you are a shooting starrrrrr~ <3
Moonspear’s grounds had not been traveled by a pack in many months. The grounds had been washed of pawprints and markings alike. The rise and fall of the natural stone had not changed. When the swarthy figure of the Ostrega wolf found the base of the territory, he was overcome with memories.
Atlas began by walking the familiar paths, those he had known in his childhood. He traced the stone with his gaze, following it until he had reached the dens that his family had shared. Their scents did not exist there anymore. The inkjet figure still paused, waiting to see if their familiar smell would find him, to see if something still existed in the remnants of Moonspear.
From the dens, he journeyed to the hot water. Steam rose and met rainfall. Scattered droplets marked their place on the surface of the pools. Atlas debated bathing himself in them, to soothe his weary figure and return strength for the days that would come. As he stepped forward, his sunset gaze found a pale figure nearby.
These grounds will be claimed before long.
There was little point in approaching that subject tactfully. Atlas wanted it known.
That woman spoke to him as though she knew – she boasted a sense of pride in her words. Atlas was not moved by them, only angered. His eyes narrowed upon her. The swarthy figure’s brow was furrowed into a frightening expression. Were it not for his weary body, he might have snapped his fangs at her. The desire to fight for what he saw as rightfully his would be an easy one. The mountain belonged to his family, to those who still carried the name Ostrega.
Do not speak to me in that way, if you have abandoned the name Ostrega.
Sadness took a hold in the pit of his belly. He felt he had seen this pale she-wolf before… many years ago, perhaps. The light of her green gaze was familiar and still foreign. Atlas could not restrain his contempt for what she had said.
You are no kin if you are called Nuiruk. You have shed the binding that might have tied us.
Atlas drew himself up, swelling his chest and stiffening his shoulders. The fire of his eyes remained on her features. Though she spoke with the voice of a woman wise in her years, the inkjet titan did not wish to see it. The pride that he felt for his family name overcame all of it. She should know who she addressed. She should know, after all this time, that the only one who would return to Moonspear was the one who sought to claim it again.
I am Atlas Ostrega. This mountain will be mine again.
damn we kicking this off good
The pale she-wolf’s advance – snapping teeth and anger – struck him. Atlas did not move against her, did not attempt to step aside to allow her advance to move past him. He was steadfast in his disinterest with her words.
That wolf spoke to him as though he did not know, as if he had not been one of the founding members of the glen. Atlas curled his lip, and a low growl was emitted from the deep boom in his throat. Still, he did not move from his post upon the mountain Moonspear.
All of her pride meant nothing to him when she had given it away. The words calling Moonspear a sacred place, that she would remove him with her hunters. Atlas laughed. It was a bitter, tired, and unhumorous sound. The hackles along his body bristled with indignation. How dare this nobody speak to him? Nuiruk was not Ostrega. She was not his kin. She was a stranger who had once had a glimpse into their lives and she had walked away from it without returning. She had built a foundation elsewhere.
Silence your tongue, woman of the moon. You and your hunters do not frighten me. You could not chase me from this mountain if your lives and wellbeing depended on it.
Atlas snapped his teeth.
Moonspear is mine.
The inkjet figure grew cold. His brow was knit above his eyes, his lips curled down in a deep frown.
You preach and preach of your sacred ties to my family. But where are they? Those Ostrega wolves that you knew? And where have you been in all this time? Not here. You should be ashamed to be so bold as to say that you are Ostrega, too. You are not. Not anymore.
Another laugh reached his throat. Her daughter had claim upon the mountain? But where was the little wench in that moment? Her scent had not been marked on Moonspear’s borders. Her paws had left no prints in the dirt. There were no signs of her figure having hunted on or near the mountain in months. The inkjet man wanted the absurdity to reach the proudful white woman. He wanted her to realize how foolish she sounded to state that her vanished child had a stronger stake in claim on the mountain than he did.
And where is your prodigal daughter? Are you really so bold to claim that an absent child is more entitled to these lands than the son of the last ruler?
If he could have spit at the ground, he would have. There are no signs of her here. There are no signs of anyone seeking to claim the mountain here.
A deep breath was drawn, filling his lungs with the fragrance of the white wolf’s pack. It was not the smell of Moonspear. She had only visited the mountain that day. Kukutux did not have a claim to speak of. She was bluffing, or prideful, or something in between. Atlas did not care for it. He did not find himself swayed by her words or her threats.
Your scent belongs to somewhere else, as well. I understand if you feel a connecting tie to this land, but you will not come here and tell me that I am in the wrong in my desire to reclaim it. You will not. Present your daughter or hold your tongue.
The inkjet titan squinted sharply at her. His brow was furrowed in a tight line.
If she wanted to claim that he was making enemies, he would show her what that meant.
I did not come here to make an enemy of you, but I will not stand by and allow you to stake a claim on my home – the land where I was born – when you have none. These mountain paths have not had the scent of a claim on them in some time. You will not walk on me, woman of the moon.