Ravensblood Forest your life's a dimestore novel

@Constantine

After being discovered in the hollow by none other than a Moonspear wolf, Screech had lost his nerve. It didn't take much, and it sent him on a collision course with the adjacent river. He'd managed to find a shallow portion (or something close to it, but his fear did most of the work to cross the ice-strewn river regardless), and then made a bee-line north until he couldn't breath without smelling salt upon the wind. He was delirious; every little sound sent him on a mental spasm of anxiety and propelled him to keep going.

Just keep going, don't stop, or they'll get you.

He looked the part of a zombie (or more accurately a white walker) as he pulled his sore feet through the snow. When the landscape began to ascend into a rockier terrain he knew he was royally screwed, but he had to fight through it - and by the time he'd mastered the ridge, he'd found a new dawn breaking. The boy took a moment to find a secluded spot to relieve himself and then considered settling down for a nap, but with a shift to the wind he detected a layered wolf scent all around him.

Screech had unknowingly crossed close to the borders of another pack (Morningside). The thought of asking for help never crossed his mind; he merely picked up and ran, again, straight along a creek's path until he was following a narrow corridor of ice, and all around him there was the inviting shelter of a treeline. He collapsed in an exhausted heap not too long after that, a sorry sight indeed.

Raptor did not care for trees. He was a creature of rock and wave, of sand and beachgrass, of open skies and... you get the drift. But the pirate had but one true master: his stomach. His seemingly bottomless stomach. It lured him away from the river that ran to the sea. It drew him inland. He followed the faint scent of blood into the dark of the timber with ears flicked back on his skull in annoyance.

"Rarrgh!" He exclaimed (and kinda growled) when he had last had traced the scent of blood to where another wolf lay bleeding and maybe even dying. His hopes that the blood belonged to something other than the wolf — something he could steal — were shattered right there. "Ye gonna be dead soon, bucko?" He called to the wolf. "Hungry 'ere, and ain't got all day." Raptor grumped as he sat back on his ass and scowled.

Whether Raptor would eat another wolf was up for debate.

He was down for a solid thirty minutes before something came crawling out of nowhere after him, and the voice that accompanied the body roused him from whatever half-dead stupor he'd landed himself in. The snow crunched as he rolled on to his back, then his side, and the boy winced as his ruined cheek connected with the biting cold; but that wasn't what made him flail to his feet.

The stranger was looming too close for comfort, and what he'd said - about eating him - was horrifying. Screech got up with a lurch, but he stumbled and staggered, collapsing like a wounded deer all over again. That was almost an answer, really. Within a few minutes he was grunting and trying again but he was so sapped of energy that there was nothing he could do; he just sat there panting, frustrated and afraid, trying to get a good look at the stranger with the eye he had left.

The stranger came alive all at once. He rolled over and that's when Raptor's eyes stuck to the empty socket where the other wolf should have had an eye. His gawking stare persisted even as the gray male fumbled around trying to gather his feet... only to fail and collapse into another heap.

"Lard tunderin', lad, turn around! If I had a face like that I'd walk backwards!" Raptor guffawed as he slapped a paw on the ground. "Who did that to ye, eh? Whose left nut did ye bite to deserve it?" He leaned forward, letting himself get a good old look at the damage. It was impressive.

Since he couldn't maneuver on his feet, Screech twisted on his belly instead. The more the stranger spoke the less inclined he was to believe it was an enemy but he couldn't be certain; in an effort to keep them away, he twisted and snapped his teeth at the open air, warning the wolf to stay back as best he could. 

Had Screech been paying attention to the words coming from the stranger's mouth, he'd probably have responded with a hearty eye-roll; answering that question was swiftly becoming a tedious ice-breaker (not to mention a painful trip down post-traumatic-stress-lane). The only answer he gave was the baring of his fangs and a hoarse (pathetic) groan he wished sounded more like an intimidating growl.

Thanks for letting me invade for a few posts! I'll leave poor Tit to Constantine's care now hahaha.

Raptor met the threats and groaning growls with a hissy pfft and a sly of his eyes, fashioning his face into an insufferable smirk. For added affect he leaned even closer, daring the fellow to take a few more pointless snaps at him as he talked real low.

"What are ye gonna do, eh? If ye manages to stay alive for a while you might 'ave a face that can frighten and scare but right now..." Raptor sniggered. "Half-dead and half-blind? Nothin' ye can do lad. Nothin' at all. Not even a rat would be bothered by the likes of you."

Leaning back, the dark wolf stuck his tongue out in mocking — it was a long one too, as if he was simply born to be an insulting prick. "Good luck to ye. But if it's bad luck that's waitin' fer ye, well..." Raptor turned away, finishing his sentence as he sauntered back toward the sea.

"...I'll be back when the crows circle overhead."

When the stranger began to run his mouth, Screech quieted. He listened aptly but was tense, ready to strike out if they chose to give in to temptation and do something to him. The insults slid off of him like they were mist, and he had his good eye trained upon the stranger up until the retreat.

...I'll be back when the crows circle overhead. Promised the masked man as he fled. When he was gone, Screech couldn't relax in the slightest; he felt his gut roll and thought he might be sick, but there was nothing inside of him ready to come out. He lay there while a stillness settled all around but he was anything but still - looking around from where the stranger departed to the terrain in every direction, trying to ascertain if this was a safe place for him to rest.

Not that he had a choice.

The scent of blood was impossible to miss – the shadowrunner paused in his duty of the forest, considering the abruptness of the strong smell, and a flicker of concern swept through him for his other companions. He hoped it was none of them – and certainly not Durnehviir.
 
His pace quickened then, but it was not a familiar form that met him when he came upon the other wolf. He was youthful – the grey of his fur clinging to him in a clear indication of being unkempt – and the blood upon him was hard to miss – the tear of his face, and more importantly, the missing eye.
 
Constantine considered this for a moment, having not expected to come upon such a ghastly sight, and feeling a drifting guilt at the realization he was also relieved that it was not Durnehviir or Samothes he had discovered harmed. “Can you walk?” There was only a few options that he had – chase the boy away and give him no more thought, kill him, for death would surely come for him if he remained alone anyhow, or try to help him. The wraith chose the latter, despite that they no longer had any healers within their small band.

I hope you don't mind Durnehviir hanging about, feel free to skip me.

She followed Constantine at a distance, with every intention of sneaking up on him when the opportunity presented itself. Head low and ears back, she maintained a smooth pace through the forest - weaving through the darkness between the dense evergreens, a silent huntress.

When the scent of fresh blood flooded her nostrils, however, Durnehviir's feathery ginger ears lifted and pressed forward. She stopped briefly to inhale the rich, metallic aroma, and twitched her nose curiously. It would not be Constantine who'd been injured; the russet Frostfur was far enough away from him to remain out of sight, but he would have remained within earshot. Instead, she'd found the woods to be eerily silent.

Resuming her stride, Durnehviir loped onto the scene to find her dark companion and the bloodied, broken body of a young male. Sidling up alongside Constantine and brushing her flank reassuringly against his, her pale eyes lingered on the beaten boy for a silent moment before she lifted her gaze to seek those of the Ravensblood leader. To him, she furrowed her brow in concern, her eyes pleading; we have to help him.

There was no way to quantify the time spent laying there once he was alone. There was a bird calling overhead—a hawk or something, likely scouring the area for napping songbirds—and a while after those calls died, he coud hear a flurry of activity (like the beating of wings) as a pair of ravens landed a few meters away. They might've been watching everything from afar but, seeing as Screech was still alive, they waited patiently.

He might've drifted to sleep at some point too, but when that flurry caught in his ears again and the scent of wolf surrounded him, Screech was suddenly alert and afraid. He startled when he heard a voice and turned to counter it with a set of bared fangs, thinking it was the masked man from before—but no, this was someone else. Two someones.

The question posed finally registered in his mind and Screech sighed, relaxing his face. Without answering with words he tried to lift himself to his feet and staggered, but did not fall. He glanced from one wolf to the next, licked his lips and said, you aren't gonna eat me too, are you?

That might've been a joke had he not looked so utterly pathetic.

His fiery companion brushed against him, drawing his attention from the battered youth that was defeated before him. Her eyes were pleading to him – champagne and gentle in nature, and his brows furrowed lightly. She seemed to trust the silver wolf, without knowing his story, and the regal felt his own apprehension at such a possibility. He dismissed the flash of fangs as mere retaliation to whatever force had put him in this situation.
 
At the stranger’s question, Constantine drew his bright eyes back, his own voice rumbling with an edge of distrust. “Not today,” he returned, blinking before forcing himself to relax. “We’re a small group looking to claim this forest as our own. You’re welcome to stay, drink, eat and rest until you’re feeling better. Depending on what happened to you and why you lost your eye, we will invite you to stay and build this pack with us.” He paused then, studying the boy, any bemusement upon his features fading with protective concern for the she-wolf at his side. “But if you’ve done something malicious to earn that injury, I’ll have to rethink my answer to your question.”

Totally missed that I could skip Durnehviir; probably able to archive this now!

The answer was swift, and then the dark wolf went on to explain his own situation. Screech was exhausted but he did his best to follow along, somewhat amped-up by his own adrenaline. That might've been all that kept him lucid at this point. The offer was a good one — and he would be an actual idiot to pass up the chance to mend somewhere safe. Although he couldn't be sure of either of these wolves (just as they were skeptical of him), the choice was an easy one.

But when he opened his mouth to agree, Constantine cut him off in order to warn him. The boy's ears fanned about his head for a split-second; he didn't have the energy to argue nor the heart to explain his injury. So he just nodded and murmured, Didn't deserve this, didn't do nothin', and then he was quiet for a bit as he gathered his energy. When the boy stood up he staggered and was swiftly aided by the ginger woman, and together the trio headed for the shelter of the forest together.