Bearclaw Valley and it was for only one of two things: opening or leaving closed

@Astara

the wearied figure of the black-capped ghost moved into the heart of the valley; a large rabbit was clutched in his jaws. illidan had already hunted enough to fill two caches within the pack. he felt that he had done well to prove himself useful to the dark mistress who had granted him permission to join their ranks. the intention was for him to take the plump rabbit to her and leave it for her as a sign of thanks. something told him that it had only been by the skin of his teeth that he had made it into their fold.
 
trotting toward where he thought her den was located, illidan searched the valley’s brush for the inky cloak of morgana. he hoped that the scent of blood would lure at least one of his pack mates out of hiding and into the light of day. so far, the gunslinger had only gotten to meet one other – a dark wolf called skoll who had followed him through the pack until illidan had noticed him. the boy with yellow eyes didn’t mind much. he had eyes for only morgana at that point.

enticed from her spider's den by the scent of blood, astara raised her muzzle to the wind and drank deep of the fall scents that fell about them. illidan's form was approaching, shrouded by the shadows cast by pines above. astara regarded him quietly, noticing something dangling from his jaws.

a hare; astara's mouth watered, but she held her ground there on the threshold of her den. her gaze searched the male questioningly -- to what reason had he come to her hearth?

the dark woman stepped from her home and into the open, meeting illidan’s frame with a scrutinizing stare. he watched the violet in her eyes travel from his dark features to the rabbit that was clasped in his mouth. he would have been a fool not to have noticed the shift in her figure at the sight of a fresh kill; they were hard to resist, even in fine weather.
 
“for you, morgana,” he offered to her, lowering his crown and placing the hare about a yard from where the dark mistress stood in silent observation. illidan wondered if she had been born without the ability to speak the wolf tongue, or if she had abandoned all words in exchange for something greater.

not often was astara offered a fresh kill. she took the hare greedily, a lusty hunger pooling in her jaws as she began to set in and realized she ought to save the hare for her son.

she set a paw on the kill instead, mournfully shelving her hunger as fretful mothers were often apt to do. it would better serve her healing son than she, but damned if it didn't smell good..

astara peered at illidan questioningly. it still unnerved her how similar he looked to that miserable little waif. he was one of the first of their recruits to offer her something unbidden. just what was it he wanted from morgana? everyone had a motive, right? what was his?

the dark woman placed a paw on the kill but did not pick it up. illidan feared he must have done something wrong to have offered it to her. perhaps he had stepped out of place – it was not proper for a lowly newcomer to offer such things to the leader of the pack. for the longest time, he could not pull his sights away from her claws resting on the prey’s shape. when he had swallowed the lump in his throat and drew his attention back up to her, his gaze fell on the questioning glance he had received.
 
“to thank you,” he spoke haggardly.
 
she had accepted him into her fold and had granted him a home without having spoken to him. he felt this was a tremendous thing to grant a lost soul. the gift was not a contractual obligation, no. illidan believed that he owed the dark witch and he would be left to repay her kindness in any way that he could manage.

in the weeks following, illidan would prove his worth to morgana in more way than one. for now, she studied him -- examining the nature of the lost boy who proferred her his most recent kill.

he was of a different make than she, cut of a different cloth. astara only wished he did not so painfully resemble the witch that had ensnared her merrick's heart.

she pulled the kill to her chest and picked it up, placing it along the corner of her den where she could eat later. when she resurfaced, illidan was still there -- astara gave a one-beat wag of her tail in silent gratitude.

standing underneath her gaze was a fearsome experience for the withered young man. she did not look at him with disdain as much, not like the first time she had met him on the edges of the pack. this was progress that he could take note of, which filled him with a mixture of excitement and fright. the ghost knew well enough that it was a thin line, and he could cross back over to the other side without much effort.
 
when morgana gathered the food and took it into her den, illidan breathed for the first time and did what he could to settle his quickened pulse.
 
the dark witch returned to him and offered a wag of her tail. the dim gold of his eyes latched onto that and sealed it away in his mind. holding his head low and keeping his sights trained on the woman’s chest, the boy felt that he could manage more of a climb in her favor. “i’d come to see if you… needed me for any task,” he spoke to her again, voice hitching against the back of his throat.

things were changing, bit by bit. astara was only subtly aware, but that was the way the mind worked: an opinion was often slowly picked against again and again until at last, one stood with new perspective.

that perspective presently was turned to illidan, so much like the wych it made astara's jealous heart burn.

she kept an ear turned to illidan as he spoke; if he was to worm his way into her savage heart, it would be by equally savage measures. her tail stirred once in response before she jerked her head to the borders -- an invitation for him to patrol with her if he'd like.

the dark witch motioned for the borders. illidan did not hesitate in this offering. he nodded his head to her once and quickly took a place at her side so that he might make himself of use to the leader of the valley. the gunslinger was smart about keeping his pace just slightly behind her, head below her own, and perfectly content in this display of submission. he trusted morgana to lead them wherever she believed needed tending, and illidan would assist in any way that he could.
 
knowing that conversation was a limited thing with the dark witch was not a bad thing for the weary young beast. he felt that he had talked enough in his lifetime; words did little good except to build hopes and then dash them. the stern silence that was met every time he had approached morgana had become a comfort to the hooded boy. he feared this to an extent, knowing that comforts were often just a temporary thing.

it didn't escape astara how in tune illidan was to her movements. he kept space between them, carrying a respectful pace just behind her. his posture spoke of subservience -- his gait matching hers stride for stride in unison.

few things were more daunting than two wolves in tandem. astara turned back to him once, surveying him silently as he was lost in his thoughts. no doubt the silence lent to such musings -- astara was often lost in her own as well.

along their path came the faint scent off a fox. astara's pace quickened, ears forward and features intent.

together, illidan and astara hunted -- and for a brief spell of time, astara's heart was free of any worry.