Phoenix Maplewood locked in your own home

The rains kept coming and coming, and it made the bypass feel even smaller than usual. Kaertok realized he hadn't stepped foot outside their claim since the children were born, and that likely had something to do with the stifling sensation he'd been feeling. So, with a quick word to Arbiter to let her know that he'd be back in the next couple of days, Kaertok headed north toward the forest that lay between Legion and Whitebark Stream. The latter had been quiet ever since they had moved in, but he could not deny that he was curious about whether they would stay that way. Were they still friendly?

He wasn't too far from their border, but he also wasn't particularly keen on riling them up by being all up on them. Instead, he made his way through the wood, noting the newly-downed branches that littered the place. The sky had not stopped raining since it had started over two weeks ago now, and Kaertok noticed the lake which took up a large part of Legion's claim was growing larger. Not to worry, though, there were plenty of rivers that the lake would feed, and the bypass would be safe.

All this rain, all these branches… the wood’s seen better days, hasn’t it? It’s a shame, really; the undergrowth must be drowning and those berries are awfully tempting. Part of Dakota wants to stop and feast, but if someone’s claimed these forests? Not that it’s never stopped him from hunting, since he can always say he chased prey over the border without noticing. There’s something different about plopping down to gorge in what might be pack lands. Negligence, that’s it.

So instead, Dakota makes a mental note of the potential loot and sets out towards the forest’s southern edge. Wouldn’t hurt to ask the locals. As he scans the landscape—lo and behold, a white-furred wolf. With a friendly whuff Dakota announces his presence. “Lovely weather, isn’t it?” He’ll gauge the wolf’s response before pressing further. It helps if they’re on the same page.

A sarcastic question followed an unfamiliar woof. Kaertok looked to the stranger: dark on top, light on bottom. He was missing a tail, and his face was... ugly. Something was off about it, like it wasn't quite the right shape. It seemed a bit too short and too round. Not that Kaertok had any preconceived notions about ugly wolves, but it was jarring, and he stood staring a moment longer.

No, he replied dryly to the question. He wondered if this forest would flood. There were certainly plenty of branches and trees down, and he'd even come across one that had a strange, dark marking all the way down its trunk. Kaertok found no use in talking about the weather, nor was he a fan of small talk in general. Some time ago, he would have asked for information about Raleska, more recently, he would have sought to recruit this ugly wolf. Perhaps that wasn't off the table, though.

Are you with a pack around here? Kaertok asked.

“No.” Not the most enthusiastic response in the world; is Dakota seeing things or is the wolf sizing him up? Ha, that’s nothing new! He stands steady, unphased. He’s blissfully unaware he’s been pegged as ugly; there’s a certain sense of pride Dakota gains from interactions like this. Surely he’ll make a good impression, both for himself and other wolfdogs who pass through. In fact, he’s about to explain his heritage when the wolf continues with a question.

This tells Dakota two things: first, between this and the lack of overt hostility, this territory isn’t claimed. Free pickings. And second, from “around here,” he shouldn’t expect adjacent lands to be so liberating. It’s a game to him, this weaving between invisible lines; he welcomes the challenge.

In response, Dakota shakes his head, smile unwavering. It’ll do him good to learn more before moving on. “Can’t say I am, stranger. Yourself?”

The Tartok nodded to confirm. Legion. We claim the area between those two peaks. He gestured with his muzzle in the direction of the bypass. At least the stranger had stopped his sarcastic remarks about the weather. Kaertok was far too tired to deal with anything like that right now, and he likely would have walked away if it had continued.

My name is Kaertok Tartok, and I am the beta there. My children's mother, Arbiter, is the alpha. It was the best descriptor he could come up with for her, since she refused anything else. And besides, it was true, wasn't it? We could always use more able-bodied among our ranks, if it is a home you seek.

Legion. It’s a military word, soldiers marching in line ‘round the sturdy peaks they call home. The rigid, decisive beats of Kaertok’s name pose an almost jarring contrast; it echoes a language Dakota was too busy running to learn. If the thought of an army doesn’t intrigue him, Kaertok Tartok’s northern sound does.

The peculiar familial phrasing barely registers in light of subsequent talk. Is this a recruitment offer? That’s new. Kaertok’s staring must have drawn favorable conclusions indeed. Convention asks Dakota to offer respect to the beta; a swell of pride keeps his head lifted. “My name’s Dakota Tikaani,” he begins, “born and raised in the wilds of Alaska.” Might it ring a bell?

Much as the idea of being tied to a pack’s campgrounds doesn’t appeal to the roaming wolfdog, he can’t help but entertain the offer. “I’m at home on the trail, friend”—a show of camaraderie, if nothing else—“but I’m happy to offer some traveling eyes. Not nose, though,” he adds, for honesty’s sake. A light huff and a smile indicate this is hardly a sore subject. “I’ve learned to compensate.”

The names did not ring a bell, but then again, Kaertok hadn't been looking for bells in the first place. And this creature, wolffish as he may be, had something strange about his face that he was far more sidetracked by. His mention of being home on the trail was no stranger to Kaertok. He himself was a scout by trade, and having another among them wasn't a bad idea. Legion could always use more bodies to look at the world around them.

No nose? Kaertok asked. What do you mean by that? Even though Dakota's face was ugly, he did have a nose. It was short and strange, but it was there.

sorry for the wait!

The musing on names goes unaddressed, if noticed at all. Ah well. Instead the topic veers around the bend towards Dakota’s nose, and he can’t help but chuckle. If he’s still being sized up, points to Kaertok for being direct about this particular concern.

“I can’t smell,” Dakota says with a nonchalant shrug. It’s as easy an admission as his sordid past: “Had that well and beat out of me as a pup.” He’s been through worse since.

Somehow he doubts Kaertok will offer the usual condolences, but Dakota aims to spare them both the awkwardness with an advance deflection: “I’m part dog, in case you were wondering. Father was a wolf like yourself.” He has no clue what his father looks like, actually. The mix applies regardless. “I like to think I’ve inherited the best of both bloodlines.” If he had a tail, it’d be wagging; he knows how arrogant the comment sounds. All in good fun, though, yeah?

He couldn't smell. And just like that, the description of "able-bodied" went out the window for this guy. Kaertok saw no use for a wolf, or wolf-dog, in this case, who couldn't smell. It was like a wolf who could not see. Perfectly useless. It was a wonder Dakota wasn't already dead, and Kaertok figured it would only be a matter of time before he was in a situation where the roll of the die just didn't cut it. That was not a risk the beta was willing to take, especially not with his children's lives at stake.

Legion does not seem like the right place for you, Kaertok replied after a pause. I wish you luck in your endeavors. Not really, but sometimes empty wishes made others feel better, so why not?