Nestled in what had to be an old den better left forgotten, Echelon stirred with the rising sun. It had been a long night for her, having settled in well before the sun had dipped into darkness the previous day; exhaustion had overcame her. She had only intended to rest her eyes, so to speak, and well... that hadn't happened at all. There was a strange sensation that rolled over her as she awoke, a groggy, disorienting swell and spin to the cavern walls that made her question everything all at once.
Her eventual trek to the outside world came slowly, but the tendrils of sleep were beginning to loosen their hold. She was high upon the ridge, still with an overlook to the wilderness around her. A decent vantage point to a wolf who originally prided themselves on navigation, on tracking. On all those things that should have never let her be separated from Tonravik in the first place. And from up here, she noted as she ventured towards the edge of one particular jutting feature, she could see the ocean. It was captivating, even from up here. Distant though, obscured through a haze thick enough that she could have just as easily been spying on a lake. But somehow she knew it was the ocean. She knew where she was, even if the name of the locale escaped her knowledgeable bounds. She had seen this from the coast.
It should have inspired her to get a move on. She didn't move.
Winter rolled over the Teekon Wilds, stretching onto the lands and settling in each corner of the map. The cold, as bothersome as it could be, was also revitalizing for the rust colored Ostrega. It was after all the shivering of his toes in the morning and the small clouds of fog that exited his mouth with every exhale what proclaimed he was still alive. Against all odds Ciervo had spent a good chunk of Winter, the most brutal of the seasons, alone.
More than once he had been given the opportunity, and temptation, to leave his pursuits as a lone bachelor to join a pack, but always it was his wanderlust what primed over his decisions. (an occurrence that seemingly ran in the family)
Leaving the stolen den cold and empty he began to weave away from the forest and closer to the coast. Despite the fact he kept an overall unkempt appearance, the feeling of sand and salty water over his toes was not one Ciervo considered particularly pleasant. With long strides and little care of keeping himself out of sight of any other creatures that might be lurking in the area he reached the rocky balcony that was the Ridge.
The tangy scent of the ocean accompanied with the soft roar of the crashing waves greeted him promptly, and he in return cast a crooked smile, one that despite not having any particular direction or purpose lightened the heavy cold off the Ostrega's shoulders.
Somewhere in the haze of her peripheral vision, another figure emerged from the rocky, sloping ridge. Echelon's attention snapped to him instantly. He looked no more well off than she did, no doubt another outcast for the wintry season. Probably scraping by, maybe even scavenging. She stayed quiet from her perch on the squat crag, watching as he moved about. His travel seemed about as directionless as her own had been, but whether or not it was all for show ultimately remained beyond her guessing ability.
Swiftly, she descended from her perch to follow him. Perhaps he would lead the way to something of interest and it had been a long while since she had put her sneakier skills into use. Wriggling her small frame between a pair of ancient stones as she came to his level, Echelon watched him again with interest, wondering if he had been alerted by her descent. Maybe he had spotted her from the beginning, an inky statue with a fixation towards the open waters.
[size=small]As the one-man act decended through the treacherous slopes of the ridge the roar of the waves seemed to grow louder. In the same way that the foamy tongues of the waves licked the sand off the shore, Ciervo's own tension seemed to fade away, carried by the ocean only to be left adrift somewhere far away. He continued to weave his way down the dangerously narrow path that led to the beach, his paws trying to get as much grip on the steep rocks that served as flooring.
A misplaced paw could mean death, but a trip to the beach could mean decent dinner.
Along the lonely edges of the beach lied the most varied buffet a wolf could hope for. From beached sea creatures to crabs and snails the place reeked of possibilities, none of which would be ignored by the opportunist Ostrega. While his preference was undoubtedly red meat he was not one to turn away from opportunities, let alone those that involved food. As a loner he could use the extra nutrients sea food could provide and as an hardly amused soul he could use the variety. Little did he know that now he would most probably be booking a table for two.
As he had initially walked carelessly past the gargoyle that was Echelon, he failed to awkwnoledge her existence or importance. Like the statue she had described herself to be, the Ostrega's eyes had assumed her to be nothing another boulder laying in the scenery. Nothing special, nothing useful.
Now, however, as he neared the final ledge of the jagged ridge's side he became more aware of a shadow that did not obey his motions.
A shadow that was its own.
He gave a low chuff as he twisted an ear back to finally give whatever or whoever was retracing his steps a signal of awkwnoledgement. It didn't matter whether the shadow would now own up to its identity or if would remain forever unidentified.
As long as things didn't intervene in his plans Ciervo gave little importance to formalities.
Besides, he had come for food not companionship.
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She trailed him for a short length, initially amused at the lack of awareness he carried. It must have been nice to go for a simple walk and not worry about anything. At least that was the air she felt she perceived coming off of him. It was fleeting though, especially when the first few signs that he was becoming aware of her presence shifted into view. He didn't look back to her, too focused on the narrow pathway ahead. Echelon had no focus for the rocky grounds, had no cares about them in the slightest. She trusted her footing.
And for whatever reason, she was inclined to be even more malicious about the lack of trust in his own. Slinking low to the ground, she moved in swiftly to give him something else to worry about, snapping and carrying on at his backside. Her intent was to startle him, maybe provoke something flighty into him that once would have existed in her. Perhaps spur him into steering clear of the path down at all. It had been too long since she had taken a more antagonistic approach towards anyone, but along the steps and climes of the ridge, it seemed like a good idea. His lack of confidence meant if things went south, surely she could formulate an escape plan and be gone.
[size=small]Not giving a fuck was one of Ciervo's many virtues -- or flaws depending on how you looked at it. While he had cared fiercely for those who had been particularly close durijg his early months, he had never, not even when adolescence had spiked upon the Ostrega quarter,had had any type of active involvement with his sibling's desires.
As they began to pluck off the nest and sail in search of their own destiny he had never bothered to intervene or ever ask of their plans.
Forever cunning and devious, he had made a point of keeping his schemes foreign to their ears.
While the few family ties he held on and knew of were worn with an overwhelming pride, the Ostrega knew, or suspected that outside from the four walls that made up home the world was cruel and dangerous. Unlike the games of his childhood the competitons that plagued the real life were not ones that he could afford losing, and the triumphs were,due to his selfishness and strong sense of autonomy, not ones he desired to share.
Not with his family, much less with the dark parasite that stuck close to his heels. Unlike the time he had hunted with the Plateu youngling, he felt no desire to seek any type of partnership or alliance with the dark shadow of a wolf who despite being shown she was not wanted, continued to linger. It had been maybe the cold indifference with which he dismissed her presence only seconds after having awknowledged it, what the female misjudged for unconfidence. An error the disheveled Ostrega was quick to deny as the wolf began to stray closer to his rump with snapping jaws.
Instead of speeding his pace or even attempting to pull his tail out of her reach, the male swerved violently, his paws keeping their grip on the ledge as he maneuvered dangerously to meet the female with narrowed eyes and a menacing grimace. "Scram" he chided as he allowed his golden eyes to comb over her body; his mind making the silent assumption that her attempt to nibble at his rear had been the result of her desperation.
Whether it was for company or simply entretainment was none of his interest; what was on his interest was to get rid of the parasitic wolf and get something in his stomach.
Now, the possibility of that something being the female was not discarded.
After all, Ciervo didn't give a fuck.
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Sorry this is a bit shorter in comparison! Echelon's more interested in being a jerk, apparently. I CAN'T HAVE NICE THREADS WITH YOU CLEARLY LMAO. ;__; *loves anyway*
Surprisingly, he managed to swing himself to face her in spite of the close distance between them. Hot words flushed out from his lips, only prompting a smirk to spread evenly across her muzzle briefly. It was there and it was gone, a flash of light across her dark visage as she snapped forward to shove him down the path. She wasn't through with him, not yet, and the notion she wanted to see a little more ire spill from his sandy features was distinct and precise. She snapped at him again, this time as though she were possessive of the terrain he had been scrabbling over moments ago. This time her snaps were aimed to pinch at his flesh, but not enough to break the skin. Aggravations, prompts to see how far she could push him before he ultimately pushed back.
[size=small]Stupidly, his warning was met with resistance and mockery, something the own rusty mockingbird did not appreciate at all. Like a bear that had woken from its slumber, Ciervo was not in the greatest of moods, and with the bold nippings she attempted to give to the his rear (something he would have perhaps appreciated if it were another time),this female was not helping her cause. His golden eyes depicted, with an empty look that could turn anything to stone, the annoyance that he felt towards the female's actions.
Still, his mouth did not dare to pronounce another word, only the sound of a dry, deep growl could be heard over the crashing lullaby of the waves behind them.
It was right at that moment that the female lunged to him, the intentions of pushing him clear on her eyes. Unable, and uncomfortable to take a step back on the steep path that they were balancing on, he prepared to meet her contact with his parted jaws. He was reluctant to move back, yet he held himself unwilling to advance;the sharp rocks that awaited at the bottom for either of them to fall were far to real to be ignored, and even if they were no longer as high up as they had previously been, Ciervo's calculating mind predicted no less that broken ribs if he were to slip.
A forecast he wasn't willing to accept.
Again, as the female bounced again to strike like a mamba, the Ostrega stuck stubbornly to his spot. As she aimed for his flesh, the increasingly annoyed male parted his maw once more this time hoping to recieve the collision of her teeth with his own, and if the moment permitted it, to grasp her muzzle between his own. He had not asked for delivery dinner but the growls rising in his stomach, plus the female's axphyxiating attitude left no choice.
This was either push or fall off.
Eat or be eaten,
so bon apetit may the best wolf win.
Lmao. I think Mordecai and Cara probably got along better than they let on. But they definitely clashed on how things should be done. Shall we roll to see if strikes hit or just go with the flow?
It seemed like a harmless game, but usually it was anything but. It was always about survival of the fittest. Her arrogance had always lent her a boldness that would more than likely be her end someday; a fact that Echelon had accepted unconsciously at some point in her young life. His jaws parted to curb her action, but she decided to take it a notch further.
She would drive him away from the slopes one way or another, all over absolutely nothing. It was as though she had found an outlet for the pent up mess of indescribable and incoherent emotions that had been lingering for ages. She had found her event horizon, her tipping point. Closing in on him with a flash of bitterness, she made it clearer than ever that she sought blood. The nips were for naught — Echelon moved for the throat.
[size=small]While her initial intentions were irrelevant to the male, her new target, his throat, shot the Ostrega's hostility through the roof. Following her cue, Ciervo too clattered his teeth menacingly as she closed in on him. As a buller that had been shot of the barrel of a gun she lunged, and while he didn have the time (nor the room) to attempt a dodge he opened his maw to meet her attack head on and combat her teeth with his own. Now that she had given the first step, Ciervo was glad to engage in the dangerous dance they commenced with the melodic growls and synchronized snarls. Two were needed to tango, but only one was needed to laugh at the end.
And hopefully, it would be him who had the last laugh.
With his gums bleeding from the impact and his the curvature of his lips dripping of bloody saliva, Ciervo raised his middle finger at the possible consequences that might come after his next move. In a brusque movement that sent little pebbles raining from the side of the jagged face of the ridge, he pushed or more specifically, attempted to push her off, with his snapping jaws and erratic snarls.
Echelon had caught the loner off-guard, but it was a fleeting moment. In a flash she felt hot teeth rake across her muzzle, steering her away from grabbing for his throat. It was a foolish move on her part to try and overpower him instantly and earn herself recognition for nothing at all. She recoiled bitterly, hissing a plume of breath into the cool air. It smarted and bled and only served to be more fuel to her growing fire.
But before she could collect herself to launch an assault again, the sandy-pelted vagrant was already executing the second half of his one-two punch. His larger frame pressed into hers with great force, knocking her off balance and sending her scrambling for purchase along the loose gravel of the ridge. Echelon didn't go falling down the slope like he would have probably wanted, but the incline and her grip allowed her to slide poorly along its steep grade.
She snarled, arrogantly and viciously with slick backed ears and a mouthful of pearly whites — all for naught. She knew she couldn't climb back up the slope without him being there to stop her. To continue down the slope was the same to admitting defeat — she'd never catch back up with him.
[size=small]The taste of blood was bittersweet in his mouth. While he was certain that all of the crimson liquid staining his lips and veiling his white teeth was not all his, he was also fairly certain that she had also gotten a taste of him during the reckless clash of their fangs. Still, in the end it would all prove to be worth it.
In the midst of his crazed attack, just as he predicted, the rocky surface caved. But luckily, maybe even miraculously it was not the Ostrega the one to lose his footing. A couple of dangerous wobbles later, the brazen male peered over the edge, his golden eyes never losing track of the struggling form female that slid down the jagged surface of the ridge's side.
This, had been just what the picturesque scenery needed, a little flare, a little death.
But to his dismay, she was far from being dead -- only a bit bruised and scratched up, nothing time would not erase but nothing others wouldn't notice.
The sharp rocks that she had slid on had used her body as paper, writing his warning upon her skin as a reminder to her and to all who saw her, but there were still things Ciervo wanted to say -- or at least express.
With his neck craning over the ledge, but his gravity centered he looked down on the female, then with the edges of his lips tugging up into a wretched smile he launched his third attack. No warnings were given this time; with his feet scraping against the rocky floor he swept off a good amount of pebbles and with the force of his own foot, sought to aim them at the female's head. A shower of shame.
But the storm was not yet over.
After the curtain of falling rocks was ended, he strectched his neck again to peer over the edge; this time his mouth parting with the intention spill on her his venom-- but not the one words could manage.
With his eyes glimmering in amusment he allowed a thin thread of silver to fall from his mouth and into the bulleye's below -- her forehead.
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He disappeared from the ledge slightly, giving Echelon just the sliver of hope she thought she could use to her advantage. Maybe he was going to move on now, disappointed that he hadn't sent her to an early grave at the bottom of some shallow ravine somewhere. Instead, gravel began to rain down as she tentatively took the few first steps upward. This halted her attempt, leaving her to ensure the rocky shower any way she could. The tiny stones didn't hurt her, but they certainly served to aggravate her further.
Yet this became minor compared to the wolfish way he spat on her next. It took a moment, a good full few seconds for the action to register before she was wild and electric with anger. He wasn't trying to push her further down the slope now — he was taunting her. Wide-eyed and feral at her core, she put far more strength than it required to start back up the slope at him. It worked for the first couple of meters upward, but she tired in her display. Her grip faltered, leaving the inky Tartok wolf to slide back down to where she had perched originally.
And that's when the idea that climbing upwards wasn't going to work hit her, but maybe sideways would. It was not a descriptive, obvious ledge she was on like they had been before, but she was not unfamiliar with uneven terrain. She moved along the loose shale and earth, sliding this way and that, but ultimately drawing a line across the ridge. She'd find where the trail met again, or another way up. She'd get back up there, unless he stopped her. She'd finish this mockery with his carcass rolling down the hill.
At least that was the implication she wanted to leave him with — for Echelon, she knew she lacked the strength now to do any such thing. This was her tactic as a means to save face and get out of there, now. She'd shallow her failure and her shame alone, somewhere else.
[size=small]Triumph, as sweet as it could be, was not what the rusty Ostrega wanted to savour. With his stomach still grumbling and the option of eating the female too complex to be done he decided it was, too, time to move on. Still, as long as the charcoal pest was still wriggling below, he held on to his spot, his eyes of champagne simply surveing and silently judging her desperate movements and futile attempts to climb back up.
Finally as she caved in to her defeat he allowed a mocking snicker to rumble from his chest as he peered over the edge again to watch her dissapear with her tail between her thighs. "Idiot" he mused outloud as he turned his body and continued to descend down to worn out path of the ridge's jagged face.
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