A strong pace had carried Kinloch across several territories. His breathing was strong. His back tingled from the constant touch of the sun, most prominently on the darker stripe that ran from his head to his tail. The man had run his course for the day and he sought somewhere to rest his aching paws.
The glen was thick with greenery. Foliage had gone wild in the heart of the territory. Streams trickled through the land, cutting through some of the rougher patches of brush. Kinloch stopped to drink at each one he found.
A spotted bird chirped at him from the trees. The pale wolf lifted his gaze to meet the feathered animal.
After traveling alone through the woods, and for so long up the coast similarly on his own, it was a great surprise when Willow came across a body in the middle of nowhere - one he recognized by scent, at first, and had to do a double-take as he meandered among the trees.
When he came to a gap in the greenery he saw the silver silhouette of a wolf; and, being in the state he was in right now (his body rebelling, reminding him of his potential delusion; his loathing, his inadequacy, so many emotions —) Willow was abruptly defensive and cautious.
There was no need, though.
Kinloch!
He knew the scent of his family anywhere.
Huh?
It was unexpected that his name would sound through the trees. Strange to be gazing at the chirping bird and then to hear a familiar voice. Had it come from the winged fellow? Surely not! The birds did not know his name.
Pale ears swiveled and Kinloch turned his head. The man’s bronze eyes fell on a familiar face - one he had not expected to be there.
Will!
Large paws pranced toward the other figure. Kinloch’s eyes twinkled with joy at finding his family in an unknown land.
Forgetting for now that feeling in his skin, Willow saunters from the shadows and picks his way across the moss-hewn forest floor, deftly climbing over a low pile of green-caked debris as he makes his way. It helps that he's so small and quick, one might suppose.
When did you leave home?
He asked next, sounding almost breathless. It wasn't too surprising that his little brother was roaming the world (it probably made their mother happy, knowing they were out here forging their own paths like good boys do), but there was still some surprise there, finding one-another.
Willow tried not to consider that maybe their mother had sent Kinloch out to find him, for some reason. They weren't exactly close. But he held back on asking, partly out of fear and partly because — well, what would be the point?
Willow was swift to draw near. Kinloch waved his tail in long sweeps. His rear swung with the motion of it but this did not slow him down.
Oh, not long ago. Maybe six months.
Maybe more, if he thought about it. He’d left their home before the worst of the snow had fallen and had spent the better part of winter in motion. Kinloch did not have a destination in his mind. He felt he would know in his gut when he had arrived in the place he was meant to be.
You live out here?
the silver figure asked. He let his gaze travel to the glen, this time taking it in with home in mind. It wasn’t a bad place. Quiet and cool.
Six months! That was almost an entire lifetime. So much could happen to a wolf in that span of time, and Willow was suddenly enamored with the idea; he wondered to himself what exactly his brother had gotten up to, but before he could ask the conversation redirected back to him, and there came a wave on uncertainty.
That was pretty common for flighty, weepy Willow; at least when he was younger.
Uh, sort of.
He gave a cursory look around at the dense green walls of the forest, and briefly let his eyes linger upon the bird that was perched overhead; when the bird sensed the wolves below had garnered interest in it, it took flight swiftly.
Willow's tail-tip flicked idly. I've been roaming a lot. If you head north you'll reach the ocean! Its huge.
Almost as soon as Willow mentioned this, he felt spotlit, and stupid. Kinloch had probably been to the beach before! Six months. That was a lot of time to fill with adventures. I could use some company, if you're... not busy.
He couldn't hold back on the hopeful glimmer in his eye, or the subtle wag of his tail.
Roaming sounded like a good way to spend his time. The miles looked good enough on Willow’s smaller frame. His paws look to have seen many terrains. The lean muscle that had formed on Willow’s figure made him look sleek and sharp, ready for anything. Kinloch couldn’t help but feel large and cumbersome, when compared with his sleek brother.
Mention of the ocean perked the silver wolf’s ears. He turned his sights northward and breathed deeply in hopes that he could catch a taste of that salty sea air. Six months of travel had only allowed him to catch a glimpse of the ocean. Kinloch would make time to see it in detail.
Never too busy for you, Will. What’s the plan?
Bronze eyes shifted to Willow, eager for whatever would come next.
Here is where things get complicated.
Had his brother noticed the scent that lingered? Maybe, maybe not. If he was polite he wouldn't say anything about it. The presence that Willow felt right now rebelled against everything he understood about himself, as his body felt alien to him. It was a sensation that would pass — it did every year — but right now he felt particularly vulnerable. That weakness made him doubt himself in ways that he couldn't put in to words.
It wasn't like him to ask for help, either. Always trying to match the masculine energies of his brothers and fight, sometimes in subtle ways and sometimes in overt ways, against the preconceived notions that their mother imparted upon them. For now, though, Willow needed someone on his side.
I... I don't really have a plan, exactly,
the man fumbled, lookin at the dirt between his toes, and fidgeting. Look, lets — lets hunt. Get a move on. Find something to chase.
He didn't want to come out and say he needed protection for the next few days, because that further undermined his sense of self — so, any excuse would do. A hunt would benefit them both if they succeeded, so it was a win-win.
Willow did not have a plan, or at least not one that was ready for revealing. The slender man was nervous in his mannerisms and it creased Kinloch’s brow to see his brother behave this way.
Yes, the scent was strong enough to fill the immediate area. Anyone who had arrived in their second year of age would know what was happening.
Kinloch was a gallant man. He would never speak of the femininity of his brother. He would not draw attention to the overwhelming scent that painted Willow as a target. It wouldn’t have been proper.
You’ve got the speed and I’ve got the brawn. We should be able to eat anything we want,
the silver figure said with a warm smile. Take the lead, Will.
I will have your back.
Kinloch's compliments made Willow feel warm behind the ears, but he didn't react much beyond that, choosing to hold firm to the stoicism common to menfolk; but he smiled, nodded, and moved ahead. At the very least it would be a bonding experience with a sibling he hadn't seen in what felt like aeons; more importantly, he felt safer knowing he wasn't alone during this time.
Without comment of his own, Willow began to prowl the greenery, nose inches from the forest floor as he sought any scents that might indicate a target.
Before long he had distanced himself a bit from Kinloch and had to pause, lifting his head to look over one shoulder for the silvered man, and instead of spotting his brother there he was eye-to-eye with a young stag. They stared at one-another with the same incredulous expression, both unwilling to break away. Something moved beyond the deer though, and with one twitch of its ear, it became animate again — pulling away and leaping in to the dark.
Kinloch did not mind falling back. It allowed him the time to check the area for signs of herds, for markings from prey animals. Willow would be able to take a strong lead. He would sniff out a path for them and the silver man would follow with a watchful eye.
As he drew nearer to the place where Willow and the stag were frozen, he caught the scent of the deer. Kinloch's paws adopted swiftness that did not suit his large frame. With his head low and his shoulders rolling with his long strides, it was not long before he found the place where his brother and their prospective lunch stood.
The deer sparked to life, darting into the woods.
Kinloch lunged after it, driven by hunger.
Almost as soon as the stag bolted, Willow was charging after it.
He wasn't as powerful as some members of their family, but his size did afford him a certain kind of speed, and he'd worked to build muscle as best he could (as much as his body could keep on, given his biology); so for the most part Willow thought of himself as physically capable and well-rounded; however, he did fall short where Kinloch was built for power, and his brother's size had once been a point of contention for Willow. Was he fully over it? No, but, there was only so much the man could do about his situation.
Besides, the important thing right now was to catch up with the stag.
Willow was soon swept up in the sport of the chase; he was hot on Kinloch's heels, then overtook the man's position and drove himself at the stag's haunch with snapping teeth. The stag was of course startled, which gave the wolves further advantage.
Willow's swiftness was something to be admired.
Kinloch kept a steady pace, making sure that the stag did not bolt back or make a sudden change in direction. The two hunters made for an intimidating pair.
As Willow pushed forward and aimed his snapping teeth for their prey, Kinloch stretched his legs and adjusted his proximity to the stag. As the animal threw back its head, eyes wildly searching for a way to escape, it would only find the silver wolf. With snapping teeth, Kinloch stepped forward. The stag reared back onto its hind legs and kicked its hooved paw at the man's face.
They made a fine pair of hunters; but of course, the whole family had grown up learning from one-another and working together, and this was the same. It was easy enough to find his place as the chaser — and soon Kinloch was there with his brawn and his teeth, both wolves snapping at their quarry until the terror of the moment caused the stag to react.
That was what Willow had been waiting for. It was baited in to a reaction, and in doing so the stag destabilized its base by rearing up. Willow was swift to mete out damage: cutting at the haunch of the beast, then the belly, swerving dangerously close to those hooves as they flailed towards Kinloch; and then out again, to the other side for more.
The stag did not immediately react to the injuries as they came. It appeared shocked by how daring the lithe wolf was, and perhaps it had never faced-off against two such cunning creatures before? Willow didn't know, or care. It staggered after a second; blood staining its hide in streaks, as it aimed finally for Willow, only too late, as it was light-headed and weakened.
Willow's movements were swift and sure. Kinloch did all he could to keep the wild-eyed stag from bolting or turning upon the lithe figure who slashed at it with hunter's fangs. The silver wolf bared his teeth in a threatening display. Their prey turned its hooves upon Willow with a measly attempt to bash his skull. It did not seem to have any force behind it.
From upright to stumbling, the stag appeared unable to continue its fight. Kinloch lurched toward its underbelly and tore a chunk of meat away from it. The animal's fur was stained with Willow's marks. It lifted its head feebly and attempted to lurch to its feet. This motion did more to tire it.
In a defeated display, the stag huffed against the ground. Fear glinted in its eyes.
Willow rarely made the killing blow during any group hunt. Then again, the last time he'd been a part of any large-scale hunt was back with the family, and that had been years ago. The stag in this case was struggling against the quick blows he bestowed, and the threat of the larger Kinloch. It was a toss-up who might venture in close to grab the throat, or worry the thing to death.
He gave his brother a few glances, trying to ascertain the plan. Maybe they would play with the stag a few more rounds and let its heart give out (although that felt especially cruel) — or maybe there'd be an opening for one of them to launch in and tear that throat properly. Willow doubted he had the power to do that; maybe hold it and let the thing suffocate, but nothing messier.
If Kinloch took the opportunity for himself, all the better. Willow could harass the stag for a while yet.
Willow did not seem inclined to land the killing blow.
Kinloch eyed his brother for a few long seconds, wondering if he might extend the offer verbally for the other man. They had worked well together, of course. All Frostfur siblings found a way to support one another, when given that opportunity. The silver-furred man was ever the gentleman. He did not wish to claim glory for himself, only to feed his brother and applaud his hunting.
Do you want to take the last blow, brother?
Kinloch asked, tail wavering.
Willow could decide their next step. After that, they would feast.