Stone Circle alive in quiet destruction and unmoving

cue panicking cyron. :o

in the end, cyron does not stay close to the stone circle. his paws take him towards the further reaches of the pack's territory, closer to their scent borders. he has thus deemed it unsafe to venture outside of them and yet if he does not push against the boundaries of protection they offer then they, too, will begin to feel like a prison just as the den he had once seen as a safe haven. his parents and the wolves of easthollow do not intend for it to be this way — it simply is for cyron. his perception of pack and things that had once brought him safety are mutilated and altered and he can't help but look at these things as negative. he had been a captive during the most important point in his young life: when the influences of what was happening around him would shape him, when he was the most vulnerable to the intake of information and what was happening to him. he should have been playing with his siblings and learning how to establish hierarchy and all the other things that pups were taught to do during that time of learning. instead, he was tortured and starved, kept imprisoned in a terrible and dark place. surely, his inability to see the things that keep him safe as positive ( though he knows they should be ) can be understood — or perhaps it isn't. perhaps no one would understand him and what he's suffered. it's hard to say and he's not been very forward ( at all ) about what happened during his time in captivity.

cyron's ears push forth, alert, atop his skull as the soft chuff grabs his attention. the sterling garbed saefyn turns sharply, ignoring the smart from his wound as his upper lip curls back from his sharp, pearly teeth as the fur of his nape bristles with unease. there is a stranger at the borders — large, swarthy, with blue eyes of ice. he bears no pack scent other than the faintest whiffs of blackfeather woods and this triggers panic alarms in cyron's mind. they've found him. they've followed him and now they've came to take him back again. no. never again, his body goes taunt and his posture is hostile as his fur along his spine bristles and his curled tail rises. the scent of blackfeather is very faint — hardly enough to paint this man as one of their own — but cyron knows they are manipulative, and does not put it past them to mask their scent. and it occurs to cyron vaguely that it seems unlikely blackfeather wolves would be so courteous as to chuff at the borders but in his mind, it's easier to assume and be safe then end up being sorry. shoot first, ask questions later.

"you are not welcome here blackfeather scum," cyron breaks his rule of silence towards outsiders — when he speaks he wants blackfeather to hear ( thus there is exceptions to this rule ) — "this is your only warning to leave." the sterling saefyn commands with body language as well as tone. he knows better than to show mercy to those who are the target of his future retribution but he likes to believe he is the bigger man even though it is hard to keep himself from launching at the swarthy man lingering close to easthollow's borders. there is just enough doubt lingering in the back of his mind to still his instincts all screaming to attack, to defend himself without first being sure.