Totoka River we grew under a bad sun

@Wallflower

the sky is bright with dawn. caw squints up towards it as he squeezes his way out of the rotten log he has slept in with the air of one profoundly unenthused, yawning sleepily as he stretches himself out. his movements are lazy, languid, and in the daylight the blood crusted into the soft whites and greys of his fur cracks and flakes like peeling paint, dark and rusty against the raw gleam of his eyes and the glistening bone of his teeth.

around him, the remnants of last night's meal are scattered; two half-eaten hares strewn about as though they have been preyed upon by a shrike in place of a wolf. but the tangle of intestine and organs and flesh from dusk have vanished in the light, and in their place are still a scarce few crows that flutter into the air when he emerges, like scraps of cloth on the wind, leaving only bits of fur and glossy feather in their wake.

there is one that does not leave, and caw wags his tail in greeting when he meets avis' eyes.

there is a single gleaming crow's feather tucked between the curve of avis' beak when she takes flight, landing neatly on his back, a familiar weight on his shoulders. he cranes his neck to allow her better access to the soft fur of his nape, and with a few gentle pulls the feather is tucked neatly in next to the others, like makeshift hackles to supplement his own.

caw shakes himself out and turns, considering. there is a pack behind him, of that he is certain -- he scented the borders yesterday through the hares' blood. a prickle of excitement runs down his spine as he turns in that direction, setting out at a languid lope across the patchy grass and snow. he has always been curious about packs. he has already dismissed their way of life as boring, but there is something different about each -- and he has seen his few that are almost close to the wolves he was raised with. 

there is nothing to match the adopted family that long ago dissolved -- the hordes of crows that would fill the skies at mealtimes, the praise he would get when he caught and consumed another pup as the rest would do, the blood-damp carcasses he would curl in for slumber -- but there is something faintly interesting about the few that pretend, and something much better about the way they, without fail, attack.

Though now rested, Wallflower was in no shape to travel or fight. To think this group of wolves had taken her in despite her having no purpose anymore was baffling to say the least. She was eternally grateful, especially to the dark male with his friendly eyes. And the gray male, of course. If she hadn't already, she would swear to serve them until they no longer wanted her.

The loss of her former commander still haunted her. Even today she had had a nightmare about the gruesome last battle where he had died in action. The washed out wounds itched as they healed, or so she thought, and the burned patches on her were shedding and that wasn't very pleasant either, but she endured it for the sake of her new commander. They probably wanted her healthy and in a good enough shape to help them, and so she would do anything in her power to heal up as quickly as possible.

She had barely slept at all, yet somehow had enough energy to follow the river a bit to where she had come from. The familiar sight of the bleak coast reminded her of nothing, only the sea-green of the sea made her think of William. His eyes had been similar. Her cracked paws carried her further along the river. The snow felt good on her wounded feet. She stopped to drink some water, eyes open and swiveling from left to right. Though no one had showed aggression to her yet, it could always be the quiet before the storm.

 

caw gives another wide yawn, tongue lolling from between the curve of his stained teeth. he has not quite woken yet; he is not normally one to wake so early, either, and it is only the newness of this place that spurs him. eventually he will find a place to claim – eventually he will find wolves he will possess just the same. he must find them first.
 
he wanders aimlessly along the bank for a while, sniffing at the air as he draws steadily closer to the borders he remembers. avis launches from his back to circle in the air like a vulture, tracking its predator, waiting for the dead to show themselves.
 
he does not find carrion, nor fresh prey. not first. what he does find is a scent, faintly reminiscent of yesterday’s borders, and he lifts his muzzle a fraction, his steps slowing as his ears cup forward for noise. what they draw is only the faint rush of water, though, and it is a few steps more before he looks down the bank and sees the exact source.
 
the woman at the river’s edge is clearly injured. her pale fur is broken up by a handful of healing wounds, and there are bare patches where fur should be, and the curiosity bubbles faintly beneath the calm. perhaps she has been attacked by the wolves that live there – perhaps they will prove worth his time after all.
 
she does not look like she herself will be of much interest, but he has been proven wrong before.
 
he trots forward in a long-legged lope, notes the flick of her eyes, but it does not stop him, not even when avis swoops down to perch on his shoulder, her talons digging in perhaps harder than they should. caw only grins, tail wagging once as it lifts from its resting place at his hind legs.
 
“what happened to you?” he asks, not stopping as he draws near and certainly into her personal space, taking in the injuries and burns up close.

The girl was no stranger to the open lands. Advancing in open fields had always proven difficult, though she had blended in with the warmer tones of summer and autumn. Here, only her legs were camouflaged to look like the fresh snow of late winter. It was definitely much colder here than back at what she had called a home of sorts. Perhaps it was the mountain? Though one would think it would block the icy winds, perhaps they came from the sea. Nothing was stopping it from rustling her fur and somehow frosting her bare bits to the point that it felt like they were being scorched again.

The stranger that had so careless wandered into her personal territory also didn't blend in that well - she would say even worse than her. The darker shades of coal and ash, shades she was familiar with, definitely did not help him where snow was so very common. One glance and she knew she was being looked at. She jumped into position even before he could ask, head held down to protect her nape, blonde hackles, tips scorched by fire, spiking up and tail arching over her back as she took a step back from his advances.

Classified. She answered without a growl or a snarl, something seemingly unfitting given her current position.

the woman is bristling even before he speaks, though caw is undeterred. if anything, he’s more interested – in the cold, predatory way that makes him want to sink his teeth into her skin and pin her down until she submits. the lowering of her head and the arch of her tail is not ignored; caw’s own tail lifts to mirror it and the bird on his back gives a harsh string of caws directly into his ear.
 
the cheer in his voice does not falter.
 
“classified,” he parrots, eyes gleaming bright and raw as he continues to slink forward. his back-fur puffs a bit, bristling with gleaming oil-slick feathers; he does not so much as falter in his approach, nostrils flaring as he all but jabs his muzzle into her shoulder. there is something that clings to her coat under her own scent and that of the pack’s borders – something acrid and sharp like smoke.
 
avis’ claws on his back draw tighter, warning, and caw’s ears flick at the sting. he does not stop. “why?”

Wallflower was unfazed by the man's strange accessories and bird. She had seen far stranger things - far more gruesome things. He mimicked her, something she recognized from other commanders when their unit members had said something completely stupid or out of line.  But this man was not her commander. He held no power over her, even if he thought so.

And he did, apparently, seeing he was still advancing. Wallflower wasn't looking for a fight. She had just come for a drink and a sight that differed from the blood forest. Without an expression, she tried to nip at the stranger when he came forth, her reflexes sharper than a knife from at least a year of training. She didn't like being touched, that much was clear.

I request you leave me alone. She spoke, voice steady though still a bit hoarse from the smoke she had inhaled. With this, she retreated a few steps again, eyes never leaving the stranger.

it is not that caw is not expecting a reaction, or completely ignorant of the bad idea that is getting so close into a stranger’s space. it is more that he knows it – and wants the inevitable aggression that will come. he is waiting for it, as he steps forward, blatantly ignoring her clear discomfort, yet all he receives in turn, when her head snaps out, is a sharp nip to his shoulder.
 
it is not nearly what he wants, and he does not need an excuse to cause a fight. in fact, his expression is vague confusion, if it is anything. it clears quickly enough, though, and the warning, such as it is, goes unheeded, as do the words accompanying it.
 
the woman backs away again and, as with the last time, he follows.
 
“non non non,” caw protests in his native tongue, all but vibrating with excitement at the concept of an attack, eagerly meeting her eyes as he grows close enough to touch. certainly, to bite. “answer.” his tone is as expectant as it is insistent, tail waving like a flag behind him.

Her expression stayed forever cold, even though somewhere deep down she truly felt that this wasn't right. This was not how a stranger was supposed to act. Not even as a tool had someone taken advantage of her calmness the way the blood-eyed stranger was doing. But she was in charge, and she would end his advances on her once and for all. Killing had been in her nature ever since she was a child, a bit more blood on her fangs would not hurt anyone.

I don't answer to you. She cleared that tit-bit up for him. It was then she rushed forward without the warning of a growl or snarl. A good tool killed in silence. Immediately did she go for his neck, already wanting to push him either further away from the place they were standing or onto the ground where he belonged.

caw is anticipating a response, and her refusal to indulge his curiosity makes his scruff bristle indignantly. “answer!” he repeats, even more insistently this time, and as he crowds yet closer, unfazed by the disinterest in her tone, she lunges forwards.
 
he barely has the time to lift his ears before there are teeth on his throat. avis launches off his back with a sharp caw as the woman shoves him backwards, with none of the posturing he has long ago come to expect and that he often indulges in himself. he does not yelp; he is thrown back in silence, and the thrill of it rises bright in his blood, even as he snaps at the side of her face and ears.
 
she forces him to the ground, and he goes with it only because though he does not fear death he is not overly interested in having it come so soon. his back hits the ground with a painful thud that races up his spine; jaws parted, now thoroughly useless, he pants, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth, ears held forth and tail splayed across the snow.
 
behind him, avis clacks her beak and gives a long string of sharp, rattling caws, interspersed with the sound of rustling feathers. caw recognizes it as warning, though certainly this wolf will not.
 
“want to know!” caw grumps, snapping uselessly at the air above her ears as he squirms, attempting to get himself free without tearing his throat too badly. fighting is one thing he enjoys; being pinned is not. “not good. mitto!”

Like countless times before, the enemy was under her. Her scorched body pinned him to the ground, teeth finding his throat. If she weren't under the command of Constantine and if she had been ordered to kill this wolf, she would've done it. But Constantine did not seem like a man that was out for the blood of a stranger. Disappointing him was something she couldn't let happen.

Leave. Voice muffled by fur and flesh and blood that could be hers or his, she sent out her own command. Her form slightly lifted, ready to pin again should this trust be betrayed, to give him the option to escape.

caw's snaps have little effect. his teeth do not so much as graze fur or skin in his awkward position, and instead he is reduced to wriggling around in the dirt. the feathers threaded into his scruff are bent oddly beneath him, the shafts pricking uncomfortably at his skin at their new angle; he will have to find new ones and begin the process all over again. he grumbles at the thought, snapping his jaws again despite the lack of effect.

this close, however, the scent of smoke is stronger, and caw's ears flick eagerly as he begins to piece together the puzzle. he is paying more attention to his thoughts than his situation when the woman's voice cuts into his concentration, and caw huffs but takes the opportunity for what it is, flipping himself with rather practiced ease back onto his paws and shaking himself out. a couple of feathers drift sadly to the ground.

avis is already berating him for being an idiot before she even lands on his back, but caw is well-used to her concern. one ear flicks back; his muzzle swivels towards the woman and his nostrils flare.

"ignis. fire!" he says, with a distinct air of triumph, his tail wagging once behind him. "smell smoke. burn." his muzzle remains pointed in her direction for a few moments as though expecting her to admit to how correct he is, but caw also has better things to do than be pinned by a stranger, without any actual fighting or pain to go along with it.

enough that caw doesn't bother with the actual farewell. he just stares at her for a few seconds more, then moves to trot past her, towards the pack that she seemingly belongs to. perhaps he will have more luck there.