Wolf RPG

@xi'nuata:

Some wicked force prevailed upon Lecter this morn — he drifted forth from his rambling den across Fox's borders almost upon waking. Icewater eyes were set in a vaguely amused expression; the shaman loped with the wolf-trot across the greening expanses that separated the Creek from the Vale, a childish snicker rising in his throat.

The first and only time he had arrived at this place, a great black beast had attacked him as he collected sage along the borders. It was an herb necessary for his stock, and Sos had quite swelled him with an overabundance of confidence, thus, with the light of new dawn glimmering in lovely gold upon the blackened blood that caked his pelt, Lecter approached the borders of Northstar Vale.

Nares flared to take the scents therein, and he frowned somewhat, but in the next moment, Lecter had fallen to searching for the verdant patch of sage. He was dismayed and angered to see that it had been uprooted; only a few shredded leaves remained of the plants. Growling with displeasure, the ageing madman began to gather what little he could find, quite ignoring the borders at his peril — again.

OOC: FYI Not trying to turn this into a fight D:

The morning was unkind to the female’s tired eyes; the first hint that she had slept longer than her usual. The dawn had been her intended hour to rise, but her body was weak and fatigue had settled deeply into her bones dragging down the great beast to find comfort on the earthen floor. But it was with the stark light of the sun that she was compelled to rise and stretch long limbs and heavy paws toward the bush that encompassed her keep. Sincerely she hoped that the beast of the mountain would not be angered by her delayed greet of the morning, yet part of her did not fully believe he would be angered. Yet there was always that sliver of doubt in her mind that favored the contrary.

Never the less she rose with careful ease, stretching fully then began her rounds about the territory. In her rounds she remarked the trees and hardy bushes, leaving the essence of not only herself but the Vale, reclaiming in earnest what was theirs to protect and serve.

Still in the morning, she came upon the thickly vegetated edges of the land that led between the mountains, but found it was only the scent of the Vale that lingered there. It was the musk of a male, permeating the heavy scent she carried. Her nostrils flared in bother as lips unfurled without warning, and from her throat slithered a growl as she crept closer to the threshold of her domain. How unfortunate for the bold that her first sight would be a spot of white within the green, for without word, the warden sprang from the gathering brushes, her shoulders forward and braced in an effort to knock into the white transgressor.

okay <3

She was cream, she was gold, she was butterscotch and russet, a true dessert for the eyes of those who beheld her. Unlucky now for the wench that it was Lecter's glare that should alight by sheer luck upon her silently attacking form. Holding tightly to his mouthful of sage, he darted backward with alacrity, avoiding the brunt of the blow but feeling the savage's shoulder graze his flank all the same.

Foolith bitch! Lecter lisped savagely through the fragrant plants, continuing to backpedal and avoid her. Of course, if the woman, who appeared to outweigh him by quite a sizable number of pounds, should truly attack, the pale witch would have no choice but to engage or flee. I am not in your lands! the Creek wolf snarled, dropping his bundle of greenery to the loam and assuming a protective stance over it..

Her shoulder had made contact, yet its force was lacking as the quicker steps of the male kept him just out of reach. His insult was deafened by the eruption from her parting maw, though her ears did flicked forward, indicative of her receiving his aged chords. “My lands…” she snarled, while placing a firm step forward. “…no they are not.” She was no fool to contest the obvious, but surely even he would have grown nervous if the wolf of the Vale tread too close to his resident borders. And as she recalled by the glimpse to his flank, this was not the first time she had seen his likeness near their lands.

“…but you press your luck to come so close,” she continued as her hardened stare drifted downward to the bundle protectively held by his shadow. “Was it not your Alpha that claimed the Creek wished to ‘avoid’ the Vale?” What sort of community was being run when so few seemed to adhere to the word of their superior? “Yet you seem keen to find our borders…again.”

Perhaps he should have heeded the interpack tension betwixt his own pack and the Vale, but his own sense of confidence and worth had inflated his head beyond reason. Her snarl was met with a low, cold rejoinder of his own; Lecter did not fear the great woman, nor did he fear her black dog.

It is of no account to you, the white witch hissed, but duty to my pack brings me to your borders. A gesture of his paw was given to the clenched bunch of sage. Unfortunately, yours is the land by which this grows, and it is necessary for healing.

Doubtful that the woman would see the worth of his argument, Lecter's hackles flared as if he were an irate bird and he glared into her eyes. I will take my leave now, and I will not return. I have what I came for, and it does not belong to you or the Vale.

OOc: I envision them dressed as gentlemen, slapping each other with white gloves...

“…not with the plant,” her word was impressed by a sudden lunge for that male. Her teeth were not bared with an intent to bite, yet her bulk was thrown forward in an effort to deter the male from his healing herbs. She cared little for what good it would do the Creek. The Vale had their own healer to supply, however damaged she might have been. They could not risk the stock nearest to them to be stripped by their audacious neighbors simply because it was for their benefit.

“You may leave with your life, but my generosity ends there,” her tail raised and flagged at its fullest height in defiance, daring the male to contest her offer. “You will not take another thing that is needed by more than your petty lot.”

hahaha lol yes. oh! this is sort of powerplay because it assumes nuata would stand there and listen to him run his mouth, so PM me if you want to change things up <3

Lecter backstepped from her lunge, but a smart flick of his paw brought the bundle to roll with him, to unravel from its clenched fashion and spread the smell of crushed sage into the air. You fool! he hissed, true venom in his tone. You and your dogs care nothing for this plant, otherwise you would have not let that black cur uproot it all! His glacial stare warred with her own.

I came here once before. A great ugly shadow attacked me; when I departed, I can only assume he uprooted and destroyed the plant where it grew. Lecter jerked his head toward the ravaged earth where he had found his few dubious leaves.

I need only the leaves, not the roots, he snarled to the Vale woman, lest she accuse him of destroying the plot. You and yours either are ignorant of its properties, or had no intention of using it; the plant was untouched when I found it.

The weatherwitch stared hard at her now. Draw one more breath to tell me why you fight for this thing, and do not insult me by lying again.

A skirt of the paw, and the aroma of sage rose into the air to consume her nostrils. Immediately she recoiled from it, nose wrinkling bitterly as the strange scent assaulting the inner flesh with a vengeance and left her reeling. Were it not for the male before her, she might have relinquished her pride and bent her muzzle to hind underpaw. But instead she endured the aromatic presence with a twitch and darted her ears forward as he dared defy her.

“Speak ill of my brethren again,” she snapped the air between them. Her voice never ascended above a whisper. “-and the Creek will see you returned without your tongue.” Nevermind that he bared his insults toward her, she would not allow her brethren and mate to suffer the same. Too much strife had been cause between the neighboring packs to dare allow such a slight to cross the air without consequence. However, she would not allow herself to be called a liar. The very word bristled the fur of her nape and set her lips reeling back with rage. The fevered smile only stretching as her chords quaked with anger yet unleashed.

“We have again found the healer within our own ranks,” though she was tempted, she did not weigh her tongue with an insult. “…and it is for their stock that I protect this plant. If destruction came to it, then it was to keep your lot from attempting to take the full supply.” Admittedly, it was not the grandest plot on part of her mate. His anger had got the better of him that day, and while she had rather he left it be, he was a creature of his own mind doing what he believed would keep his brethren guarded. But it had only served to make them look petty. And now, with the injury that had fallen to the pack, what little they could find of any herb was needed. Better they have the herb and not need it, than be desperate for it and be without it.

Her eyes narrowed just had hard as they were fixed upon the elder male. “Leave them and go.” She growled finally. She did not expect one of the Creek to understand the desperation that had befallen the Vale.

He did not respond to her threat, for he lacked basic fear of her. Whatever had inspired him to return to the Vale's borders remained with him even now, and as the golden woman grew fraught with ire, he himself withdrew, cooling before the fire of her rage. To her demand he stepped forward boldly, planting both paws into the mess of torn sage leaves, and regarded her pointedly. He would not depart, not without the herbage he had come for; irregardless of what the Vale bitch said to him, she could not shake the witch's resolve.

It seemed she stumbled then; his ears cupped forward with a new and morbid interest. Found your healer? Lecter inquired, for that would imply she had been lost — or had abandoned those in need of her. A mere glissade of foresight told the pale madman that the woman before him sought to hide something; one of her build and demeanour was a warrior, not a healer, and would not have know what the plants were.

You would destroy the most precious of plants so that I could not take it with me? Lecter scoffed, icewater eyes narrowing in scorn. In truth, sage was commonplace and far from treasured, but the Vale creature had already proven her ignorance to him. At length, a low, mirthless laugh curled from his maw.

Call your healer. One who deals with plants, such as I, one with knowledge of their uses and curative properties, should make the decision, not you or myself. I will heed the word of your shaman. Surely she would not refuse this — how could a Vale healer give a valuable resource to another?

It was the fault of her honest nature that she reveal more than need be; status of their healer as well as the necessity of the herbs. True, she did not know their purpose, but she had seen its likeness and others stored in the caches of their home. It must have been of some importance if was required to replenish their stock.

Her ears flicked back disdainfully then fanned forward as the slither of mirth that parted his aged lips. She grew tired of his bold tongue, and quite favored to see her threat come to fruition, yet she was compelled to remained still and listen rather than leap. The latter was more the way of her beloved, where it was her complement to him to assess, inquire and listen. And for once, she was glad she had taken to her usual manner than a more violent measure.

In turn, her lips curled with a sinister glimmer, unbecoming of her features but none the less called for by this fortuitous reveal on part of the male. “My healer…” she repeated more so in thought than as a means of clarification. “Our healer does not pass the decisions for the Vale. Only myself and the ‘black cur’, as you would like to call him.” Her tail lashed at her rear finding even the recitation of the insult unfavorable. Yet her bitterness for it was quickly overwrought by her sense of curiosity for what had been revealed. “…knowledge of plants and their uses…” Her eyes narrowed carefully, thoughtfully as she spoke. “…I am to assume then that you are a healer to the Creek?”

Lecter straightened, listening. So she was in command of the place, and the shadow also, though he could not commend a creature with such foolishness that he would rip apart plants that posed no threat to him, no threat to any creature; sage was not poisonous. Dog, he longed to correct, not cur, but he wisely held his tongue.

The Vale woman displayed a sudden interest in the fact that he was a healer; the witch dipped his head once in answer to her question. He was not merely the resident bloodstained physician to Fox's wolves; he was a spiritual mentor, one who could slay with herbs as well as heal, but he saw no reason to tell her this.

I have known the world of healing since I was young, the shaman muttered, a faint pride colouring his words; as she could see plainly, Lecter was no longer young, and so the allusion to his years of experience was concrete.

Of what concern is it to you? he demanded, tone filled with ice that she should change the empty flapping of her lips so suddenly.

She had learned in her time as a wanderer how strange nature’s blessings could be. A frozen carcass, though its exterior was severely marred, still supplied the needed nourishment for those that took the initiative to excavate he preserved meat from frozen flesh.

Xi’nuata looked to this carcass now- though her lip still quivered in disgust at the sight of him- as the flesh diligently revealed, laid there to serve as a benefit. It must have been with reason that he returned to the borders of the Vale this day. The sage aside, she believed it was for more than that- but this she did not share.

“You will come with me then.” Her voice descend to a whisper, cold and hard as the eyes that bore into her so scornfully. Rather than wait for his compliance- or more appropriately assumed, his refusal- she marched toward him again, forgetting the sage underpaw. Her jaws parted but ferocity blunted by her lips downward drawn, she made to grab the elder male by his ivory scruff.

His lip curled at her demand, and he tensed as she took decisive steps toward him, but her intent was clear. Despite the lungings of his innermost self, Lecter did not fight the woman, but allowed without a struggle the grasp of her teeth around his scruff.

It was undignified, the position, and he hoped darkly that the taste of weeks' dried blood upon his nape would choke her, but he submitted, though with a black laugh that grew to a crescendo and reverberated from the rocky slopes in the distance.

Lecter

Xinuata

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