Silvertip Mountain after dark

As the sun fell, Tonravik rose. She was not a creature of the night, no dark villainess that sought to bring ruin to the world; she hated the heat of the day, and her dark coat made it no easy feat to be productive when the sun was high. Tonravik would in time learn to cope, as she would have to. She had every intention of some day bringing Tartok and its legacy here. Perhaps even to the very mountain that kept her.

The bear of a wolf stalked throughout the night, thinking of her brothers. Sisamat—named Tonravik by her father—meandered with purpose this evening, her eyes hungry to catch something of worth, of merit. She had met Skyfall, and she kept them fed with his help. She was not his keeper, but they had become pack, and he returned to her. The powerful daughter of Siku did not know if she would join a pack before making her name here, or simply begin. There were worthy wolves, but she had yet to find them. It would take time, but it would be done. She was sure, too, that Tartok themselves would hear of the expansion, and perhaps even they would come.

Naturally, Toothless didn't mind Leader's inverted schedule in the least. It slept during the day, as always, curled in a tight little ball like a kitten in a basket. It rose when she rose, stretching and yawning like that same young cat, its slender tail giving a few jerks and twitches as it absently preened its shoulder. When the hulking she-wolf started to move, so too did Toothless move, gliding after her like a wingless bat.

Tonight's venture led them back into mountainous territory. It was not the same slopes and bluffs which Toothless had called home for months now, yet the sameness was nevertheless welcomed. As Leader plowed forward on a towpath, Toothless zigged up and over a rock and zagged behind a tree, never sticking to a straight line.

In fact, it felt so comfortable in these surroundings that Toothless momentarily forgot that it was not, in fact, alone, but instead among silent company. Feeling more lively than usual, it clawed atop a rather large boulder and sat there like a dragon on its roost, its head tipped back, and yipped a single note toward the silver dollar of a moon.

She heard the other better now that they had spent time in one another's company. Its movements were different than any she had seen, and the sound of its traverse were much the same in the regard that she had not heard much like it. She was used to snow, though, and her time in that environment had certainly changed much in her. Toothless had taught her to be more wary, more observant. The strangers intentions were not ill as far as she could tell, and she was fortunate for that; but Tartok easily harbored wolves outside of it that envied their success, and hated their principle that the strong would survive and the weak would die. It was inevitable. They only quickened the process.

At the sound the other made, Tonravik turned her head to peer at him on a nicely sized boulder. Her nostrils flare and she thinks for a moment, before deciding that now would be as good a time as any to test out the ability of her newest companion. She abides by instinct, tipping her head back and summoning her other companion (Skyfall) if he would desire to join them, too; but the call of a hunter rose above the treeline they lingered beneath, mingling with the unique cry of the wolf with her, who likely had not thought she might join in.

Tonravik bounded ahead, and notes a trail. She freezes, head whipping back in the direction of Toothless, before she nudges the trail, invites the other to partake in helping her seek.

Another voice rose up, the howl long and powerful, making Toothless's note sound incredibly weak in comparison. It shuddered at the unearthly noise so close by, pressing itself against the boulder instinctively. Its eyes darted to Leader and when it saw that it was her jaws that were parted in song, its ears quivered upright. It watched and listened, its fear dissipating to be replaced with admiration and a fierce sense of loyalty—not that Toothless realized it consciously.

Springing to its feet, it bounded after Leader when her song ceased and she began to lope up the mountain with Toothless hot on her heels. In fact, it was so eager this night to stick close to her that when she stopped, it bounced into her hind leg and fell backward as if it had slammed into a wall. Unhurt but surprised, its ears flattened and it chuffed apologetically, squeezing its eyes closed in case of pending punishment. When none came, it slowly cracked open an eye and lifted its head. And another notch of trust was writ into its wordless mind.

At first, it didn't understand Leader's gestures, though they were emphatic and drew its attention. But, though Toothless was mute, childish and feral, it was not dumb. It realized, from Leader's earlier call and now her gesticulations, that she wanted it to help her track. Toothless wondered if she was looking for a den again, then shook its head no. Judging by the bloodlust in her voice—and in her murky brown eyes, now that it glanced at them—she was on the hunt.

Typically expressionless, Toothless's face suddenly transformed. Its eyes narrowed slightly, its ears slicked backward and a strange grin crawled onto its black lips. Its teeth slowly became exposed and its tail gave a single, whipping lash. It hadn't survived all on its own by magic and here now was the chance to give back to Leader by demonstrating the skills of a Night Fury.

It was only because she saw it coming that she did not instinctively retaliate with peeled lips and snapping jaws; she remained still, knowing that she likely would not even be moved by the other due to her own impressive stature and girth alike. She was correct, and internally snickered as the other stumbled; her tail swept upward and she shifted her weight as her eyes remained upon her adversary, her packmate, her subordinate, and when she was sure that there was no cause for alarm (that her companion had not harmed itself or bruised its ego), she was ready to move on. Her eyes swept the horizon for sign of Skyfall, but she was sure he would eventually show. Tonravik had tested him similarly, independently; it would be fine to do so now with Toothless, but she wondered if he would work well with the young male. Time would tell, and time would bring them to a cohesive unit that would only grow.

Tonravik observed the change in Toothless and felt herself grow giddy with the transformation. A hot breath expelled from her nostrils loudly as her ears swiveled atop her head, and she took a step forward, to encourage. Show me. Tonravik could speak as well as any could, though her words were none so smooth as her primary language, the language that her body could express; she was so articulate that there were few questions ever asked about her own intentions.

Eagerly, she waits, patient; there was a reason their paths had crossed, a reason that this wolf on its lonesome had survived. Tonravik was sure its stealth was a large part of it, but it was not as starved as most could be, ought to be; licking her chops, she looks to the distance, prepared now to be on the others tail, to follow him and see yet another thing he would offer to the well being of pack.

Until now, Leader and Toothless had communicated on the most basic levels, exchanging glances and gestures. The look she gave it now said quite clearly, Show me. Licking its jowls, Toothless bobbed its head in a perhaps unprecedented display of comprehension. It then leaped from its perch and began to prowl up the mountain, quite evidently in its element there in the dark, craggy terrain.

It did feel strange, momentarily, to look back and see that Leader had begun to follow, yet Toothless was far too preoccupied to worry about it just now. It tuned its senses, transforming inwardly into a predatory machine. It knew the first step, of course: finding a scent trail. It knew exactly what type of prey it wanted to hunt, as there was only one kind it ever hunted...

For nearly half an hour, Toothless led Leader on a seemingly wild goose chase over the face of the mount. It took so much time because it didn't know the game trails here. Undeterred, it persisted until it found one, at which point it stifled an enthusiastic squeak. It very much wanted to make an instant dash for it, but instead it turned its lamp-like eyes upon Leader, pausing to seek her approval as the scent of mountain goat wafted around them.

Tonravik followed him, keeping a slight distance between them so that she could watch him work. He moved upon the terrain expertly, which pleased her. One less thing to teach. Tonravik had known the scent she had noted was goat; but Toothless had found it, and found it swiftly. Although they had moved on many different trails, Tonravik understood that the goats had been there longer than either of them had. It would have taken her likely the same amount of time. What she had wanted to see was if he was capable; and he was.

She moved toward his side now, gazing upon their quarry that was now in sight. Perked ears did not so much as move as her trained gaze remained upon them, utterly still. It was alone, and her eyes sought the herd... ah, there they were. Higher than it, climbing quietly in search for their favorite area to eat vegetation or perhaps just to sleep. Tonravik looks to the distance, wondering if Skyfall would join them. She howls again, so he would know where they were; and then she looks to Toothless, a short, quick nod.

Crouching, Tonravik stalks forward. Toothless could be the speed. Could scare it from its makeshift, lonely roost. Test it, be sure that this was the one that would die; for it might very well be strong enough to escape the both of them, in which case they would go for another member of the herd. But Tonravik prepared. For the kill.

Leader moved to Toothless's flank, her dark gaze roving upward to observe the herd for herself. Her little cohort smacked its lips in anticipation, glancing over its shoulder when Leader removed herself to issue another howl. The noise made the wolf's ears quiver. It watched the goats' reaction up above; they seemed largely unbothered by the sound. So confident were they in their rocky fortress that they didn't bat an eyelash at the cry of a hungry wolf.

But Toothless could do things that larger wolves couldn't do, could go places where other wolves couldn't. Even Leader wouldn't be able to follow it now. Sweeping its fangs with its tongue, Toothless gave her a final glance before beginning its ascent. Perhaps Leader hoped for Toothless to simply spook the herd, chasing one of its members into her waiting, snapping jaws. Yet Toothless had never, ever hunted cooperatively and it didn't even occur to it now to attempt such a thing. It would do this thing alone.

Cunningly, it crept up the sheer rock walls, defying gravity and looking much more like a panther than a wolf. It slipped up and over a small outcropping just below the wide shelf where the herd milled. It then sprang toward the ledge, its forelegs grasping it and its hind legs dangling in midair momentarily. Silently, it hoisted itself up and over the edge, pressing itself against the mountain wall like a tiny, flickering shadow. Little did the herd know that a wolf had entered the fold.

Instead of giving chase, Toothless found a narrow footpath leading further up the slope. It tiptoed along it, reaching a point about ten feet above the herd. It then settled down, waiting for one to wander nearer to the wall. Several did brush past it, though they were too large. Toothless patiently licked its paw, waiting watchfully until a smaller specimen drifted into the targeted range. In fact, it stood in the bullseye.

With a screech that would freeze the blood of every prey animal within a mile, Toothless flung itself into the night. Although dainty, it came crashing down on the unsuspecting animal's back, its teeth and claws ripping and tearing before the young mountain goat could make an about face. Like any good predator, Toothless quickly latched onto the back of its throat, digging its teeth deep into the flesh there. As it sought to empty the beast of its life, its eyes flicked up to see the rest of the herd scattering, some bounding over it and others dropping to unseen cliffs below.

When the mountain goat gave up its last, bubbling breath, Toothless released it and then climbed atop the carcass, releasing another singular note into the air, one of savage victory. It then licked its bloodied lips and crouched on top of the slain goat, awaiting Leader's approach.

Skyfall's delay had been excusable, in his eyes. As he wound his way up the mountain and finally latched onto Tonravik's scent, he wondered what she would say about his tardiness. He was sure, however, that the two fat fish clutched between his jaws would dissuade her from anger. Skyfall climbed the mountain carefully, not used to the highest reaches, when a blood-curdling screech met his ears. Abandoning precaution, fearing for Tonravik's safety, Skyfall dashed uphill and finally found his companion standing near another, completely intact.

He dropped the fish at his own feet and looked at her inquiringly. What was that? His breath panted out between his teeth. His ascent had been fast and precarious, with little regard to the bounty he carried. The fish looked a little worse for wear, but edible still. There was another scent that hung around her, around this place, and his eyes reached downward toward a slick black creature that hovered over the felled goat. Who was this? Skyfall didn't speak aloud, but moved his gaze between it and Tonravik, silently asking for answers.

He was gone. Tonravik waited, but no sound of hoofs could be heard; but she does not shift, so very sure that she would hear them come. There was nothing, and then there was a sound of which she had never heard the likes of. For a minute longer, she remains crouched, but there is chaos heard, and so she rises, wondering if the other had gotten himself hurt, if that was what the sound was for—

But there is the familiar song of victory, and Tonravik remains still for a moment, wondering... ah, it was possible; she had done it before, but did he not know that they were to do this, together? Tonravik moves toward the source of the sound, moving without regard of her trail; she bounds upward, muscles rippling throughout inky furs as she hoists herself up and over ledges until in time, there he is, atop the kill.

And there is Skyfall. She was not at all angered by his delay; he had not known, there had been no notice. It would take time, to acclimate; but they were pack, and they would get used to it. She notes the fish in between his jaws, and licks her chops, glad for them, for him. The question asked is answered as she nears the wolf, insisting physically that this being is with them, now. Pack. She gestures toward the goat. Ours.

Her tail waves, appreciative, pleased, as she looks to the dead beast. She drifts forward, tail lifted, moving to go in on the meat without delay, issuing a warning growl to Hunter to watch for her fangs. There was enough for three, enough to be shared among her pack, that there need not be any squabbles. This was theirs. Sisamat tears into the thing, seeking the liver, her favored part.

When Leader came, she wasn't alone. The taste of victory disappeared and a bewildered Toothless crouched possessively over the kill for only a moment before sliding off it. Mindless of its discomfiture, the large she-wolf moved forward, claiming the spoils. Toothless watched her eat distractedly, though its eyes kept flicking to the tall, lanky wolf behind Leader. Clearly, she trusted him, whoever he was, and Toothless deferred to Leader in these matters.

However, it couldn't change its nature overnight, and so it slid back into the shadows of the rock wall. A long, low breath puffed past its lips as it settled down there, waiting for Leader, the clear Alpha female of this makeshift pack, to finish the lion's share of the kill. It felt too apprehensive to be hungry anyway, though as it waited there and the unfamiliar wolf made no attempt to approach, Toothless's mind settled somehow and awareness of its proven hunting prowess began to return.

Tonravik's body language spoke clearly; this wolf was pack. Skyfall didn't move closer, however, when he saw the creature slink back toward the wall behind it, and cower there. Instead, he seated himself where he stood and began to tear into one of his fish. Skyfall often put the feelings of others before himself, something his mother taught him from a very young age, and today was no different. He would eat his own catch and let Tonravik and the slinky black wolf help themselves to the goat. There would be plenty to butcher and carry down the mountain to his cache later.

As he ate, Skyfall kept his eyes carefully, yet curiously, on the stranger. He trusted Tonravik when she made it clear he was pack, but that didn't mean Skyfall had to trust the wolf completely. It was young, and its scent was a strange mix of male, and yet not male. It baffled Skyfall, but he didn't mention it; that was something he would mull over later, or ask Tonravik about in private. Once he was about halfway through with the first fish, he grabbed the second and flung it halfway between himself and the small dark wolf, the nameless hunter, as an offering. If they were going to be pack, Skyfall would have to get used to sharing.

Since this one's sat a while, I'ma wrap it up for us?

Toothless shrank even further back when the stranger tossed a fish its way, its lip curling ever so slightly as it looked at the offering. It stayed put, watchfully waiting as Leader continued to devour the goat and the stranger polished off his other fish.

Only when the others had finished and retreated somewhat did Toothless approach the kill. It sniffed at it for a few minutes, then quite abruptly tore off a chunk. Clutching its treasure in its teeth, it raced back to the shadows, to eat in peace and private.

This was how Toothless would remain in the days to come: part of the pack, bound to Leader, yet always on the peripheries, an outsider looking in.