Ravensblood Forest blood flutes

for @Arturo & @Olive <3

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he followed meekly behind the woman with the feathered ruff, lengthening the stride of his thin legs to match her own. he had pondered for some time what this pack could mean for him, outside of safety and the prolongment of a life he did not want to lead. when the borders rose, fragranced with wolf-scent, armand slowed his stride, apprehension fluttering in the cage of his breast, and here he paused to draw strength from olive's presence and request silently to know what he must next do.[/tr][/td][/table]

That familiar, sticky sapling sight. The thickset waists of reaching timber, barring the forest like a most welcomed prison. The low winter light that prostrated through the many-colored canopy, falling [dimmed and weakened] to the leaf litter below. Ravensblood Forest was not necessarily what one might call a ‘happy’ or ‘beautiful’ milieu, but Olive cherished it immensely more for it. The wooded outcrop that flanked the Sunspire was heavy with sage wisdom and sonorous tidings — all valued assets to a woman such as Olive.  The druid gave unto the the forest devotion and liturgy, and the forest gave unto her fleeting glimpses of the world’s collective conscious. 

The smoky seraph’s adulation of the place was quite obvious to the nose; as her spiced scent rode atop the notes of Teaghlaigh’s borders, despite her absence.  The wayfarers slowed their gate to a halt, though Olive had been absent-mindedly tempted to stride right over through the boundary and return to her stony grotto. Sidling up against Armand, Olive quelled the mechanized howl that bubbled beneath her ashen collar [a howl to alert the family of her return]. No, this time her message to the family must contain something else entirely!

She craned her neck to look at Armand, wondering how he was feeling right then. During there travels, there were many times that she believe he would abscond away and she would wake one morning in an empty camp. Though they had spent many hours together, these types of questions still remained — along with others, such as “will his depraved past follow him here?” and “will he remain past winter?” Olive wasn’t even totally certain Arturo would accept a temporary member [that entertained no hopes of joining the family], if that were even the case.

Prodding Armand’s shoulder with her own, Olive lifted her lips to the sky and called to her family.

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Olive's call sounded through the towering, bleeding sequoias to the gangster whose ears perked with unbidden curiosity. The origins of her howl came from the borders and though he was weary his trust in Olive drew him along the quickest path to her. The last time she had called for him it had been to induct Dakarai as a Comhlach. Arturo wasn't yet sure how he felt about Dakarai but he admired the dark man's honesty, at the very least. Though her call had not sounded urgent, there was a increase to the gangster's heartbeat as he approached, wondering if she had been accosted by Furiosa's murdered. The stranger who was still at large. Arturo did not sleep well at night, unsettled by it. Since finding her corpse there had been no more corpses, no unfamiliar scents trailing into Teaghlaigh's claimed lands. As suspicious as the Ceannasach could be at times he did not find comfort in this. The patrols remained vigilant and his wolves on high alert, and advised, if it could be avoided, to not leave the borders. Keeping this leash on Chusi was much easier (or so he thought anyway) then it was the adult members of the Family but then again not one of them struck him as restless and reckless as his daughter.

His pace slowed as he approached the pair, fiery red-orange gaze finding Olive first before it slid, burning to the strange male who stood beside her. Another lover? A friend? A family member? Not murderer, and if he was Arturo doubted Olive was aware of it, but the scent did not strike the coywolf as familiar. “Olive,” Arturo encouraged her to explain who this was and why she had brought him here — especially at such a tense time when Arturo would find himself hard pressed to let strangers so close to his beloved Family. He did not speak the words, but they were implied heavily in the deep, accented, smoky timbre of his voice. For now, he would listen. Only after they had offered him an explanation and purpose would he judge.

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Skipping with permission! perhaps @Armand picks up the next post?

Arturo metamorphosed in the treeline, a smoky spectre before their very eyes. Ceannasach held a commanding presence; this was a characteristic of his that only strengthened in their bereavement of the red herring. [It felt as thought Furiosa too held a stronger presence, though Olive felt her this more keenly now, posthumously, than when she was Teaghlaigh’s acting officer.] His embered gaze simmered on her before jumping to Armand, then to her again. The ashen sylph rounded her chest and neck towards the ground in a delicate bow, stretching one creamy limb out in front of her and curling the other against her ribcage. At Arturo’s behest, Olive made the introductions. 

“This is Armand,” her lilt was soft and unassuming. “I was…wandering, and we met each other south of here. In the Flatlands.” Arturo knew she was a vagabond and seemed to support her wayfarer-isms, but this jaunt had been ill-timed, as the entire family was on edge and didn’t desire the fated comings-and-goings of its members. “He’s a good man. He seeks a family…” Olive let her voice evaporate, unsure how much of Armand’s story she, herself, wanted to divulge. It was decided that she would give Armand the chance to recount for himself, as hers would be an ever-poor rendition of Armand’s poetic sadness.  Only if he resisted would Olive share his unsavory situation; and she would only do this in the name of complete transparency with Ceannasach. Arturo often saw things in others' words that she did not, and they were safer for it. If Armand’s brutal past put them in any sort of danger, the woman trusted him to root it out. 

Olive turned to @Armand and gestured toward him with a flick of her velvet chin, encouraging him to pick up where she left off.

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the beauty of the forest was not lost upon armand, who focused on the cold and eldritch light filtering between the boles. it was an affable place, the boy decided, and he could not afford to be discriminate, he who had only recently come up from shivering between iced-over rocks in the winter evenings. and so he stood alongside olive, and dipped his head to the man who appeared with confident grace, eyes the color of molten rock. 
the boy's chestnut eyes met those of his feminine companion as she looked to him — he must now speak, make his case before the wolf who guarded this woodland. and so the slight boy straightened his shoulders. "i am a tormented man who seeks a new life. i have seen much, and it is a life i do not wish to live. olive has been my confidant; it was she who drew me from despair and brought me to this place."
briefly, for a tense moment, armand met the fiery eyes of the man and swept the planes of his handsome face with a silent gaze, before he pointed his muzzle downward once more. "i will do whatever you ask -- or desire -- if i may live among you."[/tr][/td][/table]

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Olive made the introductions calling the stranger beside her Armand, and Arturo drew his tongue across the inside of his teeth as she explained how she had came across him. The story was simple: she’d been wandering, struck up a conversation and had decided to bring the stranger home. The gangster had to bite back the soft, ironic laugh that threatened to escape him. She reminded him of a small child, innocent in the ways of the world, bringing home everyone she could find with faith so easily and explicably placed in them within the span of a single conversation. In this way, the Ceannasach felt all the more protective over Olive despite that she was a woman full grown. She was an intelligent woman, more spiritual than Arturo would ever be (again he was struck again by the knowledge that his mother would absolutely adore her) but she appeared to trust easily. Arturo was not blessed with that ability, either. His trust was hard earned. For good reason, the gangster honestly believed. Betrayal of trust, of him, of the Family would always equal death in his eyes. The price of his trust was a hefty one and once it was broken there was no mending it. There was a balance: a precarious one but a balance nonetheless.

Arturo trusted Olive. It was those outside the Family (excluding Skellige and his wolves, and of course his gangster queen Lotte) that Arturo did not trust. Olive vouched so readily for him, claiming before him that this Armand was a “good man”. Olive was a highly intuitive being, where as Arturo had to work to decipher others. He treated them like a puzzle: gleaming information from them and putting it together like a puzzle. His was not an intuition of sense but one of the mind; and it was no secret that the gangster enjoyed mind games (perhaps that was where Riptide had gotten it from). “Olive is a gift.” Arturo told the stranger sincerely, his fiery red-orange gaze settling upon the male then, assessing him carefully. For all intents and purposes he appeared, to the gangster, to be speaking with honesty. He hadn’t needed to admit he was “tormented” but he had and why would one make that up? There was no reason that Arturo could fathom but the mention of “tormented” caused a quicken of Arturo’s heart beat. He, too, had been tormented once. Riptide had been a parasite: Arturo’s own torment, his punishment for attempting to scale the Keep when he was no mountain beast. So what was Armand’s torment? It caused Arturo’s muscles to stiffen, a glint of distrust in the gangster’s eyes. “And what torment is that?” Arturo inquired, not sure that he expected an answer.

“Teaghlaigh is a Family, first and foremost. We are extremely tight knit and territorial. Given that, those who first join our ranks are not actually apart of the Family. They are given a…transitional rank, a place holder until they earn their official rank and place among us or they are chased out—” Put bluntly. Arturo saw no point in lingering if one had no intention to actually join the ranks of the Family. It was senseless and there were other packs that would be more willing to accept them. “You can think of the Comhlach rank as an associate of the Family. There are two laws that Teaghlaigh is expected to obey and enforce: The Ceannasach’s word is law and The Family before everything else.” Arturo had already demonstrated his willingness to disown and otherwise disassociate himself and Teaghlaigh with anyone who could not conform to those laws. “To betray the family means death.” Betrayal was not anything Arturo would ever take lightly, but that applied more to those who had earned their place among the Family then the Comhlach’s as there wasn’t much for them to betray Teaghlaigh with (if anything at all). Without his red herring he was uncertain who to take her place temporarily and thus found himself settling for the vague.

“Knowing that, if your want to join us remains, your time as a Comhlach will not be easy. If you accept, you will be required to meet the members of The Family, associate with them. And you will be assigned a task to complete and report back to me.” Arturo gave pause, salmon pink tongue drawing across his lips for a moment, glimpsing at Olive from the corner of his eye. Providing the terms were accepted the gangster would continue on with the important question: “What skills can you bring to Teaghlaigh? What strength can you add to our Family?” As it would determine the nature of the task assigned, should Armand accept.

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The exchange between Armand and Arturo commenced and began with compliments, to Olive’s muted flattery. A gift, a confidant? Olive believed those to be misnomers, though she appreciated the men’s faith in her. The woman simply did the job that the universe put before her and equipped her to do: the calling to assuage suffering and crusade for peace. This was one of the reasons she had felt Furiosa’s death so keenly — it was an affront to her very soul, reminding her of the all the work she had yet to do in the world. Olive acknowledged their kindnesses with a wisp of a smile upon her lips, as much as she could afford the [albeit tense] situation. The feathered woman gathered herself and stood with poise, hoping to match their descriptors.

The gilded boy stated his case, believing himself to be tormented and despaired. Olive’s peridot-enameled gaze fell downcast as he said the mention, ears slicking back against her skull in distaste at the memory of her and Armand’s meeting. Sullen and hopeless, writhing upon the ground was he — mental and emotional pain was akin to physical pain, the torture of which was as real as a splintered bone. But Olive was proud of Armand, of how he wished for a new lease on life [rather than the simple release of death]. That’s what Teaghlaigh had given her; and with any hope, that’s what Teaghlaigh would give Armand as well. Olive lifted her head as the masked coywolf overtook the conversation, not immediately denying Armand's request. At this Olive felt happy, for she had a resolute tendency to bring home all sort of bleeding and broken things, and she truly was usure of how Arturo felt about it. 

Arturo began to explain the lawfulness that the family and its associates abided by, the foremost being faith in the family and that of Ceannasach’s words. These charters were some that Olive knew well. She mentally rehearsed them as she traveled the borders and marked their territory. During her travels she would verbally loose them from her dark lips, practicing and appreciating how the words sounded amongst the silence of the universe. For too long Olive believed the only certainty in life was death, but the laws of Teaghlaigh helped her place this belief in something immensely more profound.

This was not her place to speak; not yet. Olive placed the weight of her slender body into her shoulders and front legs, leaning forward and towards Armand in interest and intrigue. If he were to flee, it would likely be at this moment, when the responsibilities of family were place upon his weakened haunches. She would help him [as she helped Howl and, of course, Dakarai] but first, the terms needed acceptance.

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armand's ears quivered as the man inquired into his manner of torment. he was unsure of how to answer — what was it this man wished to know? "it is of my own making; in my mind," the boy decided to offer, gently insistent in the hope that the leader of the beauteous woodlands would give him leave to speak no more upon himself. armand fought the urge to shift with the chaos of his churning nerves; he visualized that he too was a sapling that gave down his roots into the earth and held him fast. olive remained at his side, and for this was the child grateful as the eternity of the man's pressuring eyes began to drag the sphere of armand's tolerance into the ground.
the leader spoke old words in a tongue that the boy did not readily recognize. overall was the intention of family, and that armand uphold the ideals of wolves he did not know. he would not be readily welcomed into the fold and coddled; rather, he would be held outside the fringe of this family and given tasks to complete. the boy's face had become impassive during the directed ramble of the leader; his features were marked with a cool neutrality, and he nodded often, to convey he heard and understood.
when at long last the question was put to him, armand lifted his eyes to the smouldering gaze of the great man. "i have many skills, signor, but ... several of them are not fit for your uses. i am fleet and cunning. use me how you will." it was outside of the child's desire to lie to this man, to give voice to abilities he did not have. armand knew himself to be intelligent and fast of foot; thus it was the leader's right to utilize armand at his leisure.
when he had fallen silent, the boy suddenly realized that neither olive nor this man before him had given a name to the handsome, cold face who directed him so.[/tr][/td][/table]

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Olive was quiet, which gave Armand the chance to speak for himself and before the Ceannasach this was the best thing. Olive could only vouch for Armand so far, and eventually, it would fall upon him to make the decision on what to do. A lot of Teaghlaigh’s joining process relied heavily upon the Comhlachs and less on the Ceannasach; then again he did not deign to do their work for them, nor make it easy on them. Joining the Family in full was no joke and Arturo had to be sure that they could carry the burden, that they understood the consequences if they betrayed it. The initiation that he put all Comhlach’s through would either prove they could and were willing to shoulder the burden, to join the Family or it would break them and they would seek asylum elsewhere. In the end, it would always be their choice, their decision. He was simply a guiding or an enforcing figure to them, and that also depended upon the Comhlachs. Armand spoke that it was torment of his mind and would Arturo not have mastered his poker face years ago he might have blanched. He knew the torments of the mind all too well. It was a familiar and unwelcome presence and though it was a vague answer Arturo, should Armand accept the role of Comhlach would deign to keep an eye upon him.

When Armand spoke his skills a terse pull of the melanistic coy wolf’s lips were given. “How do you figure that? I am an efficient man, Armand,” A ghost of a smirk then tugged upon the gangster’s lips. “I find all skills useful.” And he certainly welcomed them. Especially one that claimed to be fleet of foot and cunning. Both he could appreciate. Yet…how to assign him a task. It sounded like he might be well fitted for a spy, and idly Arturo wondered if Armand was like his mummer queen who adopted many masks and many personalities. Out of faith and trust Arturo did not deign to spy upon his allies, and Teaghlaigh did not particularly have enemies. It was not something he was in any rush to change, presently. It was unavoidable, certainly. He would have to be clever about it, he realized, knowing that he could not send Armand on a run of the mill errand.

“Pick a pack inland, away from the coast. Discreetly gleam what information you can about them and report back to me what you have learned.” Information was power, after all, and this task was intended to cater to Armand’s claimed cunning, wondering if he could charm as well. “I expect to hear of your progress soon, Comhlach.” The gangster replied with a wisp of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was only after he had finished speaking that it occurred to Arturo that he had yet to offer the other his name. “By the way," The gangster drew in a soft breath. "I am Arturo. Arturo Fearghal.” Though for the purpose of remaining somewhat anonymous he did not include his rank. He was missing his red herring but that did not mean he would not act like he didn’t still have one. The protocol was in place for a reason and the inner workings and rankings of the Family were not known to the Comhlachs.

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Olive was always amazed at the speed which business could get done. When all parties involved were keen on efficiency, decisions could be made rather quickly. These types of transactions were something entirely new to Olive; her entire life had been composed of whims and emotions, letting her incorporeality guide her movements across the earth’s crust. There was little room left in her mind for plans, deals and strategy. Arturo was a no-frills kind of man, whereas Olive was composed almost entirely of frills… but that was exactly what made Arturo a good leader, their Ceannasach. Arturo’s business acumen and intuition was fascinating to the woman and she admired his shrewdness of character. 

Of course, the decision to accept a new Comlach lay with Arturo, but the rest of the decision lay with Armand. Simply meeting the leadership and gaining acceptance was one thing [an easy decision for Ceannasach to make after a few probing questions], but to be indoctrinated into the family was another entirely. It took more than just a passing whim to become a part of Teaghlaigh, it took skill and conviction. The femme knew this to be different than the other packs that made domicile along the coast and inlands, and that fact made Olive proud. In this way, she were surrounded by individuals with dedication and conviction. The return on investment, in Olive’s eyes, was great. 

The sylph listened to the words fly between Armand and Arturo, taking mental notes on how she might be able to leverage these questions in the future. She appeared to have done well with Dakarai and Armand, but [if she were going to bring home all manner of broken things] it would serve her well to correctly vet them before bringing Arturo into it.

The sentence was passed and the assignment was delegated, to Olive’s glee. When Arturo introduced himself, the woman did nothing to hide her excitement. A grin pulled the corners of her mouth upwards and she beamed towards the boy at her side. Olive allowed Armand a moment to respond before bumping him gently on the shoulder with her own and softly saying to him “See? When things go wrong, they serve to guide us in the right direction.”

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it was armand's turn to give a small smile — the skills of which he spoke were singular in nature and largely carnal. he was true in his assessment that they would be of no use to the man, unless of course he was commanded to ply his trade along the coastline in return for information. the idea both abhorred and titillated the boy, though he kept silent upon that front, turning instead the volume of his fascinated eyes upon the man as the leader continued to speak. perhaps his wide-eyed agreement would silence the wolf upon that front, though armand already knew the creature before him would not easily be deterred. and the boy's mind also whispered that he had brought to himself the attention of this man, and not necessarily in a manner that the catamite would find useful.
he was assigned a task — he gave a nod. locating a pack and going out again into the snow to glean information for this arturo, as he was called, seemed effortless enough. and perhaps it would be, given the nature of the packs roundabout teaghlaigh. there was again the card arturo had called into question, the ace in armand's hand, as it were, and one he would not hesitate to play again, as he had done with castiel.
"arturo," armand murmured, and his eyes lifted to the quiet fire of his leader's gaze with an admiring light glinting in their depths. as soon as their gazes had met, however, the child dropped his stare to the earth and let himself be buffeted by olive's cloying display of optimistic sentiment. armand reached to touch her shoulder with a lingering gratitude, then straightened with another nod. "i shall go off tomorrow."[/tr][/td][/table]