Dragoncrest Cliffs there goes the theory that an english accent makes everyone sound smart.

Artaax was panting heavily as he stood over his latest kill. His neck muscles ached from the fight and his legs trembled from exertion. A thin line of blood was dripping from a new tear in the very base of his ear, and likely in other places where its cuts had sunk deeper, but the boy felt nothing but triumph over this accomplishment in that moment. He had trained for this for months, and finally.. He'd done it.

Brown and tawny feathers were strewn about with pale tufts of fur scattered amongst them. There were red stains on the snow, some wolf and some bird. Artaax strode carelessly through it all, grabbing a broken wing almost tenderly in his jaws to begin the arduous task of dragging the golden eagle back to the rest of the pack where they could all see the fruits of his triumph and praise him appropriately.

He dragged it only a few feet before he stopped and withdrew, squinting down at the carcass as he reconsidered his methods. How would it look for him to drag it back home? He already had gone from walking forward while tripping all over the rest of the bird to backstepping with his rump up in the air. Neither of those were exactly flattering motions... So, he stepped around it again and attempted to grab the bird up by its legs, only to find himself once again tripping over its body and long wings. He dropped it once more and snarled, now frustrated. He'd managed to do battle with and kill a freakin' eagle, and now he couldn't even carry the damn thing back home.

Son of a bitch.

Nature was playing a cruel joke on her. Despite the miscarriage, Wildfire was now sporting a proper baby bump. And her nesting instincts had gone into overdrive the past few days. But she didn't dare—didn't dare—hope that she might still be carrying pups. For one thing, they might turn out as deformed as Falcon and Hawk. For another, she didn't want to carry a torch for a litter that very well may not exist at all. It was entirely possible—even probable, she kept telling herself—that her hormones simply hadn't settled down yet. She wasn't pregnant, not anymore...

The sounds of a struggle had the Feisripa blinking out of a stupor. She had been meandering along rather purposelessly and now she stopped, one foreleg in the air as she tried to pinpoint the source of the noise. By the time she came upon the scene, Artaax had conquered his feathered prey and now struggled to move it. Wildfire watched him a moment, quietly cheering him on, though the moment he dropped his cumbersome kill and snarled in frustration, she darted forward.

"Let me help," she called to him soothingly. "It's huge," she added, chestnut eyes roving appreciatively over the dead eagle before settling on Artaax's face. Man, she was proud of him. "You should be our Feisripa..."

The sound of approaching footsteps caused Artaax to pause his efforts. For a moment of horror, he thought that it was Rose approaching and he soooo did not want her to see him struggling like this. Shortly, though, he recognized that it was only Wildfire. If he was going to look like a fool in front of anyone, he preferred it to be her, and so he settled. He didn't smile in greeting to her, but his expression softened and his posture shifted to a welcoming one. That is, until he offered to help him, and he suddenly tensed and gave a hard shake of his head.

"I can do it..." he murmured determinedly, his ears twitching as he considered the rest of her commentary. He felt himself flush with pride at her suggestion, but again he shook his head. Hunting was his hobby - one that just happened to be of great benefit to the pack and one he happened to be naturally talented at. If he was going to serve Drageda, it would be in a different way - one he was equally, naturally talented at, but that he felt was of more value to his family. "You are Feisripa. I am a warrior."

He shook his head, declining her offer to help. Wildfire nodded and fell still. If Artaax wanted to do this for himself, she wouldn't interfere. Maybe if she stood off to the side, she could provide pointers, like some ironic rendition of an air traffic controller.

Her lips twitched at his response to her compliment. If he had been interested in her rank, Wildfire would have happily handed it over. But it seemed his calling belonged in the realm of a warrior. She bobbed her head again to acknowledge this.

"Just let me know if you ever change your mind," she said conversationally, "and it's all yours." She lifted a petite paw to point at his prey. "I wish I'd seen it." She stood there and admired the size of his catch, then looked shrewdly at her son. "Were you hurt?" Wildfire wondered even as her chestnut eyes found the small rip in his ear.

Wildfire didn't push the issue, but left it open for him if he one day decided to take her up on the offer. Artaax said nothing in response to that, merely... Well, I can't even say that he catalogued the sentiment into his memory. He was a stubborn boy, and he had decided to be the pack's Wormana. That was the end of the story for him. He didn't need to remember the door remained open on this other possible future.

"No," Artaax answered, even as blood continued to dribble down the side of his head, "It only got my ear. It was trying for my eyes, I think. I got its wing and broke it to get it out of my way so that I could get at its neck." He'd taken care to aim for the base of its wing and sever its ability to use it as a weapon to batter against him. Sort of. He'd mostly just slammed into it with wildly snapping jaws and managed to get a lucky hit on it. But he remembered it differently.

He denied any injuries, which made Wildfire click her tongue as she stepped closer to him. "You're bleeding," she pointed out to him. "May I clean it?" she asked but didn't wait, reaching up to gently nose the torn flesh before just as gingerly washing away the blood. As she worked, she pricked her ears, listening to his retelling of the hunt.

Stepping back once she finished, she appraised him with a proud look. "I really wish I'd seen it," she said again, black tail waving. "Maybe we could toss it into the air and reenact it?" she quipped, looking down at the bird which was, ironically enough, spread-eagle on the ground.

"Where were you going to take it?" she wondered.

Artaax made no movement to deter Wildfire when she offered and immediately move to clean his wound. He actually tilted his head slightly to move his ear more within her reach, though it would have been far manlier to step away and refuse the attentions of his mother. For as much as he worshipped nomi - and I'm pretty sure I mean worship literally at this point - he still loved his gentler, more nurturing mother, and he had missed the comfort of her presence in his life more than he likely had ever shown in the time she had been stolen from him. And so he acquiesced to her motherly ministrations, even if it meant allowing himself to fall momentarily back into a more childish, needy version of himself.

Fortunately for his pride, the moment was short-lived. Artaax straightened quickly when Wildfire stepped back as though nothing had ever happened, his gaze shifting swiftly across the terrain to make sure no one had caught him. His mismatched eyes settled on his mother again as she spoke, and the vague smile shifted briefly across his muzzle to show his amusement. That level of foolishness he'd need to sink to if he actually took her up on the suggestion was not one he would agree to visit, but they moved past it quickly enough as she posed a different question to him. 

"To heda," he answered promptly, naming nomi formally in a very purposeful manner. This to him was a symbol of his worth to the pack, as both hunter and warrior. The bird was a large and formidable foe, even though it typically was no threat to a full-grown wolf. Upon closer inspection, one could likely see the sparseness in its wing feathers and the more abundant pale features that spoke of its advanced age and subsequently deteriorating health, and so one might realize that it wasn't quite as formidable a foe as Artaax would describe it to be for the rest of his days. But still. It was more than Bobby had ever done, so there.

"Though I think the meat should go to our injured," he added after a beat, thinking of ... no one, "But that's for heda to decide." His hope was that Thuringwethil would be surrounded by the entire pack in the moment he brought the bird to her and laid it at her paws, but he could accept it if that wasn't actually the case. Not like he was going to hide it in the woods until such a moment arose. ....actually, there's an idea...

He supplied an answer promptly. Wildfire's ears flicked curiously. She had been back long enough to note that Artaax's relationship with his nomi was both affectionate and businesslike all at once. She might even use the word worshipful. It was a little odd to her—a wolf who'd been raised by the likes of Peregrine and Fox—but it made sense here, in the context of this pack's particular culture.

"Do we have those? Injured?" Wildfire wondered with a blink, feeling stupid for not knowing the answer. But she never went to Hougeda—never even went near it, if she could help it—and she didn't see Portia much lately, especially considering she was... Oh. "Portia?"

Wildfire looked confused for a moment, but he dismissed it as he began to step around the eagle's carcass again, trying to formulate a plan for carrying it. He nodded when his mother remembered finally and spoke one of the names. "And Dalia, and.." Artaax paused, bother verbally and physically. Rose wasn't exactly injured anymore, at least he didn't think. Or maybe she was. He wasn't great with details. He glanced awkwardly at his mother before moving again, attempting to pretend as though his hesitation had never happened though it was pretty darn obvious that it had.

There were several others, including Portia's own daughter, and Wildfire's lips pursed. She felt embarrassed for not knowing. She wasn't a very good pack mate, was she? She wasn't sure what she could do to help it, though, without access to Hougeda. She hated to pester Thuringwethil for news and updates every day, rather than be immersed in the pack's goings-on by default. She bit back a sigh.

Artaax still hadn't managed to figure out how best to transport his kill. The Feisripa opened her mouth to repeat her offer and coax him into letting her help. But she shut it again and just stood by with an encouraging smile.

Wildfire was good enough not to question her son's hesitation. Artaax was thankful. As little as he ever admitted he was at all interested in Rose, he still knew that he did not want to talk about her with anyone. Something about that just struck him as being the wrong thing to do, just as actually speaking directly to Rose was the wrong thing to do. Randomly leaving food near her home and running for it whenever she came near was definitely the right thing to do. Speaking of which...

Artaax stepped around the bird once more, still attempting to work out how to accomplish what he wanted with it. Reaching down, he glasped its head in his jaws, but dropped it shortly after pricking his tongue on its beak. With a growl, he glared down at it as though it had actually come back to life and hurt him on purpose, but that's when he spotted the pale, blood-stained breast. The boy reached down again, grabbing it by the chest. When he lifted it, the bird's head rolled back to dangle before him. Its wings fanned out to either side as he took a few tentative steps forward, finally not dragging right before his feet. He had succeeded.

His features brightened noticeably at the apex of his success. His tail began to wag swiftly - a sight rarely seen anymore by the stoic young wolf. He looked at his mother, his pleasure with his cunning and awesomeness clear upon his face, but mixed with eager expectation for her too to be proud of him. Artaax would look quickly away once he received the praise that was due, reverting back to the quiet, soft-spoken, aloof young wolf he usually presented himself as.

After some trial and error, Artaax managed to hoist the eagle in such a way as to carry it without tripping himself up on its outspread wings. Wildfire's own tail waved through the air in time with his. When he looked over at her, she lifted a foreleg and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, only with a dewclaw or something because she didn't have any thumbs.

"Off to Heda then," she declared, making a shooing motion. She would've loved to accompany him but supposed he wanted to do it all on his own, just as he'd taken down the eagle. "And great work, Artaax. I'm proud of you, she'll be proud of you, but you should be proud of yourself."

last post from me! feel free to reply or archive <3

Artaax nodded to confirm that was exactly his plan. It would not be the first time he brought a kill to heda with the priority to show off rather than feed, but this would certainly be his most impressive presentation to date. Specially now that he figured out you just gotta grab 'em by the boobies so that you could walk tall without tripping all over yourself. Learning is a beautiful thing.

The boy lifted his chin a little higher as Wildfire complimented him. If she had any worries whatsoever that her son was ever not proud of himself, she needed to spend more time with him. Artaax was always proud of himself, even when he had no real reason to be. It was actually kind of a problem. But in any event, he stepped gingerly towards her and gave her an affectionate nudge to the temple before turning to set off towards hougeda, hoping that everyone in the pack would just happen to be there when he arrived so they could all admire him sufficiently.