Swiftcurrent Creek waldmärchen

@Durnehviir & @Constantine. tagging @Wylla for visibility <3

a grove, a marsh, and the lake to which the freshwater creek flowed — over a week after grimnismal's fall, mahler had stumbled quite by accident onto the thickly scented borders. but here mahler had found what he believed to be her silver trail, and so beneath his charcoal pelt and breadth of self, his heart found a swifter cadence.
full-throated came his call, and mahler was quiet in the wake of it, forelegs akimbo and head lowered between the ridges of his shoulders, unyielding lavender gaze implacable save for the sparse stirrings of curiosity in their depths.

@Mahler finally here!

The dark stranger had sparked his attention with his resounding call – Constantine had been surveying the borders as it was, and so it took him only moments to come upon the stranger. He was a large man, but the slump of his shoulders and muzzle smoothed the initial hesitation in the swarthy Mayfair’s step, and ushering a low bark, he began to close the distance between the two.
 
His own tail waved proudly behind him, curling upward like a banner while his fiery eyes scoured the form of the other. “Welcome,” he finally greeted, breaking the silence between the two beasts. “What brings you to Swiftcurrent Creek?”

@Constantine yay! ty <3

gold coins and the hues of dark earth beneath treeshadows — the man who greeted mahler was found impressive for both his strength and his appearance. the sharp sound granted by the leader brought the musiker's dark ears flickering forward despite his usual impassivity.
polite was the greeting; mahler read in the lines of the other the dominant's signal that he might relax; the loner ran his tongue along his own jaws in a gentle gesture. "there vas a bear," came his own low tones; his muzzle jerked in the direction of the coastline. "gone."
feeling rather awkward at hearing the hoarseness of a voice not used often, mahler maintained his neutral countenance beneath the gaze of the other. "do you have room for me, herr?" here the implacable lilac stare raised for half a beat, but did not reach the sable wolf's eyes. this dance was only one mahler had learned through the stories told by the scarring along his chest, and he did not wish to misstep.

A bear had driven the wolf from his home – Constantine considered this, as well as the question that came next. The question brought to the forefront of his mind was one more personal than he usually asked – but there sudden departure of a few wolves who had claimed to be loyal left a bitter taste in his mouth, and so his eyes skimmed over the other, his own muzzle tipping slightly. “And what happened to the others in your previous pack with the bear? Where are they now?”
 
Why had he left them behind under such dire circumstances?

when the sable man spoke, it was without the initial warmth. mahler surmised he seemed a deserter, and steadied himself beneath the real or perceived accusation in the other's words. and yet, it was this place that housed the only creature he had ever considered worthy of following. the musiker swiftly put it aside, however — wylla was not his entry-card and he refused to use her as such.
"they took their children and left, herr. the rest scattered." lilac stare tightening only mildly. "they did not lead us. that is why i am here." it chafed the brute a bit to use such submissive language, but it was not far from the truth. honesty-adjacent, he mused briefly, falling silent as he awaited the gold-eyed man's further judgement.

The reasoning was sound enough – if not unfortunate for the wolf before him. He gave a small nod, though his eyes drifted lazily over the dark wolf before him. “We value loyalty here. We seek to be a familial unit. We have room for you if that is something you feel you will contribute to.” One ear flickered as his thoughts continued. “I’m Constantine.”
 
“Herr,” he repeated, his tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth in quiet consideration. “What does that mean?” He was familiar with a few languages – but this was one he had never heard before, nor was the accent familiar to him.
 
Giving a nod to the direction of the creek lands, the chocolate wolf initiated the pace for a walk, his stocky form looking to brush against Mahler’s in pack companionship – leaving his scent upon him so the others would not question him.

a name. a home. "it means sir," the gargoyle answered simply, gaze sweeping the ground beneath the molten-gold appraisal of the man called constantine. "i am mahler. i vill hunt. i vill fight." whatever it was the leader wanted, mahler had faith in his physical abilities to provide such for swiftcurrent.
it was with an inner twisting that the musiker stood fast at the brush of loam-hued fur against his own; it was a rite with which he was familiar, but the touches of others were largely unwelcome in the man's world. hiding the grit of his teeth, mahler instead gave a supplicative wriggle of tailtip at his heels, to thank constantine for the acceptance.