there is something about the mountains that call to the
fragheda though he cannot explain it, even if he'd cared to. though the direction of his path has grown ever murky with the shadow's disappearance, he knows it is not with the saints that it lay. though, in all fairness, it could lead him where ever he wanted it to. though the pallid woman did not offer him judgement when she found out his secret, he spoke of too much to her and he shies away from the idea of joining with them. not because he did not want to be trained to be a warrior, but perhaps it is her insistence or her ( perceived ) flippant nature that ushers worripa away.
though he is loathe to leave the sunspire and skulk elsewhere, he fears he has no choice.
so, he travels.
his hunger grows.
he yearns for companionship just as throughly as he wishes to spurn it.
perhaps it is these things ...or none of these things that leads him to this unknown pack's doorstep.
steeling himself, worripa lifts his muzzle and calls for their leadership.
merrick kept himself free of akashingo and watched the mountains. ursus had stayed a small camp along one border of the pharaoh's land.
merrick himself grew more wordless as the days went on. with little reason to speak unless it was demanded of him, he simply did not. the bearwolf took his own patrols around the mesa, pointedly avoidant of any wolf that did not belong to his pack.
it was on one such outing that merrick heard the voice of a young wolf, calling for those who followed the bear. the man was a tall shadow against the flatter plain, and when at last he stood in front of the stranger, he remained silent.
single eye roved starkly over the youth. young as his own children from this year. both gone to him now. seawater glare and something steel despite the tender months.
though admitting weakness is not something the stubborn and arrogant worripa likes to do, he also knows that he will not survive much longer on his own. this knowledge makes him yearn for the shadow — wondering where she has gone without him ...or even if it was a place he could follow in the corporeal world. he simply ...does not know and though it digs beneath his skin like barbed wire; prickling and tearing, worripa must — for the moment — focus upon himself.
perhaps later, when he is better nourished, when he has a place to call home ...he could try to find her.
a stranger is quick to approach as his call ends; nothing familiar in the stealthy man's visage. and yet still, there is something that tugs at fragheda. something unrelenting and unnamed.
though this process is unfamiliar to him, worripa's lips part to speak ...to ask, all the same: do you have space in your ranks?
merrick twitched one tattered ear to the fore. "to whom am i giving a space in my ranks?" his tone was not accusing; in fact it was rather devoid of most things, only a rolling sound of broken rock and empty space.
the sunspire. he thought of where aventus and arielle might be. he thought of what might happen if one or both of them did not return.
attention etching back to the young wolf. "do you know who i am?" merrick did not suppose it was a 'yes.' but he must know before he said the rest.
it has been so long since he's uttered his own name that it no longer feels like it matters. he is worripa. he is fragheda. he is his mother's son. he is ...so many things and none of them. it is a fair question and unlike the last time he was asked, worripa does not feel the need to deflect with snark. he only feels the persistence of hunger and the ache of loneliness.
ingram.
a name praimfaya had uttered to him once ..briefly before her own abandonment. he does not know that he is very likely besmirching his grandfather's name by taking it as his moniker.
no.
comes worripa's honest, boyish rasp as the question hangs in the air between them.
ingram.
it is unrecognizable. there are so few things that remained with merrick.
the sight of astara's torn fur rose in his mind, and he steadied himself on the look of the stone teeth beyond ingram.
"i am merrick of ursus."
the bearwolf went on: "this is not our home. it is where we have come to take vengeance upon murderers."
a toss of his muzzle toward the mesa that looms close and gigantic. "that is akashingo. they are our hosts. this will be a battlefield. you join in understanding of that."
a furthering monotone. it ends as he waits for the other to reply.
merrick of ursus draws with it no recognition.
but worripa ingram has lived a secluded life of his own making. too young to be involved in pack politics when he'd been apart of rivenwood and then ...too uncaring when he'd left.
was the lack of fighting in a war that was not his own the very reason he'd turned down akashingo? of whose name does spark a look of recognition within worripa ingram's gaze.
but then ...he hadn't been alone. or, at the very least, hadn't been aware that he was a companion to none.
and if fighting someone else's war meant he wasn't alone ...was it worth it?
the hunger in his belly, the chill steeling the air told him it was.
i will fight.
he agrees, trying to reign in the prickling eagerness of tasting wolven blood once more.
merrick was impassive.
"you do not fight for me, ingram. you fight for the bear. the spirit of ursus is a god of blood, and demands it in recompense. look what i have given him."
stalwart gaze demanded that ingram look at the missing fur and toothmarks and gaping socket where his eye had once been. "it is the price of being in service to the bears, but wolves in ursus pay this and are grateful to do so. we give our blood. and we give that of others to the jaws of the spirit."
he lifted his chin, then turned, jerking his head to indicate that the boy should follow. "what do you know of the saints?" he inquired in a low rasp.
scars are not something that worripa ingram bulks at. because praimfaya bore them. because he bears his own.
and while worripa ingram does not believe in the bear god ( at least not yet ), he gives a gruff nod of affirmation. it was easier to fight if he wasn't fighting for one wolf or another. and vengeance ...even if it was not his own, is something he would gladly fight for.
if just to feel the rush of battle and taste the lifeblood of another, again.
seaglass gaze sweeps over the scars that mar the alpha's visage. missing fur and toothmarks and a missing eye. to worripa ingram they are killmarks ...not unlike his own. telling a story of a worthy commander; and though his beliefs do not entirely align with the leader's own ...perhaps they overlap enough not to create future dissent.
i do not fear scarring of flesh.
a simple statement; a promise that he would collect them ...be it in the name of the his bear gods or worripa ingram's own greedy collection of kill marks.
at the mention of the saints, a toothy grin spreads at the edges of his scarred lips. unknowingly, it seemed worripa ingram had inserted himself in their war after all. only that a pale woman who called the saints her pack offered to train me and called them militaristic.
probably it was nothing more than merrick already knew ...but it was something, at least.
"if she was littered in scars with baleflame for eyes, then you have met nyra. and you have met the commander of our enemy. she maimed one of theirs," he pointed to akashingo. "and they killed the queen of ursus. my wife."
and now for a time merrick said nothing else, consumed by pain and by rage, both of which he would rather not feel.
the bear lurked in his throat.
ursus waited in the shadow of the mesa. "take whatever they offer."
but before he and ingram arrived, merrick turned a festered yellow stare upon him. "learn to be swift."
with no further preamble he lunged for the leggy wolfcub, not seeking to harm but only to frighten, to teach.
the welcome of ursus.
that is her.
ingram replies in a low rumble; feeling no qualms about ratting her out to her enemies; but one could hardly expect anything less of a creature so willing to slaughter his own mother as if she were a docile lamb. to hear that this nyra and her ilk killed the queen of ursus explained the motive behind the brewing war. though he had not initially been looking to involve himself, with the support that a pack would offer ( shelter and food among the top of ingram's list ), he feels a giddy sort of eagerness to repay the debt he owes.
blood was not so high of a price.
would his shadow be proud ...if she could see him now?
in the interest of keeping the skulking scowl he feels creeping up like a flush off of his face, ingram restricts those thoughts with a fierce force.
she left. she left him ...this was survival.
she is very arrogant.
ingram remarks though his opinion was not asked ... and in such department he had no leg to stand on.
take whatever they offer.
easy enough.
learn to be swift.
with little more warning than the words offered, merrick lunges for him. caught unawares — and horrified he'd let his guard slip so easily — ingram is not swift enough to evade the lunge. but he does not cower. he lets out a rough breathy snort, a bit like an angry bull, and bares his teeth; hesitating ...unsure if he is meant to engage or not.
ingram was caught before he could react. merrick saw how the boy recovered his feet and did not stand in fear.
"good," he grunted, backing some steps to indicate that it had only been a single test. "i am not a large man, and so i have learned how to be swift. you will also."
ingram was quite young to be so swept into battle. but the newcomer had pledged to ursus. let the bear use him as the spirit might command.
"we killed one of the beasts here not long ago. antelope," merrick recalled. "come. eat."
ingram's hesitation proved well warranted, for it became apparent with the grunt of 'good' and the steps back merrick took, that it was meant only as a singular test.
though he is not the sort to linger in the realm of what if's — preferring to stick to his chosen path without thinking about what could have been but was to never be — he cannot help but think that it might not've bode so well for him, would he have countered.
i will practice.
with who, he was not yet sure but held onto some semblance of confidence that someone would spar with him. he thought then of the man he'd encountered from akashingo that had he'd been nothing more but cryptic to and whom had threatened him off.
these thoughts are whisked away when merrick mentions antelope recently felled by them, and the command to follow and eat is given. ingram's belly rumbles with hollow hunger and he follows dutifully; more than eager to sink his teeth into something sustainable. something more than half rotten carcasses and meager, scrawny hares.