Hi hello this is AW but
@Nyx could be really fun, just sayin'. >:]
Wylla was in full-on avoidance mode as she skirted around the territory's edge, refreshing scent borders not with her urine—she didn't wish to be so conspicuous—but with quick, deft scrapes of her paws. Any glimpse of a shadow in the trees would send her off on another course, eager to keep away from any reminder of what ruin she'd wrought yet again.
It was a compulsion. An instinct deep within her to sow chaos and reap its effects. She could no more turn it off than she could change the colour of her eyes or the composition of her coarse fur, and at times she wondered if this was what her unknown father had left her in this life. It could just as easily have been her birthright from Lusca, though; her mother had no shortage of chaotic tendencies. The only thing that had ever stilled her soul from doing so was Tiercel. Perhaps that explained why she felt so lost in her daughter's absence.
Striking Mahler and his clinical bow from her mind, she pressed her shoulder against a tree and rubbed her flank along it, leaving bits of fur behind. Subtler means of marking borders without imposing so much on those in charge. A few feet further and she began kicking snow up, leaving deep gouges with her hind paws.
Hope you don't mind me?
Famine. A trembling earth and falling rocks. Argent had questioned his mother if the powers above were angered with them for leaving Stigmata behind and had regretted the moment the worst left his lips at the flash of pain in her eyes at the mention of his fathers name. She tried to mask it best she could—but the withering away of her once resplendent form was a giveaway that more than the famine had struck her down.
So Argent had busied himself, trying to learn how to make himself useful. With no game to hunt, Stigmata’s youngest brood lacked the opportunity to hunt with the pack as normal youths would, and so the silver boy had strayed from Diaspora’s claim, scouting out the nearby lands to see if there was anything of use to his pack.
There hasn’t been, and the days stretched on until his pack’s scent had faded from him.
Coming home empty-handed was a bitter acceptance the young
silver arrow had come to terms with. Sleepy Fox Hollow was a place he had yet to truly explore, and so as he came back to its borders, his large paws going to cross the threshold, did he see what appeared to be Mahler from afar—until closer inspection revealed a far more feminine form.
It was as uneventful patrol as they came, until it wasn't. Wylla had walked quite a distance without running into another wolf, so when a fully silver youth appeared on the borders, she was raring for anything to add excitement to the task. Although she was the lowest of Diaspora's subordinates, she flung her tail high over her hindquarters and carved a bold path through the snow in Argent's direction. She didn't stop until she was directly in front of him and likely a little too close for comfort.
What do you want?
was her brusque greeting. He was young and for that reason she wouldn't beat the snot out of him for getting so close to the pack's borders, but in her opinion, he was practically intruding. That this was one of the late Stigmata's children was unknown to her; he smelled like any other vagrant with no hint of Diaspora's claim upon his coat.
The immediate assumption, then, was that this wastrel meant to steal food from their larders, and that simply would not do.