Blackfoot Forest patron saint of lightening bolts

thick clouds had begun to claim the sky — inch by aching inch — as the sun began it's rapid descent, painting it a myriad of dreary greys. what pastel colors defiantly streak through the cloudbreak are bold and pretty ...if tyr considered such things. he does not. the sky is the sky and he was not trained — for raised is such a domestic term and certainly does not apply to the rigorous lessons of his cubhood — to find things poetic. the descent of the sun setting the horizon ablaze where it defiantly tries to shine out of the choking smoke of clouds has a simplier meaning.

a deeper chill was setting in; he could see it now in the plumes of steam that rise from parted jowls with each exhale he takes. finding shelter; necessary. food? there doesn't appear to be a shortage of woodland critters he can catch ...but he knows many of them will soon take to their burrows and to the trees in the search of warmth.

he crosses the path of a groundhog, follows the still relatively fresh scent trail and makes quick work of the kill. with the still warm corpse pressed against his toes and his muzzle stained with it's blood, tyr drawls his tongue across his jowls, smearing blood along the fur there, surveys his surroundings to deduce that he is not going to be interrupted anytime soon and takes to his meal. intending not to waste time or meat. he does not wish to draw attention to his kill — scavengers were hungry bastards and they will get nothing more than pitiful scraps from him ( he did all the work, h u f f ) — nor does he feel any inclination to share it.

as a lone wolf: he's got to prioritize himself above all others. a strict and sharp contradiction from training: where personal desires were set aside for the good of all. it was an ongoing acclimation from hell tyr thinks with a low, near inaudible snort around his food.

He and his little band of Family had come from the reunion and decided to explore quite a bit before heading home. Deciding to try and catch a worthy meal before the long trek back to Shadewood, Cry had asked @Phex to scout ahead with her quickly accumulating skill of finding clues and trails and such, while he and @Gwen searched further through the forest they had wandered by. Hoping they crossed a carribou or an elk, something large enough to last them and fill them up, they all crossed their respective trails as they hunted. However, as Cry was awaiting the word from either of the girls, the Guardian had picked up the scent of a slain meal.

And on trail of such, he followed it, curious as to the intermingled scent of wolf and even more curious as to who it might be.

A moving shade through the forest, he crossed over fallen timbers and frosted litter until he happened upon the scene of a feasting fellow. Not moving to be too close, he gave a respectable distance to the lupine, glacials on the situation. There was no point to hide himself; he and his current band were hunting, anyways. Could this tiny meal be what would fill up this loner? Or would he like to allow himself to indulge a bit?

”Hello,” the ebonian called across the clearing. Small, and simple.

She was a hunter by nature.

Gwen could recall countless memories of tracking prey in the wilderness by her lonesome, stalking on delicate paws toward a careless rabbit, who's whiskers twitched in the early morning light. She could recount the times she'd had a pack at her back, wolves surrounding her from each side as they closed in on a herd of grazing elk - she had greatly missed the thrill of the hunt, the wind whistling in her ears and whipping her fur up and around, slick against her head. The ghost had hunted since those wonderous days, but revelled in the freedom of such a wild game? No, not for many moons. She never took her meals for granted, either - after her teeth met skin and the breath faded from her prey, she would duck her petite head and give thanks for the life gifted to her, the energy that now kicked through her veins and allowed blood to pump around her body. All things were connected, were they not? It seemed only right to appreciate what was offered to them. 

...and she appreciated the man at her side. Phex too, and all those who would join them in the safety of the shadewood, not only to survive but to live. The world could cast shadows into their path, but were all shadows bad? No, she thought not. The snow empress tipped her ivory muzzle to the sky, black lips parting to breathe in the frigid air and taste it upon a salmon tongue - despite her hunting experience, the winter was proving already to be harsh and prey were not easy to come across. When Cry wandered off in pursuit of a scent, Gwen was swift to follow, dancing across the snow and emerging at his side when a charcoal stranger came into view.

She remained silent, watching, but watery eyes glittered from their place, and soft ears of white tipped forward on her crown.

She'll meet in the next round

The petite girl was a ways off, stalking a bird on the ground. It had a nest, she knew some made ground nests from the creature that had squawked so ferociously on her meeting with Blossom. Now, she observed the feathered thing, pecking so something on the ground. She watched, admiring the beauty of the feathers, she was silent as a deer passing through grasslands.
Silence was the key. 

Excitement started to bubble in her, a small whine escaped in anticipation. The bird was already moving. In the flurry and commotion -- which cleaved through the forest easily -- that was to come, all Phex got was a mouthful of feathers. Whatever, the girl was proud she'd made contact with her prey and proudly started to trot off to find Gwen and Cry, wondering if they had better luck; which was likely being as they had the experience on their side.

there is awareness; gradual but a growing thing that creeps into his chest, devouring at him like an unwelcome parasite. approaching footfalls draw his ears to cup forth atop his skull, and lips stained pink with fresh blood to curl back in an physical warning as the shadowborn emerges, the ferns whispering in his wake. a second figure is quick to join: as white as fresh snowfall and an unease begins to blossom rapidly in the wake of awareness. he has not came across any scents that would mark this place as claimed but being outnumbered puts him on edge; the same edge, the same fight or flight instincts as young leonidas felt cornered between hungry, gaunt gazes of wolves and the edge of the mountain.

fight or die.

tyr draws in a breath, slow and steady around the cooling corpse of his once meal. he has devoured what he wants from it, leaving ( as he planned on doing ) scraps for pitiful scavengers. he is a warrior. he is god named.

and he does not trust these strangers. one; alone, would've been fine. a second that flanks the ebony man ( and a third he does not yet know of, on her way ) makes him feel like he's being cornered. he is leonidas and they ...they are the hungry wolves with gaunt and hellish eyes. except, there wasn't anything particularly hellish about either of them and his hostility is not prickled out of fear but out of the sheer instinct to survive, kicked into a nightmarish overdrive by being lone.

hello. the ebony man calls across the distance as turquoise gaze studies them both thoroughly. a squint and a sharp breath taken, drawing in what he could decipher of their scents from the courtesy distance between them. hello. tyr responds. it only seems polite to echo it back and to allow the tension of his shoulders to ease minutely.

Even through their distance, Cry felt the electricity spark, thin bands weaving betwixt he and the unknown loner. However, rather than feed into the hazard as a conductor, he kept his own aura calm, resolute, and instinctively hoped this would nullify the tension of the ignorance. With Gwen so close, and Phex more than likely returning to their side as well, Cry had more than enough to defend, but in any such case, he would rather be the first one into the fray. Visions of carnage, alabaster and platinum jaws locking into his piebald youth’s neck, tearing and shredding until her whimpers ceased, a savage ruin of Gwen’s own perfect hide as it was slathered in her own blood - they came to Cry with horrid swiftness. But the Assassin kept his cool, despite the nightmarish visions.

Taking no movement forward, the Keep Watcher asked from where he stood, baritones level and without aggressive motion, “If you’re not too busy, we’re on the hunt for something a bit more worthwhile.”

While onyx ears flashed forward to catch this slate hunter’s answer, one prematurely swiveled to the dash of noise that signaled Phex’s own arrival. Taking a frozen gaze from the Silver One, he glanced at Phex, who had been successful in her own right. A chuckle rose from his dark lips as the tricolor girl had feathers stuck to varied portions of her face. Her body sang a positive high, and that kept a smile on the Guardian’s maw.

Turning back to the loner, Cry patiently waited for a break in the silence. Should his offer be accepted, the ebonian would allow whomever came up with a lead first to head the pack in this hunt. If rejected, they would return to their own hunts, resuming as thought nothing had happened.

They outnumbered the stranger, and it comforted her in terms of safety, but the snow empress had no wish to see any harm come to any of the wolves gathered, and her lips remained sealed - best to let her king speak for now, when tensions became thick; perhaps on another day she might have stepped up to take lead, but no, not today. The dismal clouds of grey had coated not only the sky, but her mind, and it had taken but a few heartbeats of wintry silence for her to come to a realization... the next wave was coming. It would be upon her soon (why did it always infiltrate her skull at the most inconvenient of times?).

Frequently that was how her attitude shifted, in rolling waves, like the oceans that rippled and dived toward the shore; depression was familiar to the ivory woman, but she had not allowed to word to slip from her muzzle, not to anybody, even Cry. It was unpredictable. He knew of some of her sorrows, but did he know the inner turmoil of her doubts, her fears? The crumbling stone walls of her stability? The loneliness that screamed from the depths of her chest and forced from her throat as choked sobs to the sky. Dispair. It lingered like a shadow behind her steps, digging into her heels and tracing her every thought - she had never told anybody. Perhaps because she could not bear to feel the bitterness on her tongue, like ash coating her teeth and filling her lungs with soot, or perhaps because speaking of her heartache aloud would sharpen it, spilling into the polar wind and whipping like a snowstorm out of her mouth, words she couldn't stop, words that shouldn't be, words, words, so many words, too many words-

...silence. It was better that way, wasn't it?

Now was not the time. Cold air sliced through her mind's downward plunge, and her attention snapped to the present - she could not let it out. In her moments of solitude she had had plenty of time to break down in front of the stars, the ever-watching audience who did not judge the tears that tumbled down her cheeks. There was much she had left unsaid, overcome by the thrill of seeing him again... Cerulean eyes flicked between the darkness of Cry (though her heart marvelled at the luminescence of his eyes) and the silver of the stranger, before spinning to peer at the girlish figure of Phex approaching them. Gwen felt a stab of guilt, but also a meek flicker of hope, like a struggling flame in the night's curtain of black. At least she had Cry and Phex. She could only pray that her mind would not shatter at a time when they really needed her strength, for life was tough and she could never predict the coming seconds, what lingered at each corner and loop in each passing moon, the unwritten story.

She awaited the response of the lone traveller, pale ears twitching at the icy caress of wind. Hold it together, for yourself, and for them. You must be strong. Breathe.

The girl came bounding through, her mouthful of feathers allowed her to hold head her head high and proud -- she couldn't see where she was going.

She fell over her own paws, slamming into the earth as the woosh of air left her body with the force of the impact. The smaller feathers strayed from her mouth almost comically whilst she struggled for air without inhaling her prize. Her entrance was sudden and possibly alarming if one hadn't seen her form snaking through the trees towards them. At last, the girl got her paws under her and pushed herself up to be greeted with the silvered stranger. He was closer than she anticipated.
Between him and Cry, she started to sniff inquisitively towards the stranger, provided he hadn't already lept upon her in her surprise entrance.