The winds carried on a good deal as the coast faded away from rocky peaks to sandy shores. The water tossed with every gust, carrying a swell to the shore to break there and fade as it rolled inland. The brown wolf who walked the outskirts of the water did not seem perturbed by such events. He prowled forward with an easy-going confidence that seemed to have settled strangely in his yearling frame. Knaven was broad in his shoulders and back, but there was a youthful slenderness to his muzzle and limbs. Only just a year and already so far from home.
The earthy beast stopped as the next gust of wind shook his frame and tossed a wave onto the beach. The water clapped before spreading toward him. This time, his paws were soaked in the salty foam. Knaven looked to the water pensively before continuing on his pace. Bijou and the others would not be far behind, he imagined. If he could find a place that offered coverage from the rain, he would wait.
wolverine boy with the searchlight eyes could have this fuckin' place as far as lionel cared. the wolf clad in a deerskin patterning scowled at the rock beneath knaven's wide paw and then dragged his glade-gaze up toward the distant landmarks blurred by rain.
"i'm not impressed, brother." what stories had their father told of this place? and the brothers and sisters come before them? what yarns had they spun of this wretched shoreline? nothing was comparable to the islands of their birth, simply because the mayfair-cairns had been born there.
lionel flicked a pebble indolently toward the innards of the shore. "wanna play a game? it's called 'i spy.' wanna know what i spy? grey. like a seal's d—" and he would have said more, if not silenced in some way by threat or fluke.
"If we had to impress you, I fear we'd be roaming for the rest of our lives, Lionel," Knaven drawled knowingly.
The dark brother did not turn back to his sibling. When the stone was kicked inland, the saltfang squinted toward his kin. As much as he did not wish to share it, he was equally as unimpressed by the shore of the wilds. Skellige had spoken so reverently about his bay and the forest where he had met their mother. As the wind swept across the sands, Knaven looked to Lionel and then beyond. The surrounding terrain was impressive. It would prove an interesting excursion inland, when that time came.
"Where do you think the Sentinels are?"
"forgive me for having taste, knaven," lionel shot back, using his sibling's govt name with the same ease. two could play at passive-aggression. but in the next moment he had sighed, refocused on their task.
"mam said it was somewhere looking over the coast. redwoods." surely along this godforsaken beach there was some indication as to where those types of trees grew.
"i give up on the rain," he sighed, squinting dolefully at the unending drizzle. "and i'm hungry. even the food here is off," lionel added with the irascibility of a younger brother. perhaps he shouldn't have eaten the jellyfish portion, but it was that particular sea-slime's fault he had gotten ill, because it was from here and not something he would have munched on a beach at home.
The dark mahogany of his gaze glimmered as he rolled his eyes at Lionel's initial comment. Taste didn't seem to be at all how Knaven would describe the odd bouts of entitlement he witnessed in his brother. He knew better than to pick on the stag, though. Pride was something that ran deep in all of them - perhaps the one thing they shared that kept them from each other's throats.
Peering through the drizzle, Knaven searched the upcoming coast for signs of a nearby wood. Ahead, he could see a shift in terrain, but the sentinels were nowhere in immediate sight. With the storm dampening their ability to see, the rogue imagined it would be some time before they would find their mother and father's land.
"Maybe if you didn't eat scraps, you'd be rid of that taste," the earthen beast remarked slyly. He knew it would likely inspire an indignant scowl from the other yearling. With a smirk and a sidelong glance toward Lionel, Knaven realized that it had been some time since their last decent meal and his stomach clenched with the hunger that he felt. "Let's change course and see if we can find a rabbit or two in this mess," the rogue suggested, tossing his muzzle inland.
true to his aim, knaven's bolt struck. lionel glared his way, then squared his shoulders beneath the creme-brulee of his overcoat. why couldn't his mother and father's genes combined to give him that deep chocolate hue so granted knaven? lionel stuck out like a bloated thumb, the underbelly of a worm —
"that sounds great," he grunted, choosing to attribute his dour mood in the direction of the implacable rain. "should we stay close to the shore, though? camp out for a bit, see if the others show."
lionel knew they had all made it, in some bonebit place of himself, the one linked to sea and stars and mother standing on the rise, waving them off. "i'm not too proud to eat scraps, like some people around here, but rabbit sounds nice."
he flicked his ears back, kept close to knaven as they moved.
The smug glimmer did not fade from the young wolf's gaze as he watched the reaction unfold on Lionel's face. It did not matter how many times he did it, Knaven always found joy in ruffling the stag's feathers.
At the mention of their other siblings, Knaven turned his head to look back down the coast at where they had come from. It was likely they were only a day or so behind. Beauclair may have wandered on his own a ways. The rogue didn't think it was necessary to stop and wait. After all, they were likely to have their focus pulled and Knaven did not wish to be waiting around on the desolate beachside.
"They'll be fine. Besides, it's been some many moons since I've seen sea rabbits," the wolf drawled. It was a softer jab than the one before, but still begged the question: how d'you expect to catch rabbits here?
"you know what, knaven?" lionel pouted, blowing air out of his cheeks. it struck the rain, and hopefully carried it sideways into the teasing expression of his jetwood brother. "you know i'm not at my best right now. i don't even have a roast back."
the knowingness in the wolverine's eyes had always made him feel somewhat older among the children of this year. deirdre and skellige, whelping huge litters each time the season came 'round, rearing them amid the rocks and the spray of the warsaw chain. lionel refused to admit this or comment upon it, however; his stomach constricted with hunger, and he pranced proudly inland, shaking his pelt askew as soon as they were within the boundary of a treeline.
The sneer that met the stag was a common one. Knaven hadn't expected him to come up with a retort, but he had found it rather enjoyable that Lionel had admitted his failure. With a warm chuckle, the earthen rogue shook his head and offered a sarcastically encouraging, "well I'll just give you a free pass for when you've filled your gut." Hopefully by the time they had caught their meal and settled, Lionel would forget about the verbal spar.
Trotting after the creamy male, Knaven felt his stomach tighten as they ventured inland and away from the sea. The dismal weather did not give up. Once they had found themselves at the treeline, the brothers both stopped to shake their coat. Knaven then dipped his head to drink in the unfamiliar aroma of the wood. There were wolves that had passed through, but the smell of prey was not in the air. The rogue looked to Lionel expectantly.
only a flare of his nostrils this time; lionel was not about to be drawn again. knaven was the obi-wan to his anakin. one day the mayfair would regain the high ground, but not now. and so he was silent, winning their argument seven ways in his head.
until he caught notice of his brother's heavy look, and startled back to himself. eyes gathered their keen hunting edge; lionel appraised their surroundings silently. "smells like a pack," he muttered, annoyed by the existence of another coastal band. "probably should go back across the moors." but it was flat, and distant; lionel was finally not feeling the rain pelting his head. he didn't want to leave. but there was nothing to be killed here.
and so he dragged himself wearily from the shadowed wood and headed across the flatlands, catching to his surprise the thin trail of deer.
They made their way along the wooded slope for a short while before Lionel had stopped and drew his gaze toward Knaven with a disgusted expression. The rogue glanced toward his brother at the mention of a pack and dropped his head to sniff at the wet ground. There were wolves nearby, he could tell that much for certain. The discovery did not settle well for the two hungry brothers, but the rogue did not think that they would be beyond luck. Into the rain once more, Lionel led their charge and Knaven followed near his haunches, keeping his eyes on the lookout for any passersby.
The scent of deer found him too and the yearling nearly lurched forward. His stomach clenched with the hunger that it felt. “Father did say that the wolves of this area were fond of the sea,” he commented to his brother with a small shrug. Their paternal titan had done very little to prepare them for the trek they had made, but Deirdre had offered all the help she could manage before sending her pups out into the unknown. It must have been hard for them, he thought to himself.
fond of the sea was one thing. to be of the mayfair-cairn clan was quite another. seawolves or no, lionel was more than confident in the strengths of himself and knaven. and they would not be here alone, not for long. their kith arrived in numbers. skellige had been vague, but their mother had not been. deirdre never was.
he was happy to be away from the warsaw chain; he missed the woman dearly, but did not think of her pained heart that surrendered slowly to the press of nature, the inclination of young wolves to be off and away. "they won't care if we take one deer."
“I hope you’re willing to bet your tail on that,” Knaven returned swiftly, a daring crease in the boy’s earthly features.
If push came to shove, he would not allow harm to come to his brother. At least, he would not allow a stranger to strike him with their fangs. The young wolf was not quite as prideful as their father had been, but he knew the weight of their names well enough. It was difficult for the yearling to cast aside the feeling of dominion that they were owed. He looked back at their path with a frown.
“Alright then, let’s get a deer.” This time he looked to Lionel with resolve.
lionel mayfair shot a cheeky look toward knaven, but hunger settled his need for joking to a better focus. he kept the track of the grazers, following it through bent heather and the fading scent of coast-wolf markings. on a low bluff he paused, for in the distance there was a single buck.
the rain had appeared to separate it from the herd, and as the warsaw hunter narrowed his gaze, he saw that it moved with a limp. the moors were great and long, but the two needed only to wear it down.
cunning glance to his brother, and then he was off, trotting openly through the low foliage toward the injured animal.
Knaven lazily trotted a short distance behind Lionel. He followed the line of terrain to where it faded in the distance – where he knew the coast to be. It did feel peculiar to be so far from the seaside when they had grown up beside it and had experienced nothing more than what they’d experienced in their journey from Warsaw to the Teekon country.
When Lionel had caught sight of the stag, separate from its herd, the earth-cloaked brother pulled up and extended the space between himself and his sibling. He knew well that he would have to circle around a short ways to prevent their target from bolting and to assist in taking the beast down. They might have been fortunate enough to find one that was injured, but stags were capable of causing harm when faced with the glint of a predator’s fang.
knaven was the brains. lionel the DPS to the wolverine's tanking ability, or so he might have thought with that lexicon. in wolftongue, it meant that the golden brother was attuned to the feral inclination of his sibling; as knaven began to circle, lionel dropped his own gait in the opposite direction, pincering around.
he stood upon a bluff, and the head of the injured animal came up, scenting the air for the reek of predator. wide eyes alighted upon the hunter, and then the limping struggle of the gait began.
lionel began to roil across the land, a sunstorm hungering for flesh.
Lionel was quick to follow suit and round out their formation, taking to the opposite direction. The druid then made a motion to startle the deer into attempting to run. It seemed to work well enough. The animal reared its head back and flared its nostrils to the wind. Knaven delighted in the sight of the whites of its eyes. He loped inward and attempted to close some of the space that separated him from the deer.
On the other side of the deer, the golden frame of his brother could be seen closing the only escape route that the animal might have had. The deer began to swing its head defensively, but Knaven did not shy from its threats. He snarled – a guttural noise from the back of his throat. The animal started, frightened of the noise and the surrounded smell of predator.
knaven held his ground. the wolverine, though lionel would never admit it, possessed a vein of courage that he had only ever seen in their father. it was skellige who had taught them to course and to hunt, but he was not here now. knaven was, and lionel drew strength from his brother's presence.
the animal jerked and the stagboy was at its haunch. lowing, nostrils widened as the eyes rolled terribly, the buck aimed a kick at him but stumbled from the inability to support a greater weight, staggering toward the dire vibration in knaven's throat.
For as much trouble as the two brothers seemed to cause for each other, they were surprisingly skilled at working together.
Knaven was almost fearless, even when confronted with confoundingly terrifying situations. He had never had it in his mind to run from things that frightened him. Holding his ground against a wounded stag, one that was separated from its herd and the safety of numbers. It took little courage for the druid to be able to withstand its unsteady sways.
Lionel played his part perfectly, pushing their target toward Knaven until the earth-cloaked hunter was able to leap up and latch his fangs to the underside of the animal’s throat. The deer reared its head back and lifted the wolf from the ground. Knaven did not release his deadly hold on the animal’s throat. He pulled with all the force of his body, hoping to bring the prey to the ground where Lionel could work to end its thrashing.
like a snapped sapling the deer's long head shot up, yanking knaven's paws from the earth with the force of its resistance. tongue lolled as lionel circled back; that would take the last of his strength, he decided, and as knaven's heavy jaws snapped deeper, he swung forth.
rearing to his own hindlegs, the boy struck true into the juncture of shoulder to neck, cutting through until fangtip nicked bone, shearing sheets of blood down in a rain upon the pair of them as he dragged lower and lower, straining against each weakening movement of their quarry.
a flurry of red drops, and it had come down into the churned wet earth, lowing a last time with feeble desperation.
A few well-aimed snaps of their fangs and the beast fell. Knaven reared his head back, blood dribbling from his chin. He cast a wild smirk to his brother. Boldness radiated from him, as though he were untethered and unbound by anything. Knowing that standing next to Lionel empowered him even more. The druid would never admit such a thing to the golden stag, no. Not when he could leave the other wondering.
What a talent we are eh, Lionel?
The rogue winked and tore a piece from the hide of their fallen prey. The pink of the flesh hung from his teeth for only a moment before the earthy hound chewed it down in two bites.
"a couple of badasses," he echoed back. likewise, the stag was not about to praise knaven aloud, admit that he considered the other boy their de facto leader. what would the wolverine do with such information? and perhaps that was the binding tie between the children of the mayfair-cairns: to harmonize without ever revealing that they found it easy to do so.
lionel ate ravenously, thirst and hunger satisfied by the crimson freshness of the meat. something about killing at the edge of a claim appealed to him as well, as if to say we cannot be stopped as they openly devoured their catch.
It felt good to share something that wasn’t pulled from the sea, riddled in that fishy smell and taste. As Knaven and Lionel filled their bellies, the druid could not help but think that it would help them grow thicker for winter. The air near the water had already changed; he could feel the chilly nip on each breeze as they’d passed from one territory to the next.
Drawing his tongue across his lips, the earthy beast pulled his head from the kill and stared at the stag across from him. “You think we ought to claim somewhere in here? The Sentinels?” Knaven asked, knowing that it was a question loaded with subtext. It had been so long since their family had been in the forest, and the young druid knew well enough that the fire damage had been extensive. Surely some of it had grown back.
lionel lapped blood off his muzzle. "isn't that real burned?" he asked, trying to remember what deirdre had said of it. she'd said a lot, he remembered; his mother was full of mystic knowledge and stories he wasn't quite sure were true or not. skellige's logic burning the fairy-ring edges of their dam's imagination.
"worth a look though, right," he grunted. even if they didn't stay, it would be a worthwhile landmark he supposed. "shall we go there now?" or would they linger here, fixing scraps from this kill for another few dinners.
The druid frowned at Lionel’s initial remark.
“Dunno… it’s been a while huh? How long’s it take for a forest to grow back?” he grumbled with a shrug and a glance out toward the sea. What more would they do? Trot about along the outskirts of the nearby packs and kill on their borders? He feared he would grow bored with the games involved in being a lone wolf. Knaven did not know that he could settle for anything less than causing some mischief with the aid of a few locals. The rogue knew well enough that he wouldn’t do well under the rule of a stranger, so joining a founded pack was out of the question.
“Let’s start that direction and see what we’re lookin’ at,” he said with a nod toward the coastline. The earthy beast did not worry that they would miss their family’s forest, but he wondered how much ground they would need to cover before they were close. They’d already neared the edges of one pack, surely it wasn’t the only one along the edge of the sea.