Dragoncrest Cliffs the stars are blazing

Wildfire had managed to relocate the whelping den somewhere else and while it still isn’t where she wants it to be, it’s closer. It’s close to the lake, the cavern where everyone else sleeps, and in case of an emergency, it shouldn’t be difficult to rush the mothers and children into the cavern with the help of the others. There were other measures they could take to further protect them, but for now she’s content on what they’ve managed to set up. Rotations between Eske, Melchior, and Arlo are relatively set when she or Dio can’t be nearby.

Her mate is asleep tucked into the tree and Thuringwethil is further away, in the clearing where the sun warms her dark pelt. Keeping comfortable has become her priority in the last several days, especially after setting back her healing with the sparring Eske. She would not typically be sprawled out in such a way in the open as she is but it’s the only way she’s able to find she can rest without feeling like her ribs are stabbing through her lungs. She still keeps to slow, even breaths, but the morning sun is enough to heat up what the chill of the night has left behind.

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Whilst external wounds seemed to heal over time, the pressure in his chest had yet to fade away since conversing with Kendra. More than ever before he was confused, unable to rid himself of the internal disturbance. It was a greater nuisance than it was a legitimate pain, followed by jumbled thoughts and an inability to fix himself. It could be hidden, just as he so often did when it came to handling emotions, but ignoring his troubles didn’t free him from them; it never had before and seemed as if it never would. Still, attempts were made at burying the lingering effects of rejection, though he had no intention of giving up. Somehow, he believed, he would win her over. He could recall a time when it seemed as if they were closer than ever, during the famine, and so he relied on those memories for pointers. Through the forest and on the hunt for an edible offering, it was during his search that he stumbled across the Alpha—no, Heda—lounging in a clearing.

Slowing to a walk which, gradually, led him to a stop, Alexander observed the woman from the treeline. Inhaling, he glanced around, searching for any signs that there might have been an attack. With nothing found, he took a cautious step forward, only to stop just beyond the coverage of the canopies. With his quest temporarily abandoned, he took a few more steps towards the wolf, slowly inching closer and closer. “Uh…” his voice trailed off, hesitant. “You okay?” It was all he could think to say—or ask, rather.

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For a while, Thuringwethil lays there. She doesn’t exactly fall asleep but she feels calm within her rest. Her regulated breathing becomes less controlled and becoming second nature. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she thinks about how easy it would be to talk to the former commanders this way when she has some semblance of control.

Uh, you okay?

Her eyes flicker open and she jerks, wincing in pain in the process. Slowly, she lifts herself and rolls until she’s sternal where she then turns to see Xan standing a few feet away, expecting an answer. She has to think back over the last several seconds of confusion and pain to remember what he’d asked in the first place. “Yes,” she finally responds, “I will be.” Thuringwethil holds her breath as she mentally prepares herself for her next move and with a groan she rocks back enough to stand on unsteady legs. She tries to slow the tremble that runs down the length of her spine as her ribs quickly remind her what they are capable of.

“I have some advice,” she says, turning her full attention to Xan, “don’t fall down a mountain.”

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A step back was taken as her body jerked, offering a greater amount of space for her to work with; he’d given more than enough of range by stopping where he previously had, really, but a little more couldn’t hurt. There he grew still, a statue carved from the most pristine marble, and stared at the woman. Although his inquiry hadn’t gone unanswered, he wondered if there was any truth to it. With time, perhaps she would heal, but the groan and the motions that followed weren’t very convincing. Without thinking, he asked, “Do you want me to get someone?” Honestly, he could only vaguely remember the name of the healer—it started with a P, he knew that much—and what she looked like but, if medical care was needed, he was pretty sure that he’d be given enough of hints to call for the right wolf. If not… well, he just hoped that she didn’t need anyone to check on her because he didn’t have a backup plan in place.

Some advice was shared shortly after she’d risen, which he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to. “I”—he cleared his throat and steadied his voice—“kinda already have fallen down a mountain. Slid, actually, but it probably won’t happen again.” As long as he didn’t traverse the mountains, he’d be safe. Whilst the damage inflicted by his stumble hadn’t lingered for too long, it had been a bit of a nuisance, and the fall itself wasn’t something that he ever wanted to repeat. “How bad was your fall?” asked the Inuk. He wasn’t really curious but didn’t know how else to continue a conversation. With Kendra and some others, speaking was fairly easy, but he didn’t know what he could and couldn’t say around strangers. Not to mention that the pack was still fairly new to him and, so far, it didn’t seem to be anything like Blackfeather; what buttons he could press and which ones would get him into trouble was something that he’d yet to figure out.

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Thuringwethil wards off the need for someone else. She’d only been resting, trying to keep still; if anything, she’d preferred to have been left alone but she bites her tongue. Instead, she takes Kendra’s words to heart and gives the boy a chance to open up a little more. If she knows him well enough to be shy a little longer than is normal, Thuringwethil can give him a little more time to grow.

“It wasn’t great,” she says after a moment, uncertain how to respond to his comment. There aren’t any more details to follow and she’ll doubt that come; nor does she try to get the information out of him otherwise. “I aggravated the breaks the other day.” She’d been foolish to spar with Eske, already aware of the action she should have taken but what’s done is done and the young woman proved herself in battle. She did what she needed to do to win, just as she had done throughout her own short life.

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It took more concentration than it should have for him to maintain a relaxed stance, knowing that it was necessary to not raise himself in any way that might cause offense. It was not Blackfeather, he could not hide behind his father, and he could not afford to be sent away from the coastal pack; there was nowhere else for him to go, and he couldn’t stand the thought of being forced away from Kendra. He kept his tail down, allowing it to rest against his thighs, whilst the rest of his body was kept neutral. Working around his concentration granted him the ability to hear the woman speak, as well as understand her words, though he remained at a loss when it came to creating a response. A part of him wanted to leave—a minuscule portion even made him consider returning to the woods, where he needn’t worry about things such as how he stood or spoke—but he forced his legs to keep still, rather than carry him away.

In his youth, Alexander had been bolder, and perhaps that part of him still existed somewhere deep inside. If there was any chance at channeling it, he wanted to try, and so he once again spoke, asking, “How’d you aggravate them?” He kept telling himself that he wasn’t actually curious, but he couldn’t help but continue to wonder about the various possibilities anyways.

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She can’t help but wonder the motivation behind the continued questioning of her wounds and she wishes to write it off as concerned curiosity, or something as simple as pursuing a conversation out of politeness for his leader. Still, she doesn’t exactly like the pursuit of information and one ear twitches her irritation, searching for sounds of others nearby. “I sparred with Eske,” she comments offhand. A stupid decision, likely to be returned in the face of someone so expressive, but she keeps her own from further leaking out onto her features.

Thuringwethil doesn’t add anything else should he have more questions or if it is enough to satisfy the probe of curiosity.

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The answer sated the curiosity that he refused to admit he felt but awoke something new—something old—within him: irritation. That child, as annoying as she was, had managed to irritate the wounds of the leader? He assumed that they had to be far worse than how they appeared, for how could a wolf like Eske do damage otherwise? He did not feel any concern towards the Heda, only disgust towards the newly acquired information. “Why’d you spar with her?” he couldn’t help but ask, the words flying from his mouth quicker than he could shut it. His bitterness had easily leaked into his voice, making his dislike of the girl rather obvious. In truth, he had no reason to resent her other than because of how close she seemed to be getting to Kendra—his Kendra.

She’s not worth sparring with, he wanted to say but held his tongue. He knew nothing of her physical capabilities, of how well she might be able to fight, he knew only that he saw her as being lesser than himself. Someone that he didn’t want to give any of his time to, and definitely didn’t want to get any closer to his friend.

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Thuringwethil does not so much as hear the words Xan uses as much as she hears the way he says them. Her ears twitch upon her head and she stiffens her posture. The disgust that crosses his features holds most of her attention and she searches the younger wolf’s face for anything else that may give away any information. Eske has never mentioned Xan’s name or tension between anyone, making this all new to her. She’s been absorbed in the workings inside Drageda and the Nereides so much, has she neglected her own?

Finding the source of irritation in his voice is far more important than whether or not he knows why he insults higher ranked than himself. While most of Drageda is a level plain, their tiers branch up a little closer, subjects to help keep the wheels turning. If one is snagged on something down low, it’ll throw all of them. “Explain your tone,” she commands of him.

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As a child, Xan had never been without a sort of cockiness to him. From the way he spoke to the manner in which he presented himself, it had been clear from a fairly young age that he was trouble. This part of him, once broken, seemed to be mending itself right in that moment, encouraged to do so by his irritation. Before it could progress beyond a certain point, however, he reeled it all back in and shifted his weight around, intending to distract himself. It had been too late, though, for already had he spoken, thus earning him the attention of the leader. A command was issued, something that he was tempted to ignore for no other purpose than because it wasn’t a request, but an order. For a long moment, he said nothing, his jaw clenched shut whilst his eyes lingered on the dark woman.

After a longer moment of silence than what he’d originally intended, he said, “I don’t like her.” As per usual, the yearling was blunt. “She bothers my friend,” he added, the lie flinging itself from his mouth with ease. It was more like she bothered him by being around Kendra, but he was unlikely to say that.

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Xan doesn’t say anything right away and Thuringwethil tries to keep her hackles smooth, giving him the benefit of the doubt. Kendra had vouched for him once and perhaps that is the only thing to give him the advantage, but his teetering on thin ice shows more the longer he goes without speaking.

Eventually, the words fall out of his mouth but they are stiff and blunt and she can’t stop the rise in fur along her neck. Her mind does not wander to Eske and what problems she is causing—as she easily remembers the last conversation she had with Kendra—and instead focuses on the brute in front of her. “Is that so?” she says flatly with a flick of her ear. She blinks slowly, wondering if he might change his mind, but she’s hard pressed to believe he might. Thuringwethil smooths the fur down her spine, her expression still neutral despite the flicker of irritation. “Or is it you she bothers?”

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The words played through his head so many times that he almost believed them to be true, nearly having been sucked into his own lie. Able to rein himself back in, the yearling straightened out his posture and stared forward, hoping for something that might tell him his words were believable; given his initial meeting with the child, he felt confident that she’d created enough of trouble prior to his arrival that would allow for his accusation to stick. Whilst unease brewed within his stomach and sought to twist it around, he refused to acknowledge the likelihood of being found out as a liar. Yet, as he witnessed the rise of the woman’s fur—he tried to tell himself that it wasn’t something worth getting worked up over but, unsurprisingly, he did anyways—he couldn’t help but begin to accept the numerous other possibilities, thus abandoning his preferred outcome. No longer certain, the fur of his crest began to raise, loosely mimicking the Heda.

Given a chance to turn away from his lie, he wondered—briefly—if perhaps he should alter his statement. In the end, he nodded and said, “She bothers me, but Kendra, too.” Although his lie had been remolded, changed into a simple half of its former shame, it was still just as it had originally been: a lie. He could not speak the entire truth, not when he had committed himself already to that which he had concocted. Then, as if he’d not yet spoken enough, the Inuk dug himself deeper into a hole, saying, “She only wants to be with me, but Eske won’t leave her alone.” Perhaps the statement, though undoubtedly untrue, was a glimpse at the reality he hoped to live in. A world where, despite everything, Kendra was at his side and happy, rather than off making friends with some girl that he found to be naught more than unbearable.

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When Xan’s fur bristles in the same fashion, Thuringwethil’s lips curl back in warning. Her first attempts had not been taken seriously and the more words come out of his mouth, the more he digs his own hole in the ground. Kendra had nothing but praise for Eske the last time she spoke with her and she doubts so much has changed, especially from seeing her Cheka earlier. There’s a fondness she’s able to note, but nothing more than taking someone under their wing and leading them into their way of life. Xan, however, hasn’t found that, and so she takes a step forward with a low growl when he does not correct his story despite ample time and opportunity.

Her eyes harden and she thinks to call someone. Dio, who wouldn’t be too far when his mate’s whelping den is within earshot, or Eske, who isn’t likely far either. Her inability to fight at full strength keeps her tied to the ground but her position is no less in the wake of her injury. “Lying does not suit you,” she warns out loud this time. She’s dealt with those unfaithful to Seageda before coming here and Drageda is the last place for them and she's given the boy enough changes to prove his worth and he only continues to strike them down.

“Stand down,” she commands, her voice laced with a prolonged, low growl.

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Lips curled back and the glistening of teeth caught his attention, the warning understood but not reacted towards. His fur refused to smooth back out, having bristled even more instead, creating a lengthy fohawk that ran down his spine. His own lips twitched, an internal struggle taking place, though nothing came out of it. The yearling’s expression remained neutral, for the most part, riddled just faintly by an equal amount of hesitance and irritation. A threat made an attempt at scurrying out of his mouth, but he swallowed it down quicker than it could escape, knowing that it would do him no good; there were fewer wolves on his side than there had ever been within the woods, leaving him outmatched and at risk. Despite the many temptations, the urges to stand his ground, he held off on doing so and settled for pulling his ears back.

Caught in his lie, his body grew rigid, every muscle tensed with either anticipation or frustration. The possibility that Kendra might have spoken with the woman before had never crossed his mind until then—but had she really? Peculiar eyes narrowed and the corners of his maw turned downwards, disliking the thought, as well as the situation that he was in. Everything seemed to worsen the longer he was there, a theory supported by the command he was given—or, more specifically, the way in which it was delivered. “I didn’t lie,” he forced out, unable to save himself. To Xan, what had been said was the truth. Kendra was nice and usually fairly social, so of course she would show kindness towards others. That, in his mind, didn’t mean that she actually liked them—it couldn’t! The child bugged her, he was certain of it, but knew that she wouldn’t say anything on her own.

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Xan does the exact opposite of what Thuringwethil commands and she puffs out the fur of her chest and takes a threateningly slow step forward. She no longer cares about the topic he’s lying about so much that he continues to do so when he’s already been found out and to his leader. He doesn’t try any vocalization but she can feel the tension between them and there’s a long pause, as if he’s considering something but the longer it goes, the more it stirs up the sound in her chest.

The growl grows even as he slicks back his ears and offers nothing else except for the pathetic excuse that he continues to stick with. The stark contrast between the brute and Kendra makes her wonder how they’d stuck together this whole time when she’s seen through him this whole time. She knew not to trust him on the border but it hadn’t been strong enough but the feeling never quite went away, even when she’d given him one chance after another. This time, however, the seconds tick by between them as she waits for him to determine his fate.

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No words were offered in exchange for his defense, only the ever growing tension between them. A part of him wished to be back in the woods—before the incident—when he was protected by his father and whatever had been seen in him by the late queen. But he was not within Blackfeather, nor could he return. Instead, he was far from the only home he had ever known and faced by an obstacle. Xan wanted more than anything to stand his ground, to refuse to back down and instead lash out, but he knew he couldn’t. Kendra—the only reason he had yet to up and leave—popped into his head, her face serving as a reminder for how he was expected to act; if he attacked then, he was sure to be cast out, and then he wouldn’t be able to see her anymore. The need to stay with her, to watch over his friend and keep her safe, prevented him from acting recklessly—for the moment, anyways.

Averting his gaze, Alexander tried to smooth out his fur, but was only partially successful; it lingered somewhere between raised and flat, appearing similar to how it often was after being messed by the wind. His head was lowered and his muzzle turned away, whilst his tail hung slack against his thighs. It bothered him, to hold himself as he presently was, but he held still with the thought of Kendra and what he stood to lose fresh in his mind.

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It takes longer than Thuringwethil prefers, but it happens and it is barely enough. An effort, if only to save his hide rather than submitting to her power, gives him the advantage to avoid being kicked out on his ass. Her gaze hardens even after he turns his eyes away, attempting to smooth his coat and lower other points of his body to make himself look somewhat smaller. Her growl lowers to a quiet vibration in her chest and her posture does not change, despite the strain it puts on her ribcage. She holds her shoulders squared and her feet steady in place.

“Get out of here, branwoda,” she sneers with a daring quirk of her brow.

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To stand with a posture that was anything other than upright and arrogant was unnatural to him. It did not appear to fit correctly with his body, and certainly not with his personality. This, though evident, seemed to not be brought up. There was little more to be said aside from his dismissal, which was joined by a word that possessed a meaning he could not grasp. The tone signified something negative, but he paid it little mind and instead turned and continued on his way. A glare had set itself deep into his features and was joined by the raising of his form once he was no longer within her line of sight. Looking back over his shoulder, he slowed to a stop and considered what next he should do, before shaking his head and looking forward once more. Continuing on his way, he quickly pushed the encounter to the back of his mind, the demotion unrecognized and therefore unable to be acknowledged.

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