tag for reference, all welcome!
The Oasis would be an interesting place to set as a base camp for the pack he was considering. Long into the night, he spoke with
@Widower, fleshing out the plans for ranks and strategies for hiding their treasure, and how they might market it. The Oasis, on its own, was something worth value- and to a wolf with a keen eye for glittering things, he knew there might be some hope in using it to levy trade with wolves passing through in need of water.
They could be put to work, polishing stones, in payment for the water. They could be sent out, searching- or brought to an excavation site to repay their debt with service. Those with any talent and the right personality might be invited to stick around, growing their pack.
All hypothetical, for the moment. But he began to patrol the area, hoping in the very least that he could know its nuances, and begin establishing his scent.
Close in the area, the moving form did not go unnoticed by the whisping shadow.
Slithering to his side, she fell in step with ease. You've made friends already.
Recollecting the interaction with the sniveling coyote, she remembered the way they had tarnished Tumbleweed so boldly.
Widower now began to wonder just how many others he'd soiled a perfectly good alliance with. Other treasurers would be necessary for growth. But he already knew this. She wouldn't remind him. He was no helpless child.
He responded very little when Widower approached, welcoming her without ceremony, though when her pace matched his, he turned to regard her with soft eyes. It surprised him still that she had materialized out of nowhere as if manifested by his desires. Perhaps the Oasis could grant wishes after all.
She spoke, and when she mentioned a friend he wetted his lips and inhaled, ears flicking back in disdain when he recognized the scent that lingered about her like a heavy cloud. He'd met others- but they had been quite benign, friendly even. But the one with the sunset eyes was a concern, especially if she'd crossed paths with Widowmaker. He spared a hasty glance to see if she bled, or if even a tuft of fur was out of place, though he didn't want to eye her directly for too long. Her buoyant attitude was enough to tell him she hadn't suffered any serious blows.
"I have," He assured her, "But not with that one." He said. "How did she treat you?" He asked, curious to see if she treated canines with dark fur as poorly as she spoke about them.
She caught his preening gaze, but paid no mind. The mention of meeting another was different for her, considering the fact she never went out of her way to discover new names and faces.
She holds a sharp tongue, as well as an arrogant attitude.
The answer came swiftly. The Widower knew just how to describe them, for they had concealed nothing.
If I see her stray too close again, you can be certain she will be leaving a trail of blood to mark her departure.
She broiled at the thought of seeing the coyote again. Clearly, she wasn't a fan.
He wondered how much the coyote had spilled when she'd met Widower, and even thinking about it made him angry. Widower seemed keen enough already to take a piece out of her if she returned, so he silently vowed the same. Secretly, he considered punishing the amber gemseeker if he met her again on neutral territory, simply as retaliation for ruffling Widower. He sighed, puffing out his cheeks as he did, while clenching his teeth.
"She's a sun worshipper." He informed her- though that alone meant very little, just a pre-amble to what he said next. "She had some....Words, about dark-pelted canines. I believe she also has some disdain for crossbreeds, but nothing would surprise me, at the moment," He said with a roll of his eyes.
Worshippers. She spat at the mention. Widower hated any and all things having to do with those that looked to false deities for governance and miracles. It was all a taint on reality. There were no gods among them, nor saints or devils. There were only them—the living beings that walked the earth.
Exhaling sharply, audits then pulling back, she scoffed. That might explain her foolishness. A follower of some make–believe nonsense.
That's all it was. Make–believe and nonsense.
He'd never figured Widower to be a religious creature. What seemed to make sense to her was what was tangible. The sun, like anything else, had a purpose and while Tumbleweed entertained the notion that good actions might merit some sort of reward, he knew not to put too much stock in the paranormal. Life wouldn't wait for prayers; nature was an insatiable, unbiased politician. It governed without heeding the pleas of those who weakened.
"She lives somewhere Northeast of here," He said. She'd gestured in that direction, anyway- but he hadn't bothered to investigate. There was no way of telling if all of her comrades shared her sentiments. "But I imagine word of us has likely already travelled to them, so I don't see any reason to go looking for them." He said.
There was no intention to seek out the coyote, nor those she surrounded herself with. By either of then, good riddance.
They're better left to their own antics,
She muses bitterly, tail swishing in dismissal of the topic.
I want to find a special place to keep my findings,
She tells him, moving on entirely in the hopes he might follow suit. Somewhere that can't easily be looted by those that come wandering through here. Know of any good places?
He had been here longer than she, and it was her hope that he'd mapped it out well.
He was relieved she didn't want to seek justice. He tucked away a thought that might stick with him for some time: once he'd amassed enough allies, they could perhaps go for a raid, and the coyote and her family would be at the top of the list. He knew she coveted shiny things- and perhaps she would be foolish enough to keep them all in her little nest.
As for their own safekeeping, Widower knew better than any that hiding treasures was the best way of protecting them...Aside from using them for trade. He smiled faintly. "The sand never shares its secrets," He said, gazing out over the dunes. "I've buried of value nothing here. I only keep on hand what I intend to polish, so I have a few things in the rough squirrelled away but...Everything else...I simply choose a palm, and tread however many paces out into the desert, and bury it there. The sand covers my tracks and my scent though I have to rely on my memory to keep track of it all." he admitted. "You'd like a bit more of a safety deposit spot though, yes?" He asked.
He spoke of burying the collected treasure. But the Widower did not even trust the earth's sands for a task like this. Greedy, she was, wanting that it all be kept hers and hers alone.
The sand blows. Noses and eager paws pry.
If his nose could find what was hidden, so could others.
I will not leave my treasures so vulnerable. They must stay hidden from any eye other than my own.
Or his, should she care to share them.
She was both wise and frugal, selfish enough with her treasures that she made it seem as though he wouln't even be trusted with their exact location. "As long as you let me look at them every now and again," He said, "I'll help you find a good place to hide them. If only we had that bird you'd mentioned a while ago...Then it could hide stones up in a nest, somewhere no wolf would ever be able to reach..." He mused, lips twitching faintly.
He considered the possibility for a moment, falling silent as he moved forward. The Oasis was often passed by birds overhead, but they could soar on the updrafts for so long that they needn't stop. However, there were certain types of bird that did call the desert home, and he envisioned the most grisly of them all- the vulture- and found himself coming to what he hoped was an epiphany.
He glanced to Widower.
"Just hear me out...But...A vulture," He said, hoping she'd see where he was going with the idea.
Vultures wanted carrion. The Sandstriders wanted gems. Surely, a bargain could be struck?
casually coughs while digging up a vulture oc to throw at them :D
He wanted a chance to peek at them. Perhaps such a thing could be bargained, for the right price.
A slow hum tickled at her throat—a light chuckle in rare form, as her body loomed itself, bending beneath his chin in a sultry way.
There was always a price with her, no matter the individual she dealt with. Like a bridge troll, she was. None would pass without first paying their dues.
But then when he struck her with what just so happened to be the strangest idea to befall his lips, she halted abruptly, turning now to block his path. A vulture?!
Lip curling, she growled. Have you lost your mind? If we can't even trust a deranged canine we can easily find again, how the hell can we trust a vulture? For all we know, they'll just fly away with our treaure, and we would never see them again!
She bloomed when she laughed, and Tumbleweed canted his head to see how her eyes lit, and the corners of her lips pulled back and creased slightly. It wasn't often that he provoked a laugh from her, so he savoured the moment as discreetly as he could, his cheeks burning hot. He hoped he would remember the sound of her laughter- and that he might hear it again.
He stopped nimbly when she moved forward to block him, and regarded her with merriment as she began to school him like a child. He allowed her, without interruption or dismissive gesture, though the spreading grin on his face might've been some indication that he wasn't simply going to comply with her discouragement. "Oh, we'll see them again. They're always watching for the next easy meal, and they know coyfolk know where to find it." He said. "And they're not like crows- they don't give a damn about hoarding gemstones, they're useless to them. All they want is food, easy food that's already been killed for them." He said. "Tell you what. The next time that sunworshipping coyote comes our way, we'll make vulture-food out of her, and use her corpse to bargain with. That'd be satisfying, wouldn't it?" He grinned.
Tumbleweed spoke in defense of the wretched creatures, doing his best to play the words in their favor. But all she could question was, would agreeing to this be in her favor, or the bird's in the end?
Only one way to find out.
The thought of her corpse being pecked away at does seem enticing.
The image she toyed with in her mind made her shudder with delight.
Fine... but if one feather is out of place, I will bury the creature alive.
Just as she had done to so many others. But that wasn't a secret to her dear friend here. Widower couldn't help but gleam at him, lip pursing. He'd known the stories, as she'd told them many times before. And yet, she still couldn't help but wonder if he thought any less of her after completing such cruel acts.
He marked a small, scrawny, leafless bush as she considered his proposition, and to his surprise, she seemed inclined to allow such a strange plan to be given a chance. In her, he had invested a great fondness, and he saw her agreement as a sign that perhaps she was beginning to warm to him as well. "Pluck every single feather from it if you want before you bury it alive," He said, with a shrug. It didn't bother him at all that she was both capable of things, and experienced in the trade. "It gets one chance to work. S'it." He said, sternly, in agreement.
Pluck every feather from the miserable creature, he suggested. Oh, I shall. In fact, I will keep them near to warm my bed.
She spoke as if it would happen, but knowing her distaste for the species, she had high hopes that it would.
Where will we find such the vermon?
Brow lifted, she now truly spoke in consideration of this. If this was to happen, it should be soon. Which, of course, meant they needed to find the creature before long.
I'm going to start archiving some of these early threads so we're heading toward ten completed :)
He chuckled. He had no intentions of getting too attached to the creature, so if it ended up becoming little more than feathering for her bed, so be it.
"Bait and catch," He said, with a simple shrug. Widower had a look of contempt on her face every time he spoke of vultures, which he could understand. Sometimes they would strip every last bit of meat from a corpse when you needed it the most. Desert canids scavenged- but often vultures beat them to the meal.
"I'll handle the varmint. And if it doesn't work out, I'll point you in its direction" He said.
He chuffed, and set out to hunt, knowing he would need something fresh to lure the vulture in with.