Ravensblood Forest the blood and the crow

The red sap glistened on the trees as the morning light broke through the trees. The leaves would soon turn color to match the bleeding forest, and he welcomed the crispness in the air with a surge of confidence to succeed. Last year, he and @Aria had failed to start a pack of their own – in truth, he had been so worried over his sisters, his heart had only been partway within it.. But now, with nothing to lose, the wraith was only more determined to endure – to thrive. Casmir was long gone, as was Eilidh. Deirdre and Emaleth were dead – he could come to no other conclusion from the fire and devastation that had savaged Donnelaith. As the sole Mayfair that remained within Teekon Wilds, he held a new determination to see his father and mother’s legacy continue – for Deirdre, as well, his little right handed sparrow.
 
He did not turn his fiery eyes to look to the redwoods of the fallen Donnelaith – his heart could not take it each time he did. Instead, the wolf prowled what would become pack borders, if he could gain enough followers, and pushing his thick form upward, the shadowrunner scored the bleeding tree with his claw marks – leaving the scent of his paw pads upon it – staking his purpose here.

The forest bleeds, unassisted by his own fangs. It is a beautiful sight in the macabre perspective of the strigoi, though he knows that he cannot take from it. He drinks in the sight nonetheless, appreciating the crimson beads of sap on the bark of the trees as he passes through in search of refuge from the sun's rays as it trickles through the canopy.

It is early autumn, so he can see the breath as it exits his nostrils. He huffed in response to the sight of a dark wolf marking a tree with his claws. It was an action with a clear motive; claiming. He approaches cautiously, making his movements obvious and loud before speaking. Is this place yours then? He queries the younger wolf, leaving his stance neutral.

The wind drifted to him with the scent of the other, but it was the voice that drew his attention before he had chance to explore further. His muzzle canted back to regard the approacher, and pushing from the tree to firmly place four paws upon the ground once more, his own form stiffened as he regarded the other. The stance of the stranger was neutral – the question innocent enough, and shaking his fur to rid any tension he felt, the Mayfair kept his own features unreadable, his tail drifting languidly through the autumn air. “I intend for it to be,” he answered, his deep rumble kept lower. “Constantine Mayfair,” he introduced, deciding to skip unnecessary conversation.

His approach was unwelcomed, it seemed. The true marker of a claimant. The young man's body was tense at first, but after a brief moment of observing the strigoi, he relaxed. Athan kept his gaze level, though now the man was facing him, he allowed himself a brief glance over. The man was stocky, caped in black with fires burning in his eyesockets. And he was alone. The last fact struck him as odd; why make claims with only one wolf? Surely he had others, followers perhaps to help bolster the claim he made; why else mark the tree so assuredly.

His name was Constantine. Athan nodded to him and offered his name in return. Athanasius Moroii, It felt like it had been so long since he had properly introduced himself. The situation seemed right, not fitting the casualness of simply "Athanasius" or just "Athan". Is this a place for the winter, or something more? It was hard to tell at this time of the year. Many winter packs, the pragmatic sort at least, formed at around this time to prepare for the coming winter, establishing a hold and fattening up, holding out until the thaw came. He would not mind joining a group of that kind, at least not at first. He was still confident in his own abilities to hunt for himself (and just himself, this winter), too much so to truly consider joining any pack, let alone this young man's.

The other wolf studied him just as intently – the wraith was not bothered by it, and instead, offered a light nod to the offer of a name. The question was brought about, and the shadow runner did not hesitate in his response. “Something more – something permanent,” he rumbled, allowing no doubt to creep to his tone. Permanent seemed a joke these days – his birth pack was long gone, and Donnelaith burnt to the ground. Anything he would have held as constant in his life was now gone. The knowledge of it was enough to encourage him to succeed in his endeavour – to build a legacy within this forest and thrive – a pack of rounded skilled wolves that stuck to the law of the hierarchy and wolf.
 
“We seek wolves of varying skills and strengths.” He left it at that – the dark male before him was either passing through, or he would be interested to know more.

shitpost mesorry

Permanent. He wasn't sure what that ment to him. Any promise of permanence had never faired well for him. It certainly didn't for those who created these promises. But he could take a risk, couldn't he? Experience something different and new? Perhaps this would be different than Bane's failed venture. But so far there was no evidence of such. He furrowed his brow in contemplation, looking at the boy for a moment before looking away. He hums in thought, considering the idea before speaking. I am a hunter mostly — a tracker, Though he hunted very different prey than most wolves.

“Good,” he rumbled in return, his eyes carefully studying the pale wolf before him as he took note of his skills. It was not a request to join the ranks of the forest – but Constantine also was not looking for instant promises of loyalty. “Stay in the forest – see if it is something you wish to call home,” he offered then, believing it better to prove himself to his potential followers for now simply than to collect names and bodies to boost his potential ranks. And in turn, to get to know them better as well – Drogon was a clear example of one whom he desired to keep closer watch on – though the boy’s scent had begun to fade.
 
“Where are you from?” It was less of a question to interview and more of an entry to casual conversation.

And just like that, he was in the pack. Or at least, what was to become a pack. He had yet to see what would become of this budging group, but he supposes that he will stay for the meantime, to see what they would be. He wants to simply accept it and slink away, but he is stopped by another question.

It has been a while since someone had asked him of his origin. Though, this had been one of the longest conversation he had been in in a long while. He isn't sure how to respond. Somewhere far away. I doubt the pack still exists, But, he supposes, that they are still lingering there, wrapped in the ways of their pathetic god. It makes no matter to him. He is here now, though. He looks to his new superior, mutely asking him if he could go now.

The other did not give him much to go on – and it did not inspire confidence as to whether he would remain a good fit for the pack Constantine wished to build within the forest. He withheld judgement for now, but his eyes lingered over the other with a flash of hesitation and suspicion – but nothing he voiced. “We’ll leave it at that,” he rumbled, not too keen himself to discuss his past.
 
Without any questions coming from his newest recruit, the shadow runner gave a small nod and shrug – nodding toward the direction of the forest. “I’ll see you around if you choose to stay,” he offered then, taking the hint that his companion wished to end the conversation. For now, the benefit of the doubt was given from either man, and pausing only to wait if Athanasius had anything else to say, Constantine began to edge away to continue with his day before finally loping off.