She lived on a mountain, a much more formidable one than this tiny afterthought. She had been born and raised on the slopes of a summit. As Wildfire slid to a stop at the foot of a steep decline and lay there, stunned, she abstractly acknowledged the irony of the situation. Painstakingly, she rolled onto her belly, slowly moving each of her limbs to check for broken bones. She hurt all over from the impact, yet as she gently rose onto all fours, there were no particular pain points. She hesitated, then gave herself an experimental shake to get the dust and dirt off her fur, as well as feel out the rest of her body. Yes, she definitely smarted, yet hopefully she hadn't done any permanent damage.
Shaking her head at herself, Wildfire began to walk again, slowly and carefully, only to stop short when the breeze delivered the pungent scent of mountain goats. She turned, tipping her muzzle into the air to discern the scent's origin. Although she was trying to climb downward and head back in the direction of home, she instead scrambled to the nearest high point and scanned her surroundings. There, she thought when her amber eyes clapped upon the small herd of white ungulates milling in the cleft between Little Goat Mountain and the towering Sawtooth Spire.
Excitement raced through her, chased quickly after by disappointment. There was no way she could attempt hunting one of them by herself, especially not on these unfamiliar slopes. A sigh of resignation escaped her as she slowly sat, unable to tear her eyes away yet. Even if there was no hope of capturing one—and even though she fancied herself a small game hunter—she would not pass up this opportunity to watch and learn.
From the opposite end of the cleft stalked a carnivorous stranger. Prowling his large, earthen body forward, the covetous wolf with his slavering jaws and inexpressive eyes, set his destructive sights on the prone body of a young nanny. She had never seen danger, only fleeing when led to by the movements of her mother, so she relaxed openly among the herd, lazing and grazing with her hooves tucked beneath her on the cold ground. Nearly fully grown, the ignorant creature would make a decent carcass.
She was too slow to get to her feet as the others bleated wildly and began fleeing. The goat stumbled, crushed by something heavy and sharp. She cried out for her mother, the pain unfamiliar and searing, her blood hot against her white back. Then all of the sensations were erased at once, and she was left with a comforting wave of numbness before her entire, adolescent life switched to black.
Warbone tore eagerly into his meal, jaded to the sheer luck of finding an unschooled ungulate. The smell of blood rose quickly, filling the air of warm mountain crevice in an arousing ambiance for predators.
She only intended to study the herd, not a get front row seat to a solo hunting expedition worthy of a National Geographic special. Wildfire froze, riveted, lips slightly parted as a wolf prowled onto the scene, then dispatched a young goat. He did it with an expertise that both impressed and humbled the yearling. Her mouth clapped shut as the prey's scream ripped through the air, followed soon after by the smell of fresh blood and the noises of eating. The rest of the herd had fled somewhere, forgotten by the she-wolf as her attention remained fixed.
As an up-and-coming hunter, she was itching to go down there and pick this guy's brain about his hunting style. But she knew better than to approach a wolf mid-meal. Wildfire exhaled through her nostrils, remaining rooted to the spot as she watched him eat. Maybe she had been too hasty in assuming she couldn't have taken on one of the smaller goats herself, though she had to admit she felt like a bumbling newbie after watching the wolf below illustrate his skills.
Rambling post is rambling.
He did not spend much time eating—too much on the belly and he would be bloated, too lazy to move on. Not that he intended to leave this cleft very soon. Warbone meant to spend time with this carcass. But he had learned from past mistakes, and he would not overindulge. While he ate, his eyes darted in every direction, a habit now for the solitary wolf and it was by small coincidence that he happened to scan the ridges above.
When their eyes met, there was the barest of pauses on his end (so quick, it almost didn't happen) before he resumed his own personal contest of speed eating. He didn't look away for a long moment—watching the small, striking swathe of red fur against the cold, drab backdrop with what could be perceived as a very mild interest. He looked elsewhere, eyes darting suspiciously once more. His bites were massive and quick, but ultimately few, and after one final gulp of tender belly meat, he relieved himself of his devouring crouch and gave his entire body a good shake. Flecks of gory bits expelled, he then angled his body towards the wolf perched above him, looking to see if she remained.
Even at this distance he could tell she was small, and despite what his volatile behavior might suggest, Warbone was an incredibly rational creature. If she was hungry, he would allow her to eat, as displayed by the way he obviously swung his muzzle towards the prone kill in a pointed fashion and then back to her. He gave a curt nod—an affirmation of his offer, should she take it—and then he began to lope the slender perimeter of the cleft, sniffing about, checking to see what else besides goats frequented this quaint knoll caught between cliffs.
She wouldn't take much, he thought, and if she wasn't alone, Warbone had no qualms with battling multiple wolves. He would deal with what came, as it did.
As he ate his fill, the wolf kept an eye on his surroundings and Wildfire caught herself holding her breath when his gaze eventually found its way to her. His demeanor did not change much; he looked at her with some interest but continued bolting down his meal. She slowly relaxed and let out a breath, remaining watchful. When he ultimately motioned for her to come down and share in his repast, her lips parted again in an expression of surprised disbelief.
She was actually hungrier for his knowledge than his food. She rose slowly and began picking her way carefully down into the cleft, butterscotch eyes trailing after him as he began to wander around the immediate area. She glanced at the remains of the young goat for an instant, then looked at him again, wondering why he was so willing to share. Maybe he was such a good hunter that he always had some to spare. Wildfire became even more intrigued.
She came to a stop perhaps five feet from the kill, though she didn't eat. She was still watching him. "This isn't a trap, is it?" Wildfire quipped after a moment, her joke a bit awkward in delivery, as she wasn't sure how else to break the ice with this intimidatingly formidable hunter.
He stalked around, his legs stiff and his body demanding that the earth yield to him her secrets. She revealed some things: goats frequented here, and small mountain prey had buried themselves deep into the smallest rock crevices imaginable. A wolf had passed through here, but the scent of it was over a week old, and so faint that he didn't linger on the marked spot for long. He turned to see if the young wolf had joined his banquet, and sure enough she was near the kill, hesitating in some way, for some reason. He considered that she wasn't hungry, and that his hospitality towards another lone wolf had been wasted—but as he drew nearer in the sweeping, languid way in which he loped, he could smell on her the cloying scent of a pack.
He had half a mind to chase her away at that point, but her words completely withdrew the emotion. "If I had set a trap, you would already know," he said after an overly long pause, during which he had scrutinized her for a clue that she was about to spring a trap. He blinked, seemingly satisfied with something he didn't see, and he sat down suddenly, letting his forepaws slide forward until he was a positioned sphinx. His hooded eyes regarded her as much as he regarded everything else, showing no great amount of concern but hardly missing anything anyway.
Superficially, Warbone liked her red fur. It was a warm difference from the cold surroundings; like being able to safely gaze at the sun. "You wander into supposed traps quite easily, little fox. What would your loved ones think of your jeopardous proclivity for seeking Death?" he asked, joking—possibly. His deadpan accent was difficult to read.
He came closer and Wildfire just barely resisted the temptation to shrink away. She could not recall ever feeling this intimidated by another wolf, except maybe Peregrine when he had been in a particularly surly mood. She blinked her amber eyes at the stranger's coolly confident remark, the red fur on the back of her neck prickling. That sounded vaguely like a threat, though in the next instant, he was reposing like a (big) cat.
The pet name made her ears twitch and Wildfire smiled faintly. Would she never escape the comparison? She supposed she didn't mind, especially because it reminded her that she took after her mother. Her eyes narrowed slightly at the joke. That's how she took it. He seemed to have a very dry, crisp sense of humor. She thought again of Peregrine, albeit briefly.
"I don't need to seek death; it's always right there, nipping at my heels. Did you not see me fall ass over teakettle a minute ago...?" she quipped in response. She almost made a crack about being a warrior but it was no longer true and, anyway, Wildfire was far too dragooned by him to make a joke of that nature. It was clear as day he could lay her out if he so desired, just like he had done with the baby goat. "I imagine my loved ones will be very sad the day I inevitably bite the dust, whatever the cause," she finished in a quiet, wry voice.
The next moment, she shifted her weight slightly and bent over the remains of the carcass to tear off a strip of flesh and bolt it down quickly. Her eyes remained fixed on the sanguine form in front of her and, while chewing, she said, "I'm not even going to bother pretending I wasn't watching you hunt. And I have only thing to say about what I saw: teach me your ways."
He had not seen her fall but did not comment as to what the truth of the matter was. Warbone was watching her almost exclusively now, having seen nothing in their surroundings that was quite so striking as her. He appeared bemused, though the red stains across his grey mask made it difficult to read exactly what meager emotion was there. After mentioning her loved ones, he remained quite still, only offering an appraising "hmm" that rumbled deep in his throat like the (big) cat he resembled now. She had been right— Death was always chasing them. This was perhaps their only similarity, as Warbone couldn't imagine anyone being very sad or otherwise at the time of his comeuppance. In fact, there might be a parade, led by the goats of this ridge...
She finally took a sliver of meat befitting her size, turning back to him to remark in presumed fascination that she had been watching him some time before he had noticed her. If Warbone could look sufficiently surprised, then this was that moment. He had fathered children before, but none of them were to his exact knowledge (though he suspected he might have a few bastards dominating their respective regions), so he had little to no experience with... education. He hardly seemed to be a wolf for the task, but the wolf was more tolerable than he looked. Evidenced by the way he had invited the adolescent to dinner with him.
He blinked, long and slow— his favorite activity— before speaking again. "You must start by eating the entire rest of that carcass," he advised dryly. "You cannot very well do what I do, while bearing only half my weight, soaking wet."
He seemed as surprised about her request as she had felt when offered the meat. Wildfire's lips curled a bit at the corners. The expression froze in place when he remarked on her size. It was merely the truth. It was also part of why she specialized in small game hunting. Her snout bobbed in acknowledgement as she slowly folded her slim red haunches beneath herself.
"Good point," she answered simply, glancing sideways for a moment before her eyes drifted back to him. "Got any general pointers anyway? I'm a hunter by trade, specializing in the smaller stuff," she revealed, then decided it was only proper to offer an introduction too. "Name's Wildfire, by the way." She lapsed into silence, wondering if he would take the cue and introduce himself in turn. "Gamma of Moonspear," Wildfire thought to add, realizing even as she said it that she rarely (if ever) introduced herself by her rank.
Warbone considered the girl's request, ears flicking as she introduced herself. Wildfire. Idly he wondered if she had ever seen the horrifying beauty that was an actual untamed blaze. And though he knew she had earned her namesake by the color of her fur, he made a mental observation that she was almost nothing like the feral flames that had engulfed the woods of his homeland. Warbone had not known fear before or since that occasion. "Warbone, of nowhere," he drawled, tucking away the name of her home in the back of head and quirking an impressed brow at her given rank.
"I must attribute most of my talent to the threat of starvation, but over time I have found ways to exponentially increase my chances of success. Since you specialize in smaller prey, I recommend first finding the place in which they will flee for— their burrow or what have you, they never stray too far from it— and driving them in the opposite direction. They will instinctively seek their home, and this will (more often than not) eventually drive less thoughtful creatures right to you as they attempt to roundabout their way back. There are usually several places they have to escape, so it would be fortuitous of you to seek them all. It is a longer process but the results are more promising. I have learned a great deal of patience, having to hunt this way."
Maybe she mentioned it because he intimidated her so much. Wildfire didn't think long on it, mostly because Warbone took her inquiry seriously, contemplated for a beat, then gave a thoughtful answer. She listened raptly, bobbing her head gratefully as he imparted his knowledge. It was a tactic she had practiced before, along with many others, but she made a mental note to practice it more. Maybe if she perfected it, she could dispatch small game the way Warbone had taken out that young goat.
"So you're a loner, Warbone?" she asked, though not before dipping her snout in a gesture of thanks. "By choice or circumstance?" Wildfire wondered. What would Charon do if she brought back this particular specimen? She could personally vouch for his hunting skills but the young scout had a feeling that Charon might consider someone like Warbone a threat to his command. In the same vein, she somehow couldn't picture this wolf bowing his head to the freckled yearling. There probably wasn't much hope for a recruitment here.
"Hm, either or," he rumbled casually, getting to his feet in one heavy, slow-motion movement and circling the carcass so that he was opposite Wildfire. It was a minor strategy on his part because, for whatever reason, he didn't want to scare her away. He dug his half-dried face into the goat's spilled intestines, gnawing away a large portion to snack on as they chatted. He ate slower this time, choosing to be polite, maybe.
Warbone eyed her in a speculative manner. "My mate was about your size. She used to set traps for larger prey," he said, reverting the subject. Hunting was something he could talk about. Packs, not so much. He had yet to find a suitable place to settle since the demise of Tall Timbers and that was because intimidated alphas always sought to put him in "his place" when it was largely unnecessary. "She was quite efficient at felling deer, even without my assistance."
When Warbone moved back over his kill, standing directly across from her, Wildfire decided she definitely wouldn't waste his time (or hers) trying to recruit him. Although he would have been a great asset, Moonspear wasn't hurting for members and it didn't really look like he needed a pack much. Her amber eyes dropped briefly to the goat's remains, then back up to the general vicinity of his face when he suddenly mentioned a mate.
The idea of traps intrigued her. She had tried them out on smaller prey, without much luck. But what Wildfire found more compelling was his use of the past tense. "Something happened to her?" she asked softly, having the presence of mind to navigate the question tactfully for once. If that was the case, it was really too bad. Warbone had only said a few words about her but Wildfire would have liked to meet her and pick her brain about innovative hunting techniques as well.
Warbone's ear twitched faintly. And his eyes, which had been scanning, suddenly jumped back to Wildfire's sharp face. Though his expression didn't seem to veritably change, there was a hint of surprise there— perhaps accompanied by either bemusement or irritation— but it was difficult to be certain. He blinked, slowly. "Not to my knowledge," he said, leaning down to eat again, scarfing down several mouthfuls before dropping on his haunches, licking his dark red jaws. "But I must consider her dead in order to trivialize the manner in which we parted ways."
Then (because he was in a fed, well-to-do kind of mood) the large wolf elaborated. "She stole my heart in my most autonomous year. It was something very certain and inarguable between us, no less in its power because of its swift conception. But it was a flame fated to burn out," he drawled poetically, a thin film of fondness covering his voice. "I joined the pack of her brother to be with her, but in my arrogance I sought to transcend the standing impressions his followers had of him, and he was understandably... riled." His eyes shined briefly, remembering something distant. Something... gripping.
"We fought and he suffered a fatal wound that killed him the following day. She could not forgive me, and by her own teeth and tears, chased me from the territory. I have not seen her since."
She had fully expected a sob story and she was already mentally preparing herself for the sympathetic role, yet Warbone's tale went in an unexpected direction. He left nothing to imagination as he detailed the fate of his former relationship. Wildfire remained silent and riveted, idly wondering if there was something about her that caused strange men to spill their lovelorn histories. After all, this wasn't the first time it had happened to her.
Of course, she didn't mind. When Warbone finished, she cast around for something to say and eventually commented, "I'm sorry it didn't work out." Only after the words came out of her mouth did she realize just how much of an understatement that was and she snorted at herself. "I'm glad nobody's dead," she added, then mentally kicked herself because someone had died: the brother.
Wildfire's mouth opened and closed (despite the foot in it) and she eventually shook her head and repeated, "I'm sorry," in a blanket apology. "What do you plan to do now?" she added a little painstakingly, hoping to steer the conversation back out of this awkward territory.
She fumbled slightly over an unnecessary apology. The event was a part of his past, no longer a sore subject to him and long forgotten was his bitterness over it all. Though as he considered it, he couldn't remember ever speaking on it aloud, but this was mostly due to the fact that no one had ever asked. Warbone didn't consider himself an enigmatic man— and he wasn't by practical standards— but a lot of him was unknown because of his physical imposition and the lackluster way in which he spoke.
"Plans are detrimental to me in my current situation," he mused. "I am on a day-to-day basis for now." He did have a goal. A distant one, but he didn't mention it regardless. There was no promise he would even remain in this area at all, let alone settle. He didn't imagine he would meet little Wildfire again either for it to matter. He didn't meet many wolves twice, but it had happened before he supposed. "And you, Wildfire? Your plans. Do they include being more than a Gamma of Moonspear one day?"
Wildfire didn't anticipate any particular kind of answer; anything would suffice to move the conversation along. An evidently unaffected Warbone replied readily, his lifestyle reminding her immediately of Ravel's. She had wondered how the other she-wolf managed to take care of herself. With Warbone here, she scarcely wondered at all.
He turned the question back on her and she reacted by saying, "Ah, no, not really. I'm not really one for pomp and circumstance." Her lips twitched at the quip, then she added, "I am working on my trades right now, though. You've caught me in the middle of a scouting trip, as a matter of fact." Wildfire paused, idly gazing around at their surroundings for a moment before her amber eyes found their way back to his rugged features. "Think I'm going to have a closer look around this place, actually." Another pause. "You're welcome to join me, if you like."
"No," Warbone answered after a leisurely pause. He had been momentarily displaced by his own quiet consideration of joining her, but despite the protective magnetism he felt for the girl, the reptilian wolf wanted to keep up appearances. He couldn't very well just lumber around after little red riding hood. His soon-shedding winter coat had seen more adventures than she, surely! But the fact that he needed excuses not to follow her seemed sentiment enough. "I think a nap will do instead."
He did not move far from the kill, but turned a circle and plopped down in a spot where he wouldn't be bothered by any lucky scavengers he wouldn't decide to chase off. From his lazing position on his elbow and hip, he watched Wildfire with a barely discernible glint of fondness touching his naturally cold eyes. "You have food here, if you should return within the day. Come morning, I will be gone." The wolf paused on a breath, hitching onto more words thoughtfully. He seemed to rearrange them, or change what he had intended to say altogether, and instead he said: "until we meet again, Foxfire."
Whether he had forgotten her name and mixed it up with his personal impression of her, or had simply nicknamed her is up for debate.
She found the rejection more disappointing than she expected, yet Wildfire brushed it off and certainly didn't let it show. Rather, she regarded him with a polite, grateful smile and made a point to dip her head. Most strangers were more or less kind, yet Warbone's generosity stood out and would not soon be forgotten.
"Take care, Warbone," she replied, seeing no reason to correct him about her name (she actually quite liked the spontaneous nick). Her lips twitched in private amusement because, of course, it was pretty clear he could take care of himself and didn't require her well wishes.
With a last glance, she turned and began to climb the shortest of the peaks again, determined to have more of a look around the unfamiliar landscape. What she found was not ultimately very interesting or particularly useful—it was all unremarkable slopes carpeted with grass and lichen—but Wildfire found she wished this place was closer to Moonspear because it was less of a landmark and more of a mountain goat buffet.
After several hours' worth of exploration, she departed on that thought, leaving Warbone's spoils to him and the crows.