Bagheera DeMonte, unfettered.

Seasons had passed and his mind had long since been set, but he was no less deeply wounded by being forced to yield his life-long home, duties and in some part, family. His father's legacy would never be his. Had he been younger, he would have taken to the horizon bordered only by temperamental seas and vast oceans. As it was, however, he had no intention of heeding the persuasion of wanderlust that so many of DeMonte lineage had found temptation in before him. He was getting undeniably on in age and had long since passed that phase. Now he had fewer options, and his chosen path was a search for replenishment.

A drab veil of clouds swallowed the lofty sun whole while the day was still young and the presently lone wolf worked to survey the foreign wilderness in which he freely roamed. The craggy peaks in the distance were, for him, welcome familiarities of how he'd spent his winter, and not physical opponents to be conquered. In fact, they were his primary objective since leaving Splintered Spine, and his current path had him weaving through a particularly dense thicket of leafless deciduous trees. With Whitefish River so near, the desire to quell his thirst prompted him to emerge from the tangled brushwood and proceed towards the river.

The striking female could not have been more than fifty metres away when the behemoth stepped into full view. Bagheera angled his predatory gaze to watch her for a few moments as he crossed the short distance to the bank's edge with even strides, evaluating her with the impeccable scrutiny of a hawk. After dipping his noble head to drink, he turned again and this time approached her in a direct line along the river without so much as a hint of hesitation, but did not close the gap entirely.

Quite cozy? he rumbled as he came to stand before her. Her scent was vaguely irritating; he found he couldn't determine based on that alone whether she was solitary or belonged to a pack.

A lone wolf very often did not care with whom it was he spoke unless it was somehow to his benefit. Bagheera had never experienced the threat of shadowed, lurking enemies, but a lone wolf could cover such an expanse of ground that it was only an incredibly determined foe that would bother to keep up, much less actually be able. She wasn’t a traveller, but her scent still concealed something from him in that it was not necessarily aligned at that moment, and plainly, he wondered why she would ask for his name before asking him why the fuck he was there in front of her in the first place.

You have enemies, he observed again, with inflection that lacked question and was meant to exonerate him if she wasn’t particularly suspicious. Closer now, he could see the proficient muscles beneath luxurious northern fur, the arresting way in which polar white became a shock of black on her paws alone. Her fiery eyes might have come across as wary at that moment, but he had no doubt as to the fervour that could consume them. She had enemies because she was capable, and because she was combustible, though the details could not be guessed.

Bagheera asks, he drawled out of perfect roguishness, Bagheera DeMonte. I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if you knew my family name. If she did, she would know he was not simply throwing on a mask. His looks were strikingly DeMonte, through and through.

His remark on enemies had been answered easily by her non-answer. Standing, the arctic Amazon's bearing was similar to his, lacking only the nearly excessive stature, though she was long-legged in her own right. She naturally exuded authority and what was likely earned confidence, appearing then to have shaken off her former reservations regarding his sudden, disruptive presence, a progression which suited him thoroughly.

Had she recognised his name he wouldn't have blinked an eye, but he wasn't any closer to doing so when she hadn't, either. The sight of some DeMontes, unless the rooted variety, could be stunningly fleeting. He flashed her the smirk of a knave. So strong they can afford to run off to be mercenaries, chasing the sun and skirmishing with dragons, he informed her, his voice a growl of drollery. Dragons, of course, were the mythical creature of choice in many of the stories he'd been told as a child. He had in turn taken great care to pass on his own wildly extravagant variations of these to his younger siblings.

He regarded her features more carefully at the mention of her name, comparing them in his mind against any that had left a mark in his memory. Chewing it over briefly, he came to the conclusion that he couldn't recall actually meeting a Kesuk in the past, although someone somewhere must have mentioned the name at some point, if they abounded at all the way the DeMonte line did. An overwhelming number of individuals had come and gone around Lilac Valley, and despite being painstakingly mindful, Bagheera's attention had often been diverted by more significant responsibilities than cataloging names to faces. I hadn't, he replied candidly, intentionally past-tense about it. He would remember her.

The panther's paws remained still for the moment as he was assuredly not complacent to part ways with the company he'd collected. If your bloodline is well known in the north, why have I found you on this spot of riverbank? he queried, something she could just as easily turn around onto him, and likely would. Her answer stood to be any number of things, and he sought information then above all else. He knew very well it was entirely possible those mountains he'd had his eye on in the distance were not even worth reaching. I'm all ears, you'll find.

Stories for cubs, he clarified without patronising her. There was not exactly a textbook in existence for referencing such things, so there was no way to know unless told. His education had simply started early, as a DeMonte kitten himself. And teeny-tiny he'd been, hard as that was to believe at the rate he'd grown. Colossal reptilian creatures with monstrous wings, deadly spikes, claws and teeth, capable of breathing fire and spewing smoke. Altogether unpleasant to meet on a jaunty walk, he assured her, his expression tight-lipped and grim, shaking his head very slightly. He gave no indication that it was anything to laugh at.

Bagheera was not only acutely aware of his surroundings, but fairly self-aware as well. In passing, he considered the fact that he had given far more effort to define the concept of a fictional, legendary beast than he had to explaining where and from what circumstances he had come in the last year to anyone. Previously, he’d played the line of mercenary and no one had questioned the already daunting wolf further, nor had they needed to, as he’d played the part precisely. His service had been exceptional. Bagheera was glad of the fact that though Jinx had inevitably asked for reciprocation, as he knew she would, she had indulged him in his wish first.

He didn’t let a word slip by, and his powerful, heavier stride brought him to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with her along the fluent river. The feralhewn male listened to the recount of her early family life and reflected on how similar their origins were. Large families could be typical as such, with competition running fierce and ceaseless. In the end, only one dominant animal could thrive. More, and the potential for harmed relations was ever increased in frequency. This was exactly why Bagheera had fought tooth-and-nail to ground his brother, believing most in what was best for the entire organism, more than for himself. But the story had brought him here.

I stood guard for a pack in the mountains this past winter, to the south, a place called Splintered Spine. The mountains you indicate now were where my planned course was to lead, he confided easily, then turned his wild mahogany gaze towards the lone mountain she spoke of specifically, considering it carefully before he proceeded to uphold his end of the bargain he’d made for information. Coincidentally, not only are our paths similar, but our pasts. My brother and I were contenders right from the bloody moment we were born, and when our father died last year, the violent storm came to a head. We fought— he paused mid-sentence, jaw clenched, and more brutal than wounded pride and heart was knowing that the wrong wolf was leading Lilac Valley at that very moment, —and he bested me. I did not choose to leave, as you did. I was exiled.

There ended the first telling of that story by Bagheera DeMonte.

Looking at you now, I’m surprised you didn’t fight, he had the audacity to add. Perhaps she had and refused to recount it, but if that were the case, he would let her have her ending. It was not his to take. Or, perhaps her family had not been worth fighting for the way his had been. In any case, he put a pin in the knowledge of the other existing packs and continued to walk at her side.

Although he'd spoken nearly mockingly of mercenaries when mentioning them previously, he was not beyond accepting that he had become one after exile. He filed very neatly into the very simple definition; he just wasn't about to remain there. I joined them with the intention of leaving in the spring, as I did, was his simple answer to her question. Few leaders would allow wolves to enter their ranks who admitted to only passing through, but this one had suspected he would be useful during the harsh winter months. Bagheera had utterly kept his word to him in return.

Also, and I can’t imagine why— he drawled dryly, pausing a moment for effect,—but it would seem my continued presence comes off as a threat.

The sympathy Jinx expressed was met with silent acceptance. He hadn't expected it, nor had he actually wanted it, but there it was. Circumstances might have been different if any one of a hundred elements had been altered, but it all came down to the fact that they’d been at this throughout their entire lives and Bagheera had lost during the most important confrontation. That same fact was also why Sabor had been forced to exile his brother, even if it had just been blind rage driving him like a stoked locomotive. His actions had been unavoidable. The two brothers were living proof of the outright folly of two natural alpha males coexisting. Bagheera immediately understood the past of the polar-white female he now walked with by instinct and relation.

He nodded in acknowledgement after she affirmed that there was truly nothing more to the story she'd let him in on. She’d left to spare her skin, albeit with some lingering though probably minor self-reproach. The monolithic black male would have spared a lot more than skin had things come to that with Sabor, but it had never been in the name of honour. We are what we are, i.e. wild, brutish beasts. Honour doesn't care and neither should you, was his darkly brusque response, though he added with a flicker of wily grin that flashed in his eyes: Your sister might’ve sat on you. Just think of the sheer humiliation.

He considered her perception of what he might be and decided to divulge a few details. I hadn't given him a chance to make one of me, he revealed, regarding friends and the alpha male of Splintered Spine. Then, on the threat he posed, There's the matter of the male ego, the Alpha male ego specifically. There are those that get caught up in the notion that someone might try to take them down a notch, because they surely must be that fucking important. And of course, he went on, very bluntly, there's youth, with all the coltish arrogance in the world, but not a scrap of rightly earned confidence. There are good reasons for me to be seen as a threat, and he did have them, but I had no intention of swiping his spot of rock out from under him. Splintered Spine had only ever been a wintering haven. I kept my word and left the pack as I found them. Without regret, I might add. But he didn't.

Bagheera caught her smile and flashed good-looking roguishness back. The white tigress in her mock-seriousness enhanced the imagery he'd composed of what could have been had Jinx challenged her larger sister, and it was evident in the amusement that gleamed in his ordinarily stern eyes. There lingering also was a flicker of bona fide, unspoken camaraderie.

He had yet to road-block her questions and she had thus far been just as keen to answer as to ask. Naturally and assuredly, the great black wolf sought to delve further. You seem to know the region well enough, hornets' nests and all, he diverted, breaking the thread of humour cleanly and realigning with his foremost intent. His remark was not in the form of a question, but it was tied to many questions. The facts were undoubtedly his to find in reference to the other packs, but having any indication of what he might be walking into in order to get them was distinctly to his advantage. Where have you been staying up until now? was where he chose to start.

So that was why she had her eye on the western solitary mountain. He considered Jinx and her condescension of Swiftcurrent Creek, assumed she’d had her own (perhaps valid) reasons for allowing their leader to go on leading and did not ask further. It was another parallel between them. He didn’t ask because it was irrelevant, in much the same vein as he hadn’t given her his full details on why he’d left Splintered Spine. She would never go there, in all probability, which meant quite obviously that there was no need to know.

Bagheera had a way of not bothering to give any outward indication such as nodding during the majority of a conversation, if only because his understanding was implicit and he was rather bold about his voice. With dingy sky overhead that still refused to let the sun through, and soggy riverbank earth beneath his large paws, his expression remained drawn as she spoke and looked only ahead in the direction they were going. He gave her the benefit of no interruptions.

And what have the others done to earn their metaphor? Probably they’d pissed on Swiftcurrent Creek’s lawn, whether literal or figurative. Unless it was a personal vendetta, in which case Bagheera wasn’t sure Jinx would divulge her full details on that.

Bagheera listened as Jinx described a pack and its leader located on the coast. She didn’t name either of them, which was not at all amiss if they were as below the radar as she made them out to be. That was all he needed where they were concerned. Blacktail Deer Plateau and Northstar Vale, however, were another matter entirely. He found each of their actions astonishingly inane—the former for implementing policy that clashed with the beastly nature of the wolf, then reneging in habitual violence when they (or in this case, someone) realised the folly, albeit apparently for personal reasons, and the latter for their perceived idea of diplomacy, which for wolves would truly be staying the fuck away from rival packs instead of showing up to cause needless conflict.

Rather than make comments on each individual pack and incident she described, he meant to issue one intense verbal sweep to reflect his sentiment on the whole. In doing so, his now thoroughly serious gaze cast directly on her alluringly wild features. Should you fancy a little assistance while your pack finds its legs, you need only ask. Judging by some of the prior questions she’d asked him, he didn’t feel at all presumptuous in his offer. It wasn’t as though he had a schedule to keep, or somewhere else he needed to be. Of course, it wasn’t quite that easy to get Bagheera to lend his ear and capable paws so quickly on any ordinary occasion. Jinx had struck something for him to have considered it at all.