Neverwinter Forest and his throat burns from the screaming
All Welcome  August 12, 2018, 12:23 PM
Wintersbane
Lone Wolves

        from ocean breath's plateau the tundrian moves east, careful to stay north of moonspear. he isn't sure if they will bother hunting him down — he doubts he's worth the effort or the manpower ( or, rather, he hopes ). he wasn't family so he generally assumes that charon couldn't be bothered to care. it doesn't slide past his notice that he's picked up a habit. a habit of abandoning packs. teaghlaigh ( however accidental that one'd been ), blackfeather woods, the forming ravensblood forest, the hopeful pack adeline had been attempting to make ( though it's ultimate failure to form might've been his fault, too ), moonspear. for the moment, wintersbane stays clear of adhering himself to the laws and leadership of another pack. thus far in his life it's proven to be ...messy. and he comes off as nothing short of disobedient. he's not the sort to follow the leader and when he did he hated the stagnant and complacent thing he'd became. no pack was going to willing put up with his antics and he doesn't exactly blame them for it. would he, if the tables were turned? hell no. he was as hard-nosed for laws as he was rebellious against all but his own. which was largely contradictory and complex.

        he lets out a small, inaudible snort as he shrugs beneath a massive evergreen pine. it's needles brush against his fur causing the skin to crawl along his spine and his ears to slick back and pin against his skull. the floor was shadowed and there was not much light except for the few stubborn rays of sunlight that managed to break through the canopy above. the forest offers a cool place to reside, for the time being, and the tundrian was grateful for it, clinging to the northern reaches of the territory's natural borders.

a lion keeps no den. because the savanna, all the space within it,
everything that walks and crawls upon it belongs to him.
August 12, 2018, 04:10 PM
Blackbear
Lone Wolves

She'd meant to visit the plateau, but as soon as she'd set eyes on it, all desire to do so had faded away. Instead, she headed out onto the valley floor, passing by the peak that her father had often called Adeline Laughs - and she didn't look directly at it, just like Daddy never had, either.

In the woods she stalked as quietly as she could, but she was a big, hulking mass of a wolf, and at times the undergrowth was too tight to slip through, and she shoved past it with snapping jaws and gnashing of teeth. The further she entered into the woods, though, the less undergrowth she had to deal with. Eventually, she was walking through the gloom unobstructed, and it was then that she caught sight of the other.

Blackbear paused, wavering uncertainly between flight and indifference. She was not a little girl anymore, but it was still sinking in that she didn't have to worry much about being attacked or overpowered. As her steps slowed, though, she realized that she and the stranger were rather well matched. Not just in coloration, but in size. That was odd.

"Hello," she ventured, thoughts of flight and indifference sliding away as intrigue took its place.

rain before it falls,
lightning before it strikes
August 12, 2018, 06:32 PM
Wintersbane
Lone Wolves

        wintersbane grows increasingly comfortable beneath the cool shade of the sentinel evergreens and allows himself a moment to stretch languidly, reveling in the pull of his muscles as they tighten and loosen. the moment of peace is broken by the sound of heavy footfalls upon the bracken covered floor of neverwinter and the tundrian rises, glacial gaze scanning the shadows of the trees and underbrush, guard hairs prickling and bristling ever-so-slightly with unease. he knows better than to drop his guard ...not that he's particularly worried. he's a warrior and is capable of handling himself in a fight should the need arise.

        at first glance, she could easily be mistaken for one of the cerberus and for a brief moment wintersbane resigns himself to duly deserved punishment. except ...except the eyes are the wrong color and this woman looks closer to his own age than the cerberus. not to mention, they were painted as black as ink while the female before him bears blotches of silver and white; her scent as lone as his own ( as far as he can tell anyway ). not one of the cerberus. which leads to a very brief bought of guilt and his hackles smooth as she greets him.

        "hello." the tundrian returns the greeting in kind, shrugging beneath the grasping, needle lined branches of the evergreen he'd taken shelter under.

a lion keeps no den. because the savanna, all the space within it,
everything that walks and crawls upon it belongs to him.
August 12, 2018, 08:23 PM
Blackbear
Lone Wolves

Like Wintersbane, Blackbear soon noticed that they were similar in age as well. The thought made her feel strangely wistful. She thought of the brother and sister she'd left behind and wondered how they were getting on without her. The grey shewolf had spoken at length of her brothers - both elder and littermate - but not much about her sisters, or the new siblings that her father's mate would surely have bourne by then.

"You're on your own, too, huh?" she asked after a moment of silent appraisal. He didn't seem inclined to attack, nor did her presence seem to irk him. Maybe they could keep each other company for a while. It'd been several weeks since she'd had company. "I'm Blackbear," she added, taking a few cautious steps forward.

rain before it falls,
lightning before it strikes
August 13, 2018, 04:09 AM
Wintersbane
Lone Wolves

        the tundrian's ears cup forth at her words that follow his return of greeting. a question but ...not. wintersbane isn't immediately sure if it was rhetorical or not but after a few seconds responds anyway with, "yes," giving a brief pause to contemplate how much information he wants to give. does the fact that he struggles to follow laws and be complacent and obedient relevant to their conversation at the moment? he doesn't think so. and as he has a growing reputation — despite that it grows under different aliases — perhaps he doesn't want to clue anyone in that might, otherwise, be unsuspecting. he might doubt he's worth the trouble of a manhunt and he certainly has an edge on blackfeather woods whom had only seen him as a cream puff child as opposed to the blue-black maned bear-like man he is now. though he'd given pause after his simple response to her (maybe rhetorical) question about his status as loner wintersbane has no inclination to actually respond past it.

        glacial gaze watches as the woman draws forward and accordingly closer a few more steps. he assess her movements out of a warrior's habit but ultimately assumes that she isn't moving forward with hostile intent. she doesn't seem any more inclined to attack than he does. i'm blackbear, she offers her name to him in introduction and at that the tundrian's lips quirk into a small smile. it suits her, he thinks. "blackbear?" wintersbane repeats, testing it out on his tongue. "it suits you." he compliments, or rather, he means it as a compliment. whether she takes it as such is a different story altogether.

        "wintersbane." he offers his own name in introduction then.

a lion keeps no den. because the savanna, all the space within it,
everything that walks and crawls upon it belongs to him.
August 13, 2018, 09:59 PM
Blackbear
Lone Wolves

It'd been some time since she'd last been expected to make conversation. The wolf echoed her name back at her, causing her ears to flicker. It sounded easier coming out of his mouth than hers - her tongue didn't want to shape it, but when he said it, it was only a word. It would get better with time, she thought. "Thanks," she said succintly when the man claimed that it suited her. She wondered if that was true and then had to scoff aloud at her own silliness. Of course it did. That was why she'd been given the name.

"Wintersbane," she repeated in a lofty immitation of the young male. "Does that suit you, I wonder?" His fur and eyes seemed to be made from winter rather than being the bane of it. It was, at least, a little less straightfoward than blackbear. She was large and black and bearlike, so it had been an obvious choice.

The woman retreated a few paces, putting her back to the trunk of an evergreen and lowering herself to the forest floor. She began grooming the pads of her paws, which were cracked and bloodly and covered in tree sap. "I'm going to come out of this forest covered in pine cones," she noted, realizing she'd probably laid in even more tree sap.

rain before it falls,
lightning before it strikes
Yesterday, 04:23 AM
Wintersbane
Lone Wolves

        she repeats his own name back at him in a similar manner than he'd done hers. a soft chuckle leaves the tundrian's lips as she muses on if his name suits him. he can't rightly say. the name, this time, wasn't expressly his choice alone. "my mother thought so." wintersbane feels himself admitting with a rueful smile. for a moment, lotte's grave flashes in his mind's eye and something painful seizes in his chest. he grieves her, as he grieved her when he realized he was kidnapped and the likelihood of ever seeing her again had been slim to none at all. perhaps, in some form or another, he will always mourn the nightingale queen and the mother-son relationship that had been untimely and unfairly ripped away from them. the tundrian doesn't contemplate children — at all — but he errantly thinks that one day, if he ever has a daughter, he would like to name her after lotte, to honor the queen taken too soon from the corporeal world. "but," he adds with a continued tone of light humor. "she also affectionately called me spleenbane so, who knows."

        wintersbane watches with a small tilt of curiosity to the motion as she retreats beneath an evergreen. as she gets presumably comfortable, he relaxes enough to recline upon his haunches. obviously, neither of them are a threat to one another and wintersbane grows tired of being on constant edge all the time. he knows his reputation for creating enemies demands him to be so — if he lets his guard down he might find himself in an early grave beside his mother's own ( though he doubts he'd be buried near her or even at all; he'd likely be left for the scavengers to pick and squabble over ). yet, wintersbane chooses this lone life because his issues with authority make it extremely hard and undesirable to live in a pack settling for too long, for both parties involved.

        "yeah," he draws with a low and soft snort, glimpsing over his shoulder. sticky sap has gelled the wispier tendrils of fur at his mane together and decorated them with minty green pine needles. he huffs — he's always been vain — but knows he won't reach the junction of his shoulders and knows he'll just have to deal with it until he can bathe. a few times, because he doubts a single dip in a lake or pond is going to be enough to loosen the sap. "at least it's better than sand." anything was better than sand in winterbane's mind, though.

a lion keeps no den. because the savanna, all the space within it,
everything that walks and crawls upon it belongs to him.