Stavanger Bay Running Towards a Place

For @Wintersbane.

The cold sun offered no warmth today. It was a true winter's sun—one that shone brilliantly but had nothing to show for it. Hues of greys of whites muddled the sky in blankets of wispy clouds, suspended high above the roaring ocean. Tahoe took a moment to pause from his travels and take in the sights. He knew his easy summer days were gone by now, autumn's embrace was blatantly evident. Ambling closer to the waterline, he briefly studied the pale seafoam which bubbled at his feet. The ocean waves continued to lap at the sands below him, though their restless clamor had faded into background noise as he grew accustomed to it over the weeks. He had spent the time traversing miles of shoreline as a methodical form of exploration. As his journey had come to an end, he aimed to land back at his rough starting point. From there, it would be much less uncomplicated to find his way inland. Soon enough, the sight of the distinct seascape began to conjure old memories in his mind. The wolf turned, venturing onward with more vigor—he knew he was close. 

At last, he was here. The bay lay out before him—a glistening gem concealed from the further depths of the sea. He subconsciously sniffed the air, which carried the scent of a freshly-lain border, amongst the scent other beings as well. McBride's mind chipped away at the thought; how long had he been gone? The months had been passing much faster than usual. Fall had rushed in quicker than anticipated, it seemed as if he had embarked from the bay mere days ago. In his absence, a pack already seemed to be forming. He released a sigh and pushed the thoughts to the back of his brain for the moment. Someone was bound to be lurking around, he'd wanted to have eyes on the stranger first, rather than vice versa.

wintersbane was not an idle man by any stretch of the imagination; but the puzzle pieces were starting to fall into place. he was upon the borders; mapping, marking those yet to be lain upon the loamy soil for most of the morning and much of the day. his paws thrummed with a new ache, a different ache than the one settled in them following his departure from rusalka. this ache is one that brings with it a sense of purpose and fulfillment.

unable to spare the time to track the herds he knows are lurking in the depths of the sentinels he heads to the beach for an easier catch — if one could call the flocks of seagulls easier; certainly they were easier for a single wolf.

he doesn’t make it to the area of the beach where the avians tend to flock in droves. instead, he is called in a different direction, paws traversing the loamy sand where the tide spit out all manner of flotsam and jetsam; broken shells and tangles of seaweed, beached fish and globs of jellyfish that would remind wintersbane of snot if he knew what that was.

the silhouette of the stranger draws his polar gaze and hale tundrian lets out a chuff of greeting, approach rigid but not domineering.

The other wolf had spotted him first. The stranger's low greeting made him turn his head, ears perked attentively as he observed the man draw nearer. He was a formidable figure indeed, cloaked in a palette of blackish blues to greying whites—the manifestation of moonlight reflecting off of a dark midnight's ocean. The wolf's gait had not the haste of an attack, but instead a more formal nonchalance. For being so close to a border, he had expected the contrary. Then again, this border seemed newly established. McBride couldn't help but to ponder about the situation. Whatever the case, he wanted to know more. Uncovering the happenings which had occurred in his absence truly brought out his investigative nature. As the sea churned behind him, he strode forth and met the foreign man halfway; ensuring his voice was not lost amidst the waves. 

He gave a slight nod in salutation. You live 'round here? The man asked simply.

ironclan was in it's early days; nothing more than a fledgling and a few bricks lain upon earth tilled for the sowing. perhaps wintersbane should've been more territorial as the stranger strides towards him, meeting him halfway. alas, he was not. could not muster the appropriate aggression and hostility that would take form into an entity all its own once ironclan had more besides him and umbra; and it would bleed into the sentinels as his chosen hunting grounds for them when fish, seal and woodland critters ceased to be sustainable.

the markings are mine, wintersbane's chin lifts; slightly. i and those who follow me, are laying claim to this bay.

His question was answered succinctly. Tahoe's brow furrows slightly, mulling over the wolf's words. The initial prediction he made was proven correct—this wasn't neutral land. McBride inferred that this man had to be the leader, indicated by his choice of wording. Indeed, he and his group had chosen a stunning place to call home. The bay could provide food, as well as many other treasures. Though not accustomed to seafood, he was never much of a picky eater. Advancing his skills in catching such prey would be useful in the long run.

I see. How many follow you? He inquired.

though always maintaining a stubborn dislike of the coast for much of his life thus far, wintersbane is as surprised as anyone that he chose this bay to be his home; the place of his rising clan. strategically, it was a good place to lay claim to: the rise of the cliffs offered protection on the eastern front, which left west and south borders to be maintained more heavily. the ashtrees provided ample shelter and drew in plenty of critters. though parking upon the sea always leaves the chance for flooding if seastorms blew inland but ...perhaps ironclan would accumulate a naturalist who specialized in seastorms — or perhaps wintersbane himself would pursuit it.

drawn from his thoughts at the male's question, wintersbane refocuses polar gaze upon him; regarding.

a few. it is a vague answer; and it would have to suffice for now until wintersbane worked out what led to the curiosity. i've busied myself mapping and marking borders but once that's accomplished i'll set out to recruit in force. establishing a place to live first ( with the occasional loner joining up ) struck wintersbane as a good stepping stone into the next phase.

The biting ocean winds ruffled his fur. Plainly, he sat, awaiting the leader's response, which—when it came—was nonspecific, most likely delivered intentionally so. The man wasn't obliged to offer him anything more, anyway. McBride had a respect for the types which indulged in privacy, similar to himself. He hadn't intended to pry, however the concept of a forming pack was all too appealing. If the stranger hadn't mentioned future recruitment, he would've been on his way by now. Unlike joining the ranks of an established group, there was something to build here—to become apart of the foundation rather than a disposable accessory on the outskirts. Tahoe didn't want to miss investigating such an intriguing, potential opportunity.

Much work for only a few. He spoke gruffly. Recruitin', are you?

sussing out who was interested in having their own part in the foundation of ironclan and who was not was a fairly simple job, all things considered. it was during the dawning hours of a pack’s existence — where it isn’t big enough to be considered an official force but there are enough laying foundation to make a statement — that the mettle of the wolves striving to create something were tested.

like the cliffs that the sea bashes against, whittling it away.

they could stand tall; stalwart. or they would crumble; and this pressure, the whittling hardship of building an empire fit into the theme wintersbane has in mind for ironclan.

perhaps, wintersbane agrees. but the work’ll be worth it in the end. in this, the hale tundrian believes firmly. a flick of his ears is given, gelid gaze studying the stranger anew. yes, wintersbane gives a small pause. might you be interested?

A twinge of satisfaction bubbles within him—the offer was exactly what he sought. Outwardly, he gives no indication of such emotion, his same neutral mien persisting. The wolf's response is in alignment with his own beliefs as well, it pleased him to know the value of hard work would not be overlooked in this coalition. He blinks, golden eyes remaining fixed on the other.

Indeed. I am. He replies with a curt nod of affirmation. What're your visions for such'a pack?

a confirmation of interest is given and wintersbane offers a small nod of his head in acknowledgement. while it was true that the tundrian is not actively pursuing recruits, he is more than capable of handling them and will not turn them away when they wander his way all the same. we’ll call it ironclan, wintersbane makes a small sweeping motion towards the bay with his muzzle. it will be welcome to all walks of life, to anyone misfit or good-doer with the want to contribute and be taken care of in turn. wintersbane speaks of his ideas; rasping voice low, lulling.

but not necessarily the faint of heart. living by the sea will not always be easy and the wolves of ironclan must have an ironwill; hardy as the sea. it would not be an easy life — but life wasn’t easy and this was something wintersbane learned a long time ago. the sentinels to the west will be our hunting grounds and it’ll be defended as if it’s apart of our own claim. because feeding the clan was one of wintersbane’s top priorities.

McBride listened with precise attention. The concept—Ironclan—seemed to be an ideal fit for him. It was not overly-aspiring, yet possessed the ambition to succeed. He appreciated the thought of including an expanded hunting ground as well, which would come to be especially useful during the colder months. Life on the coast could be the furthest thing from forgiving, clearly, the idea must have not been thought up in haste. 

Ironclan, He repeats thoughtfully, making sure to pronounce the name without error. Mhm, not all folks are fit for such a life; gotta be ironwilled for sure. If you'll have me, I'll give it my all to grow it from concept, to reality. Name's Tahoe.

the moment of deciding hangs in the air betwixt them; boiling down to what tahoe wants to do. wintersbane does not promise it will be easy. he's been around long enough to know that it won't — not the conception and probably not when it was official, either. life enjoyed throwing curveballs and wintersbane has seen the fall of many empires because of it, because of inability to adapt to change or the pressure of situations they were not prepared to handle.

he cannot claim he's can weather everything but he's weathered enough fallen empires to have a fairly solid grasp of what'll work and what won't.

or, at the very least, ideas of what he plans to do different.

welcome to ironclan, tahoe. the tundrian welcomes the newest recruit with a soft sway of his tail against his hocks. come; i'll give you the grand tour. despite that the bay had its secrets she'd yet to share with the tundrian who seeks to claim her.

Tahoe needn't meander the lands any longer. Ironclan had now taken him, and he would devote his efforts to aid in its rise. He was mildly surprised by how easy of a feat it was. Then again, Ironclan did not seem to be in a position of being picky with its recruits. To grow, numbers were an essential foundation. In the end, those who did not meet the requirements would be weeded out naturally. It was a tough reality, one which Tahoe was well-acquainted with. He was desensitized to the severity of the elements throughout his years: starvation, storms and battles had done nothing but thicken his skin. Whatever life would throw at him, he would take it on with every fiber of his being or die trying. 

Thank you. He spoke in appreciation—two words he hadn't uttered in a long time. Tahoe heeds his counterpart's words, prepared to follow. I didn't catch your name.

i went ahead and wrapped with my post. <3

the gratitude comes as a bit strange but wintersbane acknowledges it with a small dip of his head all the same. the truth was, he'd accept just about anyone on the borders seeking to help build or asylum within his ranks. time and elements would put them to the true test, in the end. it does not occur to wintersbane until it's pointed out that he has yet to offer his name — or any form of introduction; a habit thought gone.

i am wintersbane; saltking. with those words he takes the lead being sure to show tahoe the important places — newly built caches, prime denning sites, the borders of their territory and then the sentinels as their hunting ground before he parts ways with ironclan's newest recruit.