Wolf RPG

the mouth of the cavern was discreet, just wide enough to allow in the light of sunset. bhediya lay at the entrance, her head resting on outstretched paws while the rest of her remained hidden within the darkness. the air was chilled, especially at this altitude; it stung her eyes as she fought to keep them open.

the altitude that salvatore has climbed to offers a thinning of oxygen that makes each breath he takes a bit more shallow; a bit more of an effort. `course, he isn't used to being so elevated from sea level. up here there is a crispness to the taste of the air that distinctly lacks the tangy salt of the sea, the grit of sand. absent of it, the cleanliness of the snow caps and the almost metallic scent of wind whittled stone seems dull in comparison. still, he is sure footed as he climbs the mountain's steeple steps as treacherous as the salty and damp rocks of the loch.

the sun has begun it's descent in the horizon, painting the world sprawled out beneath him: tops of trees and rolling plains of land yet to be discovered by him, in a fiery gold. singular coal glow gaze looks out at it, admiring it for a small sliver of a moment before pushing on. he knows he is racing against time; to find shelter for the night before the true bone numbing cold of the mountain height sets in and inch by inch as the cresting horizon swallows the sun and the moon rises to claim her throne salvatore swears it drops a degree.

it does not take him long to come upon a cavern and to give pause, snow crunching beneath his steps; a low curse uttered. there was a shape outlined in the golden kohl of the setting sun. he doesn't want to find another place to lay low for the night but everything from his past tells him that others are not overly inclined to share ( lest it be the usurper king sharing the bed of a concubine and that was oft not by choice of said concubine ). hesitantly, ready to keep moving on his way — because he was tired whether it be from the climb or from not being used to being up so high — if she proves unfriendly; salvatore lets out a low chuff to announce his presence on the off chance that she wasn't already aware of him.

the sound of footsteps slowly ascending the mountainside beckoned bhediya to stand. even fully straightened with ears at full-staff, she hardly held a daunting presence. it helped her to feel safe, though; even knowing that she couldn't realistically do much damage, she liked to pretend.

kukulkan was to act as her guardian, but he wasn't close enough in that moment to have heard her potential cries. she regretted sleeping with him and wished that she'd opted for a lesson instead.

as the brute cleared the corner and came fully into bhediya's line-of-sight, she released a sigh of relief. this was not pygmalion, but a stranger with no reason to bring her harm. the chuff was returned with a chirp and a gentle, hello. stretching and stepping out from her prior resting place, she took a few apphrensive steps forward to close some of the distance between them.

the shadow pelaged woman that rises within the mouth of the lair is petite; with features he can tell from the temple painting of sunlight upon her face as she draws nearer with a stretch, a chirp and a gentle toned hello that do not exactly appear to be full wolf. the blackbird hates the way his mind immediately jumps — as he studies her with his singular coalglow gaze — to the fact that she reminds him of one of his father's concubines. thinking such a thing was both a compliment as much as it was an injustice. she is immediately lovely, tufted ears and curling fur that makes her unique.

his singular way of thinking as the warmonger causes something vile to churn in his stomach and he averts emberglow gaze while the milky-white of heavily scar accented eye remains staring ahead always unseeing. ❝hello,❞ salvatore parrots. he, as all of his numerous half brothers and the idiot male souls that found themselves following killgrave like lost puppies, was not allowed to speak to the concubines. which, aside from frankie and his mother of whom remained an exception, was pretty much all the females of the loch.

to speak to a woman not of his own blood was slightly unnerving; and it wasn't fear. killgrave could choke on a dick and die for all salvatore cared and he wasn't afraid of her; still he remains uncertain. of himself, mostly; aware in some deep, dark corner that he could not escape that he was the unfortunate apple that did not fall far from the tree. ❝is this ... — are you staying here?❞ he manages to eventually ask after changing his question half way thru.

the shifts in expression set bhediya on edge. she took an apprehensive half-step backward, but maintained her gaze on the waves of his pelage. in the fading twilight, she could made out the scars on his face and thought to ask where they came from. 

he asked if this was her home. she thought for a moment about how to answer, whether to tell the whole truth or but a part. there was something about him that she was unsure of, but was that not a universal sentiment upon making introductions?

bhediya chalked her concern up to instinct. i am, she replied, allowing a small smile to grow on her maw. was he alone? if so, the seraph thought that it might be okay to invite him inside...

it'll be cold soon, when night comes, she warned, you can rest here, if you'd like. short legs turned and walked into the caved, tail flagging as instruction for her companion to follow. i'm bhediya.

the woman appears to see something in his expression that he notes causes her to take a step back. a small cant of his head is given, angling away that side of his face; assuming that it was the sightless impression of staring thru one's soul his blind eye gives. i am, she answers. he's suspected as much but hearing it confirmed causes his shoulders to slump some all the same. a soft noise is given and he makes to turn, to make a split second decision on whether he should keep trying his luck upwards or trek back down. either way, he was going to get caught in the cold all the same.

her warning gives him pause; step already taken in the direction of where he's once came.

for a moment he is reminded of his mother; in the way she might warn him of something he knows because she's warned him of it a million times prior. ❝i know,❞ salvatore offers in assurance; voice soft. salvatore speaks with her as he does his own mother, the words he offers the hybrid woman are absent any snapping with irritation. if anything, they are a bit solemn; gravelly at the unbidden similarity drawn between his mother and this stranger.

yet it is the offer that draws him back; causes him to truly pause. he freezes, finding it unexpected. he turns to face her; uncertain even as she turns from him and waves him forward in invitation. ❝that's ...very kind of you.❞ he speaks with gratitude, not really sure what to do with this kindness. ❝salvatore.❞ he offers his own name as he stops at the edge of the cave, intending on giving her ample space.

he turned to walk away but took pause, heeding her warning. i know, he called back, summoning a humored huff from bhediya's chest. soon, they were both heading into the depths, salvatore frozen at the entrance. she turned back after noticing his absence, calling to him, i'm.. trusting you won't hurt me. and so, i'd hope you can trust me the same way.

what other reason would he have had to try and maintain their distance? she was unaccustomed to such a thing. 

further down was a thick patch of moss and assorted growth that lined the path into their makeshift densite. it was only bhediya staying there — at the time of its creation, at least — but several cushions had been put together for interested visitors. this one, she said, settling atop a patch beside the wall, is mine, but you can take your pick.

the woman — bhediya, he reminds himself — realizes he has stuck to the mouth of the lair and turns to face him, laying it out that she's trusting him and that she hopes he can return the favor. marred brow twitches above his blind eye as he contemplates her words. it's a fair exchange, all in all and he isn't sure how to correct her without unpacking all of his baggage upon her. i was never allowed to speak to or be in a close proximity to women that weren't my own blood without my father's wrath bearing down upon me wasn't exactly something he wishes to be well known.

old, regularly reinforced habits died horribly hard.

❝that's fair.❞ salvatore eventually admits, figuring that it's easier to let her believe that trust was his issue and not the inherent feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach that tells him his father will appear out of no where and blind him in his other eye; as was once threatened. so, he follows her inside the lair finding that if offers shelter from the cooling wind.

she's even made herself a little homestead out of growth and moss and on tells him which bed is her's as she lays upon it. ❝what made you decide to come up here? it's pretty isolated ...aren't you lonely?❞ he asks casually as he circles a bed and lowers down in a stretch. as far as he could immediately tell, she was alone.

alone, but not lonely. time spent wandering had made bhediya comfortable in her own solitude. moreover, she quite preferred the isolation of her cave to the wrath that presumably awaited her at home. she was a leader, one who had not only consented to but presented the idea of a curfew. yet, she'd been the first to break it. would the council blame her for this mistake, even after learning the circumstances? 

the seraph drew in a deep breath, exhaling with a small laugh. my companion, kukulkan. he's around here somewhere... it'd been a little while since she'd last seen him. bhediya liked to think that he was busy hunting, ignoring the possibility that he'd returned home without her. i've invited some others. 

a place is only isolated until it isn't. she smiled at him, wondering if her mumblings would register. why did you come up here? the mountain, i mean.

an itch in his leg draws salvatore's singular gaze down and he bows his head to nibble at it; tongue soothing where teeth mussed the shortened fur there. my companion, kukulkan, bhediya speaks in a soft laugh, mentioning that he should be somewhere nearby. so, salvatore surmises, he's merely caught her in a period of being alone. ❝you thinking of making this place home then?❞ she smells of pack, though not necessarily as strong as someone fresh or even a few days from their borders. it's a logical conclusion that he draws based on how much effort she's clearly put forth to tending to her and guests' comforts.

❝that's ...true,❞ salvatore admits with a slight shrug of his shoulders as he settles into the moss and foliage soft bed. much warmer than the chill of the unforgiving stone as he first thought to lay. ❝trying to get the lay of the land,❞ he admits, not really finding the return of his own question all that surprising. it was only a fair exchange, after all. ❝...my mother always taught me and my sister that if we're ever in a foreign place to go to higher ground to get our bearings.❞ stitch's life lessons weren't always so sound but there was merit in those particular words. it helped to survey the land, to see what awaits; and while it didn't always apply ...when it has proven to be useful.

the question was unexpected. bhediya should have known it was coming. i'm helping to lead a pack in the valley, she told him. her brow began to fold as she thought of what they might think. but... — would it be too much to admit? — i don't want to raise a family there. it was an easy explanation that got the point across without needed an in-depth backstory. 

salvatore spoke of his mother's lessons. bhediya thought that they sounded quite similar to her own, and wondered aloud, where do you come from? most of the mountains were here, up north, but she remembered climbing on their ledges as a child in the south. she gave you good advice. sounds like a smart woman.

the way she tells him that she's helping to lead a pack in 'the valley' — salvatore isn't entirely sure where that exactly is — but expects that a 'but' is following closely behind; he's not wrong as she speaks next. but i don't want to raise a family there. an odd thing to admit, he thinks, especially of a leader. though there is a soft furrow between brows scarred and immaculate he doesn't pry. he draws salmon pink tongue against his leg and paw once more and leans his shoulders against the cool cavern wall, back legs tucking close. why else other than a bad situation would a leader of a pack not want to raise a family in said pack?

still, even with that acknowledgment it seems a bit strange to him. she is a leader. if something happening there isn't sitting well with her then she has the power to change it; but he knows from his mother's and the loch's situation that, that was always easier said than done. anyone brave enough to rise against the tyrant king had met swift death.

her question draws him from his train of thoughts, ears cupping forth. ❝a place in the far north along the coast. whalebone loch.❞ named for the skeletal remains of beached whales that fed the packs during the harshest months of winter for generations or so the surviving elders had told him and frankie in the dark of night when the tyrant went to bed with his concubines. ❝she is,❞ salvatore agrees. ❝the wolves of the loch don't give her enough credit. a lot of them think her of as...odd i guess, because when she first arrived in the loch she had a baby raccoon she cared for as if she were a cub. my sister, frankie, is named after her.❞ salvatore admits. ❝the raccoon, i mean.❞ he tries many times to imagine it but can't seem to quite conjure the image of stitch arriving in town with a raccoon on her back. probably because she stopped fostering and raising woodland creatures in exchange for her own children.

the far north was hardly the response bhediya had imagined. having never gone too far beyond the taiga, she had trouble picturing the extreme temperatures of this whalebone loch — a pack beside the coast, no less! she found the ocean to be much more formidable in winter than the mountain range.

tomorrow, if you're still here, she yawned, moving to lay down atop her bed, will you tell me more about your home? bhediya hoped that he would, and wondered if kaori would be interested in hearing them as well.

for a prolonged moment that bled into what felt like more than a few minutes salvatore was silent at her request. he shifts though, betraying that he hasn't fallen asleep. why would anyone want to hear about his home? he can't help but wonder. ❝i'll share what i'm comfortable sharing.❞ he eventually tells her. he isn't exactly keen on unpacking the oppressive life he lived in the loch; not how his father was a ruthless conqueror from another land, not how his mother and all the other females of breeding age had been forced to share his bed as his concubines. not how because his mother refused the herbs that would kill her unborn children he and his sister were dubbed the warmonger's bastards; nor how he grew up with little more than seething hatred for the usurper king.

maybe someday, maybe after more trust has been established.

---

and true to his word when he is still there the next morning he tells bhediya ( and whomever else comes to listen ) what he is comfortable sharing about the loch; skirting around actually telling them the ugly truth of it all. thus, he mostly speaks of his mother, sister and the elders and the few traditions killgrave hadn't stamped out.