarr turned his thoughts to something less macabre though a silence had fallen over them as Kjalarr led Whittier through the familiar territory of Ankyra Sound, breaking the silence only to point out any notable landmark or answer any question Whittier might have had as they went.