Emberwood We can live in a world that we design.
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The Emberwood was familiar. Comforting. A surefire sign that their destination was just out of reach. Durnehviir chose to scout ahead through the trees in her excited anticipation, for she could swear she heard the distant roar of her beloved creek.

Songbirds welcomed the new day and pale morning light dappled the forest floor, but the russet Frostfur took little heed of either as she continued South. She radiated sheer, unbridled joy at the thought of setting up home in her mother's old den, preparing it for the arrival of her own offspring. The time to whelp would come soon, she felt, and Durnehviir was eager to meet the pups she'd always longed for - but never dared to dream of.

@Constantine and the others were close by if she needed them, but the Durnehviir maintained her optimism and refused to allow the worry of danger to dampen her spirit. She was content to be alone with her thoughts as she loped through the forest, every stride bringing her closer to life's new chapter.
everything mortal fades away in time, but the spirit remains
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Ooc — Chelsie
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Vague af about departure and what goes down with Nyx/Lyc, sry

It was a long and solemn march from Grimnismal out into no man's land. Once again, she was on her own, a picaroon without a place to call her own, only this time, her pride and ego were both crippled. She was at least a dozen times more jaded now than she had been upon arriving in the Wilds, and she felt utterly disrespected, unwanted, and put out. Within the pack's borders she'd fumed and stomped, leaving only when the fragile final straw was neatly snapped by Nyx and Lycaon, but out here she allowed the full weight of it to settle on her back and shoulders.
She went first south a little down the beach, but a fateful encounter not-yet-written made her think better of continuing in that direction, so she swung back to the north and neatly skirted Grimnismal's territory. Her mood was low and her expression lower as she turned to the east and followed the dim glow of dawn and, later, the rising sun. It was a long trek inland but it kept her mind off recent events.
She chose to rest within a sparse deciduous forest, curling up under a rotted and molding log in an effort to snatch an hour or two of sleep. She had no destination in mind, only the burning desire to put as many miles between herself and the wicked witch as possible, but when left alone with her thoughts, Wylla crumpled back into what she truly was: a teenager. One who had just come to the realization that despite thinking she was someone important and special, a leader, every single tenant of the strand had been in one way or another spitting on her effort from the start, to boot. It had all just been a farce.
Or so dramatics told her, but that was the only language teenagers spoke, so she began to weep, a hideous sound from her belly that was sure to attract a certain crimson passerby's attention.
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#3
She enjoyed the quiet, and felt care-free as she meandered through the woods with the knowledge that they would soon be able to rest without the need to move on. The journey from Ravensblood had been tough on Durnehviir, but the distance was worth it. Swiftcurrent Creek was only a short stretch away and despite her body's desire to stop for a time, she was eager to press on despite the ache of her tired muscles.

Her champagne eyes focused ahead, always searching for a glimpse of the land she'd been born to, when a strange sound distracted her. The pregnant Frostfur paused in her tracks, ginger ears perking high atop her lovely crown as she studied the area, trying to figure out what the noise belonged to and where it came from. Durnehviir held her breath for a few seconds to decipher that it sounded as though someone might be distressed and, curious, she pressed on the seek the source.

Drawn to an old, rotting fallen tree, she moved tentatively closer to investigate. She ducked her head to peer underneath the sodden bark, nose twitching curiously. "Hey," Durnehviir mustered softly to try and gain the stranger's attention, unaware who the sobs belonged to and naturally concerned.
everything mortal fades away in time, but the spirit remains
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Wylla expected to be left alone in the forest; how many nights had she spent before as a loner in total solitude under the canopies? How many days had she intentionally sought out company and found none? She blubbered helplessly and unwisely dropped her guard long enough for Durnehviir to not only approach unheard, but to poke down into the space that Wylla now occupied. The former Grimnismal leader lifted her head, blurry eyes and all, and when the stranger spoke, her reaction was visceral. She snapped her jaws in Durnehviir's direction and flew out from under the log.
Wylla didn't go far; she made a tight turn around Durnehviir's backside and curled instinctively around herself to peer accusingly at the other she-wolf. Though she and Ingram had raided their territory mere days before her encounter with Caiaphas and Kierkegaard, Wylla didn't recognize Durnehviir. She didn't recognize the wolf scent, either; they hadn't spent long enough in Ravensblood's territory to memorize what those wolves smelled like, so none of it registered. The dampened tracks of tears weighed her cheeks down but she glared and blinked away those that lined her eyelids, wrinkling her nose as she begrudgingly said, "sorry."
She didn't have any force at her back to threaten Durnehviir with, so she couldn't afford to be her usual bitchy self. She had to play nice, even if it meant apologizing for overreacting despite never wanting to apologize for anything. She already missed being able to throw her weight around; lone wolves didn't get such opportunities. Still, she wouldn't be Wylla if her tongue didn't come with a sharp tip, and glancing away from the crimson wolf in defeat, she muttered, "shouldn't stick your face in other peoples' faces, though," as a weak defense for her behaviour.
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Foolishly, she didn't expect the weeping wolfess to react so violently. Durnehviir gasped, rearing back on her hind limbs and veering aside as the stranger scrambled out of her hollow and toward her with clacking teeth, making to get herself sqiftly out of harm's way as well as her swollen belly would allow. She pulled her lips back and kept her vision pinned to the mottled form of the volatile she-wolf, revealing her own fangs in a snarled warning.

A half-assed apology came, but Durnehviir maintained her bristled appearance. She had wrongly assumed that her approach would've been deteced, considering she wasn't exactly light on her feet. Her hackles stood on end and her over-sized ginger ears were thrust back as she considered spitting a warning that her pack would tear her to shreds if she tried that shit again. Deciding to keep that information to herself for the time being, she remained silent until the loner grumbled an excuse for her actions.

She twitched a whisker, and huffed a breath. "If you wanted me to leave," she said coolly and rolled a shoulder, "all you had to do was ask."
everything mortal fades away in time, but the spirit remains
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Ooc — Chelsie
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Her blackened ears snatched back to her head when the rufous she-wolf—now recognizable as a pack wolf, with the scents of numerous others suddenly detected fully on the breeze—bristled back at her. Two sides of Wylla warred inside herself: the age-old part of her that was used to living alone and watching her own back wanted to sink down and slink away; the newer part of her that had been the Alpha of a pack, albeit a terrible one, wanted to throw her head and pride to the sky and challenge this woman.
Luckily, the doubt and hurt nestled in her breast from Caiaphas' attempted digs and the disrespect she perceived from all her former pack mates overwhelmed her ego, and she lowered herself and cast her gaze to the ground.
"Where are you going?" grumbled Wylla, who really had nothing else to lose. She assumed that, like Lycaon, Ingram would sooner remain on the coast and she would be unwelcome to see them again. Lusca was many miles to the north, and Wylla wasn't sure what she'd even say to her dam if she saw her again. It had been more than half her life since then. She wasn't sure why she asked Durnehviir this; it just felt like the right thing to do, even though she was making a horrible first impression.
And, in spite of Wylla's sustained lack of recognition, she had raided these wolves' territory.
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The stranger didn't respond with words. Instead, she shrunk lower to the ground and turned her eyes away, seemingly avoiding Durehviir's pale, piercing stare. The russet Frostfur continued to glower at the mottled wolfess for a time, quietly wondering if this submissive display was genuine or meant to lure her into a false sense of security. Either way, something within her told her that this loner couldn't be trusted and, as her eyes roved over the other's crouched figure, she finally understood why.

Durnehviir was loathe to turn her back on her, but upon realisation that the coastal she-wolf had played a part in hurrying the Ravensblood pack out of their territory, she did not wish to hang around longer than she had to. With an irritated lash of her feathered tail, the dragoness made to veer away from the scene - though kept a ginger lobe trained on the unpredictible female should she decide to pursue. Surprisingly, the spoke up with a request for information, and the pregnant Frostfur paused to peer accusingly back over a crimson shoulder. "Why?" Durnehviir asked pointedly, "so you and your buddy can raid that territory, too?"
everything mortal fades away in time, but the spirit remains
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Durnehviir's mien began to change, and not for the better. For a fleeting moment, Wylla was left to flounder in confusion as the other wolf's scent changed to something suggesting anger, and her body language clearly communicated annoyance. She pressed lower to the ground, though uncertainty was present in the riffle of her hairs across her back; was submission not an acceptable action with a pack wolf anymore? That seemed ridiculous, so what—
Oh.
Well, it was kind of silly for Wylla to expect to get away with that little act. A little introspection and humility would have gone a long way in that moment; instead, Wylla did what Wylla did best and reached immediately for the file labeled Defensiveness. "Hey," she said as she rose slightly on her paws, "not my fault your borders sucked! Mark better next time and maybe..." but she trailed off, because after all, she didn't have anyone to raid territories with anymore.
She slicked back her ears and grumbled, "my buddy isn't with me anymore and my pack doesn't want me, anyway, so there you go. Karma got me. Happy?"
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"We were preparing to leave!" Durnehviir countered immediately, raising her voice in response to Wylla's defensive remark. She and her mate had rallied the pack to discuss their relocation when they'd been rudely interrupted by the pair of coastal wolves and, eager to refrain from bringing conflict to their new land, had chosen not to fight. Collectively, Ravensblood's pack abandoned their home and moved on - letting the trolls succeed far beyond their expectation.

She furrowed her brow, champagne eyes narrowed in a glower as the mottled female grumbled about no longer having the support of her pack. Good, she longed to bark back, but instead she remained quiet. Durnehviir didn't wish to lower herself to this she-wolf's level by choosing to be cruel, though she couldn't deny the ripple of satisfaction that coursed through her. Instead , all she wished to know was, "why?" Why would she be happy about her misfortune? Why did herown kin cast her aside? Why had she actively tried to make their lives in the forest difficult? Why did she find herself here now, weeping beneath a rotting log?
everything mortal fades away in time, but the spirit remains
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"If you were leaving anyway, then what's your problem?" seethed Wylla, lifting marginally up from the ground as indignation coursed through her. "It's dog eat dog on the coast, you weren't protecting your territory well enough, that's your problem. We smelled food, weak borders and an opportunity. You stopped us anyway, quit acting like we did anything to you." Honestly. If Durnehviir thought she was doing much to comfort the previously weeping Wylla, well, she wasn't. She was only pissing her off, and she had enough burdening her at that exact moment that she really didn't need this.

Speaking of which, "what do you want, anyway?" There had to be some reason the crimson she-wolf had poked her head under that log. Wylla's eyes were flinty as they fixed on the other wolf's nose. Surely Durnehviir hadn't just come to gloat, but so far, she wasn't giving any indication that she wasn't there just to rub it in. Her question was extremely vague but Wylla answered anyway, in true Wylla fashion, though her voice broke in the end: "because everyone's a huge dick. Including you right now."
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Durnehviir swung around to face the mottled yearling again, her feathered tail lashing the air behind her in irritation as the offender continued to snipe back. Her points were all valid - they had neglected their Northern outskirts, or at least Durnehviir herself had - and left themselves vulnerable, but somehow she doubted that no matter how fresh those markers were, this loud-mouthed wolfess would've crossed them anyway. It was only a matter of time, she'd confided in Constantine before they brought the pack together - a solid defence to support her decision for relocation sooner rather than later.

"I heard you wailing," she said in response to Wylla's question, "and saw that you were alone. I stopped to check if I could help." Because I'm not an asshole, like you. She frowned deeply. "I'm starting to regret that decision, since you don't even have a shred of remorse for trying to take advantage of us. But that's okay as long as you got what you wanted though, right?"

A single ginger ear pricked high atop her crown in a moment of surprise at being dubbed a "huge dick". Her temper threatened to flare and her lobes slicked back again, hackles bristling. She stared at the argumentative loner and seethe quietly, expecting a sneer right back at her. But what Durnehviir saw was the face of a young outcast, spurned and hurt, with a lot of growing up to do. Unexpectedly, she found herself feeling some pity for Wylla, and recalled the promise to herself that she would not look back on the misfortune that Ravensblood had once brought her. She slackened somewhat, though maintained her distance, and continued to eye the coastal stranger with a level of suspicion. "So," she started coolly, "What do you want?
everything mortal fades away in time, but the spirit remains
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Durnehviir really was shaping up to be a typical woman: fixated wholly on something to the point of never shutting up about it. Wylla didn't repeat that she and Ingram had taken nothing and got nowhere in their little raiding scheme, but rolled her eyes and growled, "get over it already. You're not helping at all. You're just lording over someone who's down on their luck. Your privilege is showing." Durnehviir hadn't offered a single condolence or way out of this situation, so what was she trying to do? She'd stopped to help but wasn't able to swallow that one bitter pill, nor did she seem willing to just leave without driving her point home hard. Nevermind that Wylla would have been a lot crueler in Durn's shoes. She wasn't above gloating to others, but she sure didn't like it when someone did it to her.

Wylla was incredibly vulnerable, exposed and without a home or friends to turn to. That made her extremely defensive, and the fact Durnehviir was doing nothing but referring constantly to that raiding event only made her seethe. So when the crimson wolf asked what she wanted, she sneered and answered, "I'm not sorry for your lack of diligence. Maintain your territory or pay the price. In return I lost everything so I have it a lot worse than you." She snorted and her voice fell quiet as she said, "so unless you're here to give me somewhere to go, I want you to take your entitlement and get out of my face because I've had enough and I need to go."
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Sorry for the wait here, wanna fade?  :)

Despite previously willing herself to relax and let it go, the motled yearling carried on with her "woe is me" attitude and her annoyance began to rise again. Durnehviir seethed in silence, brow furrowed and pale eyes narrowed. Her tail lashed with frustration, sweeping her hocks as the truth of Wylla's words pierced her already bruised ego. Leaving Ravensblood to the coastal wolves had been difficult for their small band, and thinking of it clearly still pissed her off. It probably would for some time, but it didn't have to control her.

She would not allow it.

Exhaling a sharp breath, the pregnant Alpha reminded herself that she did not trust this now loner. But she was just that: a loner, cast out by her pack, and in need of somewhere to go. A part of her wondered if she'd take advantage of what Swiftcurrent meant to them and disappear when she had her fill, but she decided it didn't matter. If Wylla chose to band with them and moved on after a time, her generosity would not be extended once more.

"My name is Durnehviir," she told the coastal female, beginning to turn away. "We are heading South, if you wish to follow." Durnehviir paused, looking briefly over a slender shoulder. Don't make me regret this, she thought fiercely and dipped her pale muzzle curtly before padding away in search of Constantine to inform him of this unexpected turn of events.
everything mortal fades away in time, but the spirit remains
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Her expression remained dark and guarded as Durnehviir finally dropped the subject. Yeesh. Talk about attachment issues. The mottled she-wolf's buttercream eyes followed the crimson wolf carefully as she began to walk away, and her ears lifted into sharper points when an offer was extended. Instantly suspicious, Wylla stayed where she was for a time and glared after her adversary's backside; what was she playing at?

Surely it was a trap, but with nowhere else to go and no one to turn to, she really didn't have much of a choice. She could return to the loner life, certainly, but she wouldn't succeed with her ego as badly bruised as it was. And if it turned out to be a trap like she suspected—if these wolves intended to hold her down and make her do their bidding as revenge for their miserable little copse on the coast—then she was wily and would find a way to escape.

She always found a way out. After a long moment she began to follow Durnehviir's scent back to where her band of wolves was gathered, where she was certain to meet the exaggerated judgment of her new "pack mates".