The Sunspire I cried "dear god, I am your child -- send your angels down."

@Donovan Azura <3

It did Riley no good to move these days. The rain came endlessly in torrents down the mountain, and the going was far too slick for even a hale wolf to easily navigate.

Mostly, the Redleaf yearling kept to the crag where he had first seen Orlaith. Praimfaya had come across him a few days before, but the male remained ostensibly rooted to this spot. He'd not had much to eat in days, was sore from constantly licking his unhappy wounds, and was in a foul kind of mood as dark clouds rolled into the valley followed by the silent forking of distant lightning.

Donovan is soaking wet. He swears mold is growing on him by the smell. He hasn’t been able to fully dry off for quite some time now. Always only getting as far as being damp before he’s out in this hellish rain. Today is no different. He makes a mental checklist of all of his members. He hasn’t seen Riley since the incident at the Faerie’s domain. He needs to do a multitude of things. One, find him and make sure he’s not dead; two, knock some sense into that thick skull of his. Perhaps his parents never did, but there’s always a first for everything.

He wakes up early in the morning. Around 0500 or so. Wants to get an early start on his search for the dark wolf. He runs around the canyon all day. Looking in every nook and cranny that he suspects Riley might hide in. A panicked feeling even dares to tug at him as hours go by baring no fruit. He continuously convinced himself that he shouldn’t worry too much, but he’s even weirded out as to exactly why he’s even worrying int he first place. He’s a pack member. No matter how stupid he is sometimes, or the shitty decisions he makes; Donovan still have to stick out for him.

Finally he moves his search elsewhere. Going higher up the dangerous slope just outside of the canyon walls, he howls for Riley once more. His paw pads are being touched up by the constant slipping and he’s growing weary. Giving himself the goal of at least getting on top of this peak.

A few more steps and another howl. Hopefully — eventually — he’ll get something back.

At first Riley did not hear the howl; the rain was almost as loud as the thunder, and the water that splattered down the mountainside was ear-rending.

The second howl, Riley heard. His ears turned forward, eyes dark with recognition. Donovan. Had Praimfaya already betrayed his location? The yearling’s tail lashed, but he answered the howl — feeling a chill settle around him as he waited to be found.

Donovan trudges up the slippery slope of this mountainside. Ears pressed flat to his skull in concentration and a moderate amount of pain, he freezes as another howl reaches out into the sky. A reply to his previous howls — Riley. It seems the sly bastard is still alive, which is a plus, now getting to him his his next problem. He’s near enough to hear him over the rain, so all he can do is continue onward.

He goes on this way for a solid fifteen more minutes. Slowly making his way up the side of the mountain. He couldn’t wait soon enough to see the ground leveling out. He no longer has to put effort into walking. His muscles relax and he’s sighing in relief. Rainwater dripping down his muscular form and into his eyes he wipes a heavy, muddy paw over them in an attempt to sooth the burn of water running into them but he only succeeds in smearing mud over his cheek.

He takes a few more paces and finds the dark pelaged wolf just before him. He perks up and a smile comes to his maw. Even though he’s tired he gathers the strength to trot over to the other. A barely audible, “Riley.” comes from his maw.

He stands before him drinking in his wounds and that smile turns into a frown. “Are you okay? Have you been stuck up here?” He asks, worry present in his voice.

If Riley was a turtle, he would have pulled right up into his shell the moment Donovan came knocking: nope, sorry, no one is home. He watched as the male trotted towards him, sporting a smear of mud along his cheek and fur so sodden his curled tail seemed weighted.

Once, Donovan had a nickname for Riley. Today, Riley had a nickname in turn. "Hello, Backbiter." The yearling called noncommitally, in a tone curiously similar to the way Esme had addressed him. Oh, he had learned a lot from that cruel little dove -- including how to better think for himself. He had always been autonomous, but he had never given much thought to the whys of the world; what motivated people, and why they behaved the way they did...

He was surprised to see genuine concern on Donovan's face, and for a moment Riley almost felt sorry for his new moniker for the leader. Certainly. Donovan could snap him in have right here and now, if he wanted. "I have been stuck up here." Riley indicated, but showed very little interest in moving. "The rain, and I am looking for ---" his eyes flashed as an uncharitable thought stole across his mind -- "a friend."

He’s smile is gone quickly at the nickname. Oof, so that’s what Riley thought of him now. He did seem pretty hurt by Donovan’s snapping at the meeting with the faeries. Donovan felt for him, but still stands strong in the decision he made. If the Fae has been different they could’ve gotten killed. Her whole pack against the three of them stood no chance.

So he comes closer as Riley speaks of being stuck and looking for a friend. First he addresses the biting nickname he’s given Donovan. “Riley, you have to understand why I did that. We were up against a pack twice the size. We would’ve been ripped apart.” He sighs, shaking his head softly. His eyes flicking down to the mud covering his paws and arms. Quickly they seek Riley’s own once more. “If we had the numbers with us at that time I would’ve spit in her face and gone with it. You gotta learn how to play the game when the odds aren’t in your favor, peaches.” His tone his soft, an attempt to convince him of how wrong he was or at least see where Donovan is coming from.

That smile fell right off of Donovan's face like a stone dropped in water. Good, Riley thought a little too savagely -- but he was no monster. In two seconds he was wondering if he had the right to call him that.

Donovan inched closer, earning the full bite of Riley's anzac glare. He wasn't so stupid to stare directly at Donovan's eyes, so instead he settled for burning holes somewhere along Donovan's cheek. None of what Donovan said balmed Riley's anger -- if anything, it was the hot poker that stirred the fire.

However, Riley didn't immediately respond. He was still processing which reply was adequate when a new idea came to him. This thought overcame him, and he spoke in a level voice dry with suspicion. "Why lie? When someone shows you who they are, believe them."

The dark male with indifferent, yellow, crocodilian eyes doesn’t meet his own. Donovan is unsure why, for he continuously searches for eye contact. Unsure if it’s due to his easily dominant nature or something else — he just has to. 

Still the other speaks. Donovan is yearning for his forgiveness; doesn’t care how he gets it. Just knows that he wants it and values Riley as a pack mate. Hell he’d take a life for the grumpy, lizard wolf. 

Still Donovan tilts his head contemplatively. “That’s how I’ve been taught, dear. Lie when you must. It benefited all of us in the long run. It protected us. They almost killed you and Dove and I were next on the hit list.” He sighs and steps closer. “It was only to protect us. You gotta learn how to play the game when you have to.” He repeats. 

The game Donovan describes is an important one. One of manipulation and lies. It must be done. Right now, Donovan doesn’t play said game. He’s nothing but honest with the darker male. So he closes in on him bravely, close enough to touch. Bowing his head down, if Riley allows it, Donovan risks a touch of his wet, leathery nose to the males cheek. If he snaps at him so be it, but Donovan tries anyway. A silent gesture of forgiveness. The brindle man extending the olive branch. 

Forgive me.

oof, Donovan being heartfelt and Riley over here being a dick
So it was okay to lie and cheat, and manipulate others to get your way. How many times had Riley been lied to then, how many times had Donovan manipulated his little Peaches, bending Riley's will to his own? It was as that saying goes -- one lie was enough to question all truths.

Riley hated it. He would never win World's Nicest Wolf award, and there were a lot of things about him that were just plain shitty -- but he had always been painfully honest to the point it bit him in the tail. Realizing he had been played a pawn, that Esme had been right all along, caused Riley's defenses to mount and a panic alarm to blare in his brain.

Donovan inched closer, triggering every alarm remaining that had yet to be set off. Riley staggered to his feet like a cornered doe, his hackles riffling -- "GET BACK!" He snarled suddenly, snapping with a defensive suddeness that hadn't been there before. Riley didn't wait -- or care -- if anything connected, before he was quickly scrabbling away and fleeing from the brute.

Donovan dares to come closer. The urge to nudge his cheek almost sweetly has won, yet in the end, it doesn’t seem like the best idea. Or at least Riley doesn’t think so. The wounded wolf is snapping to Donovan both verbally and physically, a sharp sting of pain where Riley’s tooth nicked his muzzle where his whiskers lie. A small bead of blood pools and is hard noticed as the heavy rains washes it away. 

Donovan is perplexed. Absolutely lost in the sauce. Why? Donovan muses to himself mentally. He wants to make amends. 

The brindled male is still in his place, exactly where Riley left him. Nothing moves except for his own sunlit eyes flicking up to the reptilian wolf. Then a flick of his tongue in an attempt to soothe the pain. It doesn’t work. For he’s feeling different types of pain.

Still, he won’t let Riley walk out on him too. Not like Finley. Or Auriel and Colin. He steps forward, circular brows lifted sympathetically. Eyes dance along his wet body, the aggressive yet scared body language. 

“Riley. I’ve never lied to you.” He tries, unsure of the wolf would believe him once he has his mind set. “The pack is the only fucking thing I care about. I’d give my life to protect you guys. Yes, I lie to others to save my own ass, but I also lie to others to save your asses too.” Though his words might be harsh, his voice is soft. Displaying his unusual emotional attachment to his family. “If I hadn’t handled the situation like that, you, Dove, and myself could’ve died. Is that truly worth the verbal victory?” 

Riley was beyond reasoning. The moment he sprung for his leader's jaws was the moment Riley detached from reality, and was reverted back to a terrified, irrational yearling. Donovan's words fell on empty ears -- for Riley had thoroughly departed from camp.

He began to run while Donovan's words streamed behind him. He slipped down scree and muddy embankments, careless of his own footing and safety as he went. The going was dangerous and steep, and a few times the Redleaf lost his footing and slipped -- landing on all fours from impossible angles, and wincing as he bolted away.

Donovan shrinks back as the threat of snapping jaws come much to close to his face. His brows furrow and he has nothing left to say as the other begins escaping dangerously down the mountain. 

Worry for the dark male tickles at his insides. A worry for his wound, the slippery mountaintop, where he was going next. Yet he does not follow. The brindled alpha shakes his head in solid disappointment. Guess that’s his answer. 

Goodbye Riley.

<3 thank you for the ride!!

Riley was gone, leaving Donovan to nurse his thoughts.

Riley was selfish, leaving the Saints behind.

Ultimately, Riley was self-serving -- he knew his goal in life (for now) was to find Esme, and he knew he had never truly belonged to the Saints. They were but a brief stepping stone in the right direction, or wrong -- depending on how he looked at it.

The going was rough and difficult, but thankfully Riley was going downhill. Never once did he look back.