Ankyra Sound redemption is a thing with wings

ocelot travels down the coast, stifling the guilt that subtly gnaws at her. she knows she should not have snuck away from the guard. yet, she justifies it to herself with the continued thought that while she appreciates her mother's worry and understands their duty and allegiance to the reigning queen and her uttered command in regard to keeping ocelot safe ( which was a much kinder way of saying babysitting ) ocelot knows that she will never be able to gain 'worldly knowledge' if she does not break free of the guard. they would never allow herself to join a pack, to experience what it is like to adapt to a culture different from their own, to engage in the world beyond their protection and that, in her mind, wasn't experiencing anything. so, ocelot does what she must though she knows it is at a cost — a cost that she would not allow them to bear the consequences of should they return home before catching up to her.

for now, she tucks these thoughts away to mull at later as the scent of a pack — having grown gradually stronger the closer her path took her to the sound — causing her to consider. she had given a wide berth to the pack on the cliffs and is surprised to find a pack in the territory next door but their circumstances are unknown to her and it is here that she gives pause to consider. she is not close to their borders, the distance between there the ground is saturated with their mingled scents is more than an amicable distance from her. she has two options as she sees it: she can keep going, continue to give this pack a wide berth as she had done the one directly before and keep avoiding the very reason she'd snuck away from the guard in the first place or she can commit herself to her mission; for if she was going to keep skirting around actually taking that proverbial leap she might as well have remained with her guard.

she does not close the distance, preferring to respect the space of their borders because she knows that some wolves are more territorial than others and it's always better to assume that they are territorial than take the chance. with her decision made, a shiver of fear and excitement rushes down her spine as she tips her head back and announces her presence with a howl.

Nary a hint of wind stirred the coastline as Wylla picked her way up the narrow path to the woods above, tail swaying and eyes half-lidded from sleep. A thick fog curled between the towering sequoias, shrouding the fleet-footed Alpha as she slunk between them. Already, ice was beginning to gather on their ragged trunks. By midday the entire forest was sure to be cast in shades of white and grey rather than wooden red. Wylla paid it little attention; she was stuck somewhere in her own mind, daydreaming about being able to sleep in, when she didn't have rEtHpOnThIbIlItIeTh.

Like she did right that second, when a howl split the otherwise tranquil quiet of the woods. Heaving a heavy sigh and wishing she could just go back to bed instead of paying attention to outsiders, the little leader turned on her heels and struck for the borderlands. Things were simpler when she was a loner. She didn't have to answer the door for strangers, or pretend to give a crap about their lives, or try to act like she knew or cared what was going on when really, she just wanted things handed to her.

When she finally found the outsider, she gave her a quick once-over—much taller than her, golden eyes that were more yellow than hers, dark like her but splashed with richer hues along the lines of her belly—and then said, without any sort of regality whatsoever, "yeah, whadda you want?"

ingram just here 2 halp. feel free to skip at any point if you need.

since his reunion with wylla, ingram had finally felt the pieces were complete. his life was no longer fractured -- at least not irreperably-- and since grimnismal's inception he combed the beach and the sound often. he had not been too far from wylla when he heard a howl pierce the sound of the surf -- he watched her for a moment curiously as she sighed and swung quick on her heels towards the noise.

ingram loped a distance behind, and met wylla and the stranger in a place where the monolith boughs spanned out and snow dripped softly from their eaves. he stopped behind wylla and gave her a gentle nudge, apprising the stranger with a curious gaze. she was not a wolf he recognized, and her pelage boasted a subtle undertow of cardinal he had seen only in birds. he was not here to speak -- only to offer support -- and he licked his lips and pulled an ear back as he awaited the stranger's explanation.

ocelot is not left to wait long as a woman appears on the borders, materializing from the dark boughed sequoias. the greeting surprises ocelot with it's lack of formality but even as she is taken aback she is quick to hide it. new experiences, she reminds herself firmly. she offers a dip of her head and a flutter of her ears back against her skull in submission to the woman as the male joins the scene with a nudge to the woman. it feels a bit strange to jump just to 'i may be seeking to join' when she knows nothing of the wolves or pack itself but to drill for information would also moot her mission — idly ocelot can't help but wonder how wolves did this; just upped and joined a new pack with a flick of their tail. "i was wondering if you had room for a potential new addition to your pack." ocelot has no issue with being upfront about what she wants but she can't speak with the casualness in which she was addressed. it makes her feel posh and not necessarily in a good way.

Ingram's presence at her side was welcome; she turned her thin muzzle to watch his approach and smiled warmly. Her brother was perhaps the only individual she was truly warm toward. Even Lycaon hadn't earned that honour yet, though he certainly had a leg up on any other contenders. She swung her eyes back around to the newcomer and felt a new wave of something slithering and unpleasant worm through her gut as she finally took proper note of those stark red marks.

"That depends," she said plainly, flicking her ears back toward her sibling for support. She didn't really know how to do this any more than Ocelot did, but the slimy sensation in her gut guided her to be less-than-accommodating. That was the true mark of Wylla's person: prone to becoming bullheaded and uncompromising for seemingly no reason at all. As of yet, Ocelot had done nothing to warrant it and even Ingram might be baffled by her mercurial tone, but there was marked unfounded suspicion in Wylla's voice when she asked, "Who's asking and why?"

ingram studied the female, keeping his tongue curbed. like wylla he had no earthly idea how to evince even a measure of leaderly deportment -- the art of classiness and lordly bearing was not a family trait. even if it was, he and his siblings were simply too roughshod to enact any sort of sovereign poise before their rash impulsiveness got the better of them.

he liked how ocelot looked, personally. there was something appealing about that flush of forbidden red. he didn't have a word for it -- he was not attracted to her in a personal manner, but he genuinely had never seen a wolf like her before and she captured his fancy for a moment. she seemed polite enough to ingram, but his standard of 'polite' might have been deplorably low. ingram didn't offer anything to the conversation, though he caught the prickly tone that crept into wylla's query. it didn't matter to ingram that wylla's nature was as mercurial as the sea -- if she commanded him to turn ocelot away, he would do so without question -- and if she welcomed ocelot as one of their own, he would accept that verdict with equal lack of hesitation.

there is suspicion in the woman's tone and ocelot replays all that she's spoken to her — which was about fifteen words — and wonders what she'd said that had caused the sudden suspicion. nevertheless, ocelot remains poised and unaffected. "my name is ocelot," she says in lieu of quetzalcoatl. she's yet to earn the queen's name ...not to mention ocelot is much easier to pronounce in the long run. "i'm looking for a pack to join," and because she felt spurred to explain by the woman's suspicion lest it become a potential problem. "i left my natal pack to experience a different pack, a culture or way of life that i haven't ever been able to experience." and if i like it enough i might just stay, she thinks. it's blasphemous, of course, but it's not as if coatl's rise does not have a secondary heiress; and viper appeared to want the title of reigning queen more than ocelot ever had. "i'm a capable hunter and fighter," but ocelot knows that every wolf is and it's likely not overly impressive.

"i'm well adept at medicines and accordingly, poisons." those two things were evidently always meant to be hand in hand as what healed in small amounts could kill in large amounts and it was imperative to be able to tell the difference regardless. "i was raised in the art of diplomacy and advising has become second nature to me over the years." she adds thoughtfully, unsure if those were anythings that might count as 'useful' skills to the woman and male at her side. this was a lot more nerve-wracking then ocelot'd honestly assumed it to be. it seemed so easy when she was on the other side of the joining conversation, admittedly. but that was mostly scripted: the same questions with bits of variation based on unpredicted answers and the fall of the hammer of judgement either in approval or denial. this? this was much harder than the potential joiners she'd judged over her time in her natal pack had made it seem ( or perhaps, she thinks, she'd closed her eyes and was simply blind to their nerves in the routine of it all ).

Well la dee frickin' da, went Wylla's poisonous brain as Ocelot listed off her impressive repertoire of skills. Who even was this lady? They were of a similar age, but the only skills Wylla had under her belt were hunting and burning bridges, whereas Ocelot was toting around, what, four or five different legitimate things she was good at? The tiny leader attempted to exchange a glance with her brother that might have communicated something like, sounds like small dick syndrome whatta you think, but it probably fell short 'cause on top of it this lady was tall and attractive and he was probably nursing a boner or something.

"Coooooool," she said, trailing off in a manner that suggested she wasn't impressed, but fell short of hitting the mark. It was clear she was and it was clear she hated that. She had no reason whatsoever to turn this woman away and Ingram wasn't giving her any, so chances are, she wouldn't. But because Wylla could simply never settle for accepting that someone was simply more talented at life and she always needed the last laugh, she fixed Ocelot with a sly gaze and asked, "but are you like... compensating for something?"

ingram had missed wylla's pointed gaze, his attention still rapt on the scarlet-plumed female. she mentioned several skill-sets but the only thing he detected was poisons -- anxiously he wondered if she had ever put these skills to use, and what exactly her policy was regarding dispensing said poisons on overzealous or amorous males.

he kept his mouth shut still, though he turned his gaze to wylla. her question caused a slight snigger but he immediately stifled it and canted his hips away from both of them -- just in case that "compensation" question was redirected to him.

there was a distinct question of if ocelot may be too 'over-qualified' and she wonders if she should have stopped with knowing medicines. probably. too bad it was too late now. the woman asked if she was over-compensating for something and there is a slight cant to her head as she considers the question, taking it literally. the truth was, maybe she was over-compensating. she certainly had guilt she needed to bury and if boasting of her skill sets helped her get into the pack and the pack helps her to grow and learn and achieve her goal of earning 'worldly experience' then that was all that mattered. her sense of duty had almost outweighed her selfish desires but when in the end it hadn't and that left ocelot without little option other than to conceal and don't feel. the guard were warriors, elite ones at that. they would be fine, she tells herself.

she focuses then on the biting chill of the breeze, the tang of salt that she can practically taste in the air as she turns thoughts from the guard and her associated guilt. "no," she answers, inhaling deeply and letting it out in a soft sigh. "just a very strict mother with very high expectations." ocelot offers with a slightly sheepish expression upon her lips. it wasn't a lie, but it wasn't overly detailed either. it was a simple statement that suggests that there is a chasm of disagreement between her and her mother ( there is ) and that it was a rallying reason why she'd left beyond her own wants. which also wasn't a lie. she isn't the first child of the coatl's to disappoint her mother and she doubts that she'll be the last.

"Right, right, everyone has a sad fam story, so don't think you're special or anything," she scoffed with a dismissive roll of her shoulders as she turned away from the loner. Lusca's offspring could probably have benefited from a little expectation in their lives, but at least in Wylla's case, the freedom to do whatever she wanted prevailed. Rather, the freedom to not do anything at all, and the freedom to be a complete ass to everyone she met. "You can stay I guess," she cast over her shoulders, "but you better not be lying about your hundred-and-one skills, or you'll be ridiculed right off a cliff."

As she swung past Ingram, she cocked a brow in his direction and asked, "sound good to you?" Grimnismal's expectations were surely lower than those of Ocelot's mother, and Wylla herself had a habit of lying about everything, but that didn't mean the threat wasn't real. Wylla and her siblings weren't even the ones Ocelot had to worry about impressing. They called the shots, but they weren't the hand of judgment upon the strand, not really.

Caiaphas was, and it was Caiaphas who would make the final call when Ocelot eventually met her.

in many ways ingram was glad his sister bore the brunt of leadership: he was not a wolf to be yoked by responsibilities, nor did he ever appreciate having his hand played by one's sense of duty. wylla picked up the mantle reasonably well -- in ingram's eyes she was far better suited for such a high deportment than any of her other siblings were.

his gaze travels from the strangely-pelted woman back to his sister and a smirk played on his muzzle as wylla threw one last barb in ocelot's direction. affably the male trotted after wylla, a noncommittal roll of his shoulders and a grunt given in answer. what really sounded good to the dark wolf was food -- with a flick of his tail he delivered a half-hearted nip to his sister's hocks before scampering down the beach in a quick lope. if ocelot remained still (and what wolf wouldn't? the luschyon brood was truly a bewildering sight) she would quickly find herself alone -- if she followed, ingram wouldn't mind showing her his favorite tidal flat for picking up a quick meal.