Hideaway Strath to gaze upon you everyday but be denied your touch

As is customary of him, Roarke takes to the outside of the world shortly after Arturo rises — at the cusp of dawn as the sun just begins its rise — so too does Roarke. Typically, he waits until his father’s footfalls diminish and though his very great desire is to wander the borders and perhaps — if he can manage it! — the no-man’s land and neutral territories beyond the Strath he shies away from them not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to himself. If Lotte has awoken or noticed his routine absence too early in the morning she has not said anything …and even if she has it is clear that Roarke doesn’t listen. He has an incredible talent for taking in only what he wants to hear and blocking out everything else (oops). In the safety of the Strath, though, Roarke fears nothing simply because there is nothing for him to fear. He does not understand the dangers of the outside world, regardless of how many times they have been repeated to him, because he does not face them in the safety of Teaghlaigh’s borders.

As he grows so does his desire for the greater adventures beyond his home despite that he is of no age to go on them. So, for now, the winter’s bane settles for the adventures he can go on with minimal trouble earned for it, leaving the rendezvous den until it it out of sight, heading away from the heart of the territory with only the desire to explore what is still unknown to him and no clear destination in his mind.

Ceallach does not rise as early as his father nor his brother. It isn't from a lack of interest, for the boy is much like a sponge soaking up all the stories and information he can. Instead it is purely a comfort thing as among his siblings and parents he finds a great cozy sensation he is loathe to pull himself from. Today, though, he feels as Roarke leaves and blinks back his sleepiness with a loud comical yawn. His head tilts for a moment watching his pale sibling as his figure grows smaller and smaller and finally the youngest Fearghal pushes himself up on his feet and trails after his brother.

He creeps, quiet like a mouse (in his head, at least!) until Roarke is stopped by some passing fancy. It is then that Ceallach's bum wiggles, all cat preparations as he fixates on his brother before he launches himself forward with a (meager) warrior's cry and a fit of giggles into his brother.

Effectively distracted by the wiles of his thoughts, fantastic envisages that only children can dream up in state of awake Roarke is oblivious to the sound of following footfalls quieted with purpose. The rustle of a bush catches the attention of winter’s bane and the pale tundrian gives piqued pause, sticking his nose into the bush without thought of consequence as he seeks to investigate. Oblivious, ears slick back and head whips around at the sound of the battle cry and milky blue gaze beginning to cool into the frigid glacial blue that will make to his irises with permanence catches his brother launching through the air at him. Roarke is caught unprepared and unaware and has no time to effectively react. Their bodies collide without preamble. Roarke’s pudge absorbs most of the collision but the surprise manages to knock him off his feet and he goes down, hard, to the dirt he is tangled legs and snapping teeth at his brother’s giggles. Roarke’s chest swells with the vicious desire to be victor — for defeat is nothing short of insult and entirely unacceptable — and he attempts to use his weight to his advantage to remove his brother from his person so he may find his paws once more and return the act of (play, of course!) war in kind. The thrum of defiance he feels at being swept off his feet (and not in the kind of way he’d like, mind) is very real even if the actual wrestling match is all harmless play. A tool to enhance their skills and develop (in a more serious manner of play) their own dominance among each other.

Someday this will be different. Someday their puppy play and squabbles will be different. It will have purpose and intention and Ceallach is more focused on now just finding those plush spots on Roarke to tease his puppy teeth against. Roarke is quick to use his larger frame to free himself from Ceallach's brief reign and once his brother had launched his own attack the little Glen was filled with the most vicious puppy growls and occasional barks. He ended up on his side from Roarke's move, seeking one of his brothers ears to tug against.

Ceallach’s teeth tease against Roarke’s flesh — yet plush and corpulent as Roarke is. There is promise that one day, as he trains and hones his body to be a weapon coupled with puberty that his baby pudge will melt and give way to impressive and hardened musculature of a true born tundrian but Roarke is still yet a soft thing, pliable and (to his dismay) breakable. His plight to use his weight to his advantage sees his youngest littermate — his only brother to his immediate knowledge — to his side. A breathless, excited laugh erupts from the winter’s bane muzzle at this change of power in their play even as the sounds they make at one another give a different impression. They play but the vicious sounds that tear from their yet small bodies could give concern to any third party observer — though they seem to be alone (or as alone as any adult is willing to let them be). Ceallach finds the aspiring warrior’s ear and the tug his brother gives to it causes a low, throaty half growl to spill from betwixt his lips as Roarke’s jaws part wide, aiming to dislodge his brother’s mouth from his ear and try to clamp down on the other boy’s muzzle unaware that he lets himself open for attack of Ceallach’s own while Roarke things with a singular purpose avoiding all the other advantages and his own defense in the process.

Their inexperience makes it easy for them to squabble and fight as children do. At some point it will change, and Ceallach will learn that while tender surfaces like ears will yield a briefly satisfying result it will do little long term but make his face close enough for another to bite. Roarke does this with a vengeance, teeth grappling at his muzzle as Ceallach let's out a growl of his own. His brother's move makes him release the silky ear, paws pushing at his chest as their teeth click against one another. It's clumsy, their play, like small bucks figuring out how their dance will become a great battle, but the boy is not to be deterred. Ceallach pulls back for a moment to catch his breath, kicking up onto his back paws as he makes an awkward launch at his brother.

Ceallach’s growls only serves to stimulate Roarke’s alacrity. The tundrian lived for this — the thrum of thrill and power that twine with the blood that pulses through his veins. He’s enjoying this, even as he and his masked brother grapple for victory with one another. In this moment they are titans as their teeth clash like the ring of swords as they lock in epic battle. Instead, they are hardly so refined, hardly so inspiring — they are just two cubs and their only desire is to play regardless of who — or if anyone at all — claims victory. Yet, for the warlord warrior in training this magnificence of visionary is not a far cry from becoming truth. Someday, he would become a titan, a warlord. For now, such things are secret desires he harbors in the quiet of night as he falls asleep to Lotte’s story of the Tundra. They become both lullabies and holy scriptures that Roarke aspires to emulate. There is a second of reprieve to draw in breath as Ceallach draws back and another second in which Roarke finds himself facing two tactics. He could stiffen his muscles and take his brother’s launch much like a battering ram (the Tundrian is strong in him and he is built to withstand such things even as a pudgy cub) or he could attempt to absorb the attack and let his brother topple him to the ground in feigned defeat. There is a heartbeat that passes and he loosens his muscles to absorb Ceallach’s launch and Roarke allows the momentum to push him down to the dirt. The worst of the fall is cushioned by baby fat and he lets out a small whine to set the deception. A few seconds pass and “Raaaahhhh!” tears from him as Roarke attempts to kick out at his brother with his hind legs.

i'll have you know i am so reluctant to finish this out because it's their last!

If Roarke is the Lion, Ceallach is the Dragon, smoke and fire deep in him promising his hidden strengths and the victories to come. Between them they are both powerhouses, strength and cunning and mastery of different realms; no doubt they would raze entire packs to the ground. Ceallach feels as though he is flying as he launches at his brother, eyes wide and maw open for his teeth to find whatever flesh they could. For a moment, he is victor, and Roarke is beneath him against the ground. Victory is not sweet though and is all too fleeting as his brother kicks and flails at him with his backlegs. Ceallach wasn't anticipating the move, easily pushed off despite his bulk and squabbles against the ground to try and get his feet again before Roarke can attack him while he is exposed.

RE: to gaze upon you everyday but be denied your touch - RIP Wintersbane - July 01, 2017

aww; well i wouldn't say it's their last thread forever. ;-) ♥

Roarke’s pudge serves to have both it’s fair share of advantages and disadvantages: he is heavy and it does not grant him speed in battle. He is not meant to give chase. Like a tank he is built for absorbing hits and equally he is like a battering ram: his hits are powerful and hard but not as fast as the quick attacks someone smaller than him would be able to dish out; and when Roarke falls he falls to the ground hard. His kicks hit home and Roarke is freed of Caellach’s weight. He scrambles to get to his paws as quickly as he can but his weight works against him here and it takes him longer than it should of, still lacking any real training. Caellach is quicker to his paws and appears regrouped as Roarke tries to think of his next move but wastes too much time (an error, he will learn in time) as he attempts to regain his breath and leaves himself open for his brother’s next attack.

The boys wrestled for a bit more before they wore one another out and returned to the king seqouia when they were called back.