Ankyra Sound das klagende lied

@Wylla and/or @Lycaon, if you've got time :)

past the mountains he had traveled, their jagged teeth still holding winter-ice, the song of spring dulled by their thick stone walls. and so onward he pressed, following the tang of salt in the cold air. mahler knew at the end of it would be the vast expanse of brine he knew as the sea, where its roar was never dulled and seabirds cried in the skies above, a veritable symphony of clashing sounds, and for the first time since arriving to the teekon, the man's heart relaxed its bitterness.
the steep fall of cliffs, the trembling red trees; mahler marveled at the play of ocean winds through their branches, the whistle of it across the rock — he was dazzled, but allowed himself only a few moments of wonder before steeling his countenance once again. wolves. butted up against the scent of them, mahler backed from the trees and stood some feet away. beyond, to the left, and to the right, the ocean's melody hearkened, but curiosity also welled.

Wylla found him entirely by accident. She was neither patrolling nor looking for potential trespassers—she knew they would come, for something about their border scent must have said, "come in, disrespect us, we don't mind!"—but was instead looking to escape. Leading was stressful and despite her usual antics, Wylla wasn't a creature made for dealing well with stress. It made her angry and sullen and hostile, and none of those things combined well with her personality. Or other wolves.

So when she sought to quit the strand and came face-to-face with her doppelganger, down to the blackened mask stretching from nose to ears and bordering a patch of silvery white on the forehead, her first response was to bristle defensively and growl. Who the hell was this guy? Why was he on her borders? Why were there always wolves on her borders? And why did he look so much like her? They could have been twins, but he was probably double her size and his eyes were a stormy lilac that clashed marvelously with her yellows. Her inky ears flew back and she regarded him with a narrow gaze, then grumbled, "don't tell me you're some other long lost brother."

mahler was watchng the antics of two tits scurrying and twittering brashly at each other when the woman arrived. the musiker stared openly, not quite knowing what to do with himself. much smaller than him, but with a commanding air to her fiery stare, she wore the same pelage as he, or perhaps it was the other way 'round this being something ebony did completely on accident and omg she feels really stupid and ashamed.
such was the resemblance that the man's usually stony countenance was laid bare with surprise, before it closed quickly to a stringent neutrality. "no," the creature replied in a monotone, still thrumming with surprise. he had traveled long enough to understand that their kind came in all hues and sizes, and degrees of both innate aesthetic and ugliness. this woman, if mahler forced himself to be only objective, he considered to be rather more of the former. but he was not at all biased, the man reminded himself sternly.

"Very eloquent," Wylla sarcastically noted, eyeing her lookalike up and down and then deciding that, even though he looked a lot like her, they couldn't be more different, his stony no giving her the impression that he fancied himself to be like Kierkegaard. Silence was intimidating, or so they said. Wylla was too dumb to be intimidated by quiet wolves, but she'd fought a number of times in her life, and it had always been against chatty, backtalking brats. She had yet to meet her maker in the form of a large, formidable and silent wolf.

"What do you want?" she asked, brusque in tone. There were only so many reasons wolves showed up on the borders. About half of the time it was to trespass or disrespect her undeserved completely well-deserved authority, which made Wylla naturally suspicious of everyone else that showed up. Indeed, the stress of leading when outsiders seemed to disregard your claim was gradually eating away at her, and it showed in her stormy countenance that, previously, had been more jovially rude than grouchy.

her tongue was far more acidic than he had come across in she-wolves during his travels; mahler's ears flicked forward with a renewed interest. grimly he let his eyes alight on her limbs, her chest, the swell of her flank, before he dropped his gaze deferentially. she was small, but finely formed, and the musiker sensed there was rather more strength in her body than her size evidenced.
"a home," mahler rejoined, no less concisive than before, but his voice had dropped an octave. for what reason, he did not know, save for in his mind he had discerned the tones that comprised her voice and responded, and he cursed inwardly at this odd thing he had cultivated in himself. it served so little purpose.

"Okaaaay," the little she-wolf said, voice drawing off into an expectant trill as she eyed Mahler. No one had been quite so forward on her borders before. More recent joiners had dealt with Ingram, who had a knack for dealing with strangers on their threshold. He liked to make friends. Wylla, on the other hand, really wanted nothing to do with the wolves who turned up expecting succor, or whatever it was they expected. The more wolves in Grimnismal, the more competition.

Then again, this one had balls, so he wasn't really any competition for her, was he? Nah, definitely not. "So?" she asked, arcing a brow severely over her half-lidded butterscotch eyes. "What are you giving me in return?" Surely he wasn't coming empty handed? Ever since Reef had brought her a mushroom, Wylla the Egomaniac expected presents for the oh-so-generous gift of her time and consideration.

i got carried away sorry <3

despite the fractious tones to her voice, mahler felt it fit quite well with her petite frame and brisk attitude. therefore, the wolfess moved up a notch in the margins of his mental note-taking, and the manner in which she took stock of him impressed the loner further.
mahler did not recall a time in which he had been so thoroughly judged, and thrummed at the newness of it. nevertheless, her inquiry was greeted with a blank stare. the idea of gifts for entry was incredibly foreign to mahler; he was not stupid enough to judge her brashly on her own borders, not when the force of wolves was at her back, but mahler found himself confused.
some moments had ticked by before the musiker lowered himself into a bow, hips aloft while broad chest touched the earth, forelegs extended to illustrate his reach and the sizable paws that gripped the cold earth at their ends. here too, his height was hers to judge; presently mahler flicked his gaze up from where his chin had come to hover a few inches from the earth, seeking whatever expression was on the woman's features for a taut pause. his rejoinder was impassive and brief: "myself."
mahler was proud, and obvious in it; he knew the worth of his honed body and heavy jaws, and waited for her to ignore the gift of his strength, or see in him what he did not falsely advertise.

Nothing could have prepared Wylla for this. Even if all of her previous border encounters had gone smoothly, and even if all of her subordinates were perfect little minions that did everything she said, she never would have expected it. She watched with swelling disbelief as Mahler pressed his chest to the ground, bent his broad back, and declared that he offered himself.

Her lips drew into a tight purse, her cheeks puffed out, and then Wylla was laughing. Not inclusive laughing. Not a giggle that she tried to suppress for the sake of politeness. Full-on laughing at Mahler. "Are you serious?" she asked between guffaws, yellow eyes combing him judgmentally. Well, he had put himself on display with his admittedly noble submission, hadn't he? It would have been nice if she could accept that with all the grace it deserved, but, well, here we are.

"What's that supposed to mean, huh? Do you think I want to sleep with you or something? 'Cause, uh, rude!"

the hard sunflower eyes lit with a growing incredulity — mahler watched the woman impassively as her mouth tightened, the sides of her mouth beginning to swell with air. 
in the next moment, mahler's ears splayed slowly to either side, his own lips thinning into a grim and unamused line. the loud tittering at his expense continued, and he lowered his hindquarters to the earth, looking all the world a reclining, sour-faced gargoyle. the judgement of her eyes did not go unnoticed; his lilac stare darkened with something like shame,
it was her words that caught mahler's attention; a bold and unprecendented statement that lifted his countenance. he gazed at the dappled woman, the abendsonne of her scathing glare burning him where he lay, and watched her when she had finished. to her question he had an answer; mahler paused only a moment before the briefest humour lit the cold plains of his face. "do you?"

Wylla's face twisted and she laid her ears back, affronted. "Ew, no!" Her, bed him? Why, the nerve! Of course, Grimnismal was sorely lacking in eligible men of any sort. Ingram and Lycaon were family; Arrille was like the dough boy, and cowardly to boot, which took his sex appeal from probably-existent to completely-dead; and Kierkegaard was old enough to be her great-grandfather. Or maybe even her great-great-grandfather.

So, even though Mahler's suggestion was completely disgusting and uncalled for and wow did he really just say that, because her standards for herself were far lower than for anyone else, his prospects were pretty good. "As long as you don't creep into my sleeping quarters at night, you lecherous fiend," she warned, with a grimace that promised violence if he tried it, "you can stay, I guess."

Only because he wasn't gonna be shacking up with her brothers like just about everyone else seemed to want to do—or maybe that was just her overactive jealousy.

*snort*

mahler was vindicated at his little triumph, which softened the earlier scorn he had suffered from her thorny tongue. and a home accompanied it. mahler raised himself to a sitting position slowly, as not to seem threatening; his dark ears cupped forward and confusion unfurled in his mind a second? third time? 
he gave her suggestion a quick nod. mahler wondered why the little she-wolf would say such a thing; it had not occurred to the musiker to pillage her den under nightfall; he had no idea where she lay. believing he must have missed some subtext, but not caring enough to seek it out, the man stood finally and approached the fierce ashflower with deferential steps.
if allowed, mahler sought to duck his muzzle below that of his new leader, an ungainly gesture given their difference in height, and touch her chin with a lash of his tongue — if not, he would halt in front of her. either way, however, her newest subordinate gave his name; "mahler."

"Wylla," she returned, and though she grimaced at his display, her tail began an instinctual swing that was stirred by his submission. He was probably one of the first wolves to show up at her border and show proper deference, even if he was a total creep. If he crept into her sleeping quarters late at night and tried to grip her in a forceful embrace, he would be fed to the sea or worse, so there wasn't much he could really do. Being a creep wasn't a crime; after all, her first encounter with Lycaon had gone much the same.

So she accepted him, if begrudgingly, and turned to lead him to their beach, all the while attempting to shake the weird feeling in her stomach at how they looked like they could be family, but weren't.