growth

Her promotion was minor, but Blanc was a woman inspired. Blanc had earned her high rank in her previous home; there was something to be said about rising due to action. It was true, she had fought many for their place, but she also worked to keep it. She was a yearling, but her experience went beyond that. Her father had been tough to she and her siblings, not allowing weakness. If there was to be a runt to be identified, it ought to have been her due to being born last. Her father had once looked down on her for that, the uncontrollable; it hardened her, even despite her mothers constant softness. This hardness enabled her to fight harder, push further, than her siblings; and so, when the day came to be placed, of her siblings she was on top. Her biggest rival had been her brother, but she had beaten him many a time. He was dense, taking to his surname quite well, but incredibly strong. It was his pride that did him in; in time, he would likely go off to acquire his own real estate as his father had. As would her other brother, though she imagined her sister would stay.

In any case, these idle thoughts did her very little good at the moment. Blanc had been laying upon a canopy of freshly fallen snow, but no longer could she dither while waiting for the sun to rise. She was restless, and the Tartok youth rose and trotted toward the border. Her slight rise had motivated her to do more; and so, she would. For now, she would begin by patrolling the borders. In time, she would determine what co-rank she desired. But Blanc would never let it be said that she did not contribute actively to her place here, and so it was best to begin early.

The cold nipped at her furs, which were being tousled by the wind; her ears shifted atop her head to listen for any approaching wolves or telltale signs of prey. Her nose brushed against the floor for an instant, though there were no new scents around. When she arrived to the border, Blanc did what any wolf would. She pressed her face into the ground, rubbing her muzzle into the earth before leaning further downward and pushing her neck down as well. In time, her whole body was rolling and pressing into the earth, her own scent glands now imbued in the territories odor. She rose, shook the snows from her fur, and began to move onward to continue marking.

When first he saw her, she almost took his breath away. Back home, all other females besides those of his bloodline had worn pelts of sand, greys and browns. Earthy hues, so better to camouflage against their desert surroundings. Paarthurnax had held some bright white much like their mother, but she was a sibling and he had played a huge part in her up-bringing, so it would be creepy to consider her as anything other than a little sister. Pale women were few and far between on his travels, and he'd been far to preoccupied to give them much thought.

But this she-wolf was not of his surname, and she was hot. The females of Samarkand had been strictly off-limits to all guards, and so Viin had never paid them much attention. He was pleasant to them, but refrained from spending any lengthened time in their company; he wasn't lustful, but he was no eunuch either. His first intimate encounter had been one that could have gotten him killed if it had been discovered, and he'd learned from it. This was a new pack however, with different laws, and he wondered if this one might be worth courting some day.

And so, he approached the alabaster beauty with a long, proud stride. He held his head and tail high, a sign of dominance as well as a display of his strength; he revealed to her his powerful physique, and he studied her own desirable frame with fierce champagne eyes as he eased to a halt nearby. He offered her a low, friendly rumble and a sweep of his arched plume. "Haven't seen you around before," Viinturuth said, a corner of his mouth twitching upward in a lop-sided smile. "But you're by far the prettiest face in this whole pack."

She had heard his approach (it was not as though he had tried to hide it) but she kept moving, although she did slow her pace some. Blanc did not mind company, in fact, she preferred it to solitude. Her mother had always been around, and her sister as well; her brothers, brutish and bullies, were equally as constant a presence, nipping at her heels like the heathens they were. It was strange to look over her shoulder at a wolf that was not her family; for most of the Frostbitten wolves were just that. Females, at that, because her father and his men had chased off the sons of Bluet, potential threats. Only her fair sisters remained. All frenchwomen. As Blanc herself had been raised to be.

He was a large man, perhaps as large as the men in her family. She might have been confused if it were not for his bright eyes; her families typical hue were browns and shades of blue, and only the blue cold be so pale as his eyes were, but ah, from the fleeting glance, they were not of that shade. Her fiery eyes—bright in their youth, as was typical for her DeMonte heritage—gave him a slow once-over, assessing as both a woman and an enemy might. His proud presence ruffled her wrongly; but ah, for now, she knew her place, and he was quick to absolve his sin by flattering her. Her negative views were eradicated, and she threw him a disarming smile. Blanc was as no Tartok wolf ever was; she was charming, eloquent, and bright.

Je suis nouveau, And then she remembers, this is not a brother, nor an Uncle; this was a man who likely only knew English. Her smile turns apologetic, and she tilts her head somewhat, turning so now he could get a decent look at her. Her winter furs were full in, but they did not hide her femininity; only, perhaps, the strength beneath could not be noted. She was still growing into these curves, but her mother had taught her enough to know just what to do with most everything. Her mother had plans for her, as did her father; in the end, neither of them won, and she learned of women and of savages. Excuse me, I forget I am not home. I am new, that is why you have not seen me, she corrects herself and turns away now, looking toward the border. As for his next words, Blanc grins. Wishful thinking has me hoping you've only ever been in this pack, so that she could be the prettiest woman he had ever seen, oh vanity!, and she turns away, But I imagine you are a well-traveled man. With that she begins to move forward, slowly still, her nose again brushing the ground. This place was sufficiently marked, but she pressed her face into the snow anyway, lifting up to shake off the remaining snow from her brow before again continuing to move.

Truthfully, he was a little bewildered as to why the pallid female did not turn to him with batting eyelashes following his charming little comment regarding her beauty. He was so used to winning over the females in Samarkand by simply ignoring them, yet he was practically throwing himself at this one's feet and getting minimal response. Instead she offered him a knowing smile and continued on her way, slinking through the trees to make further marks upon their territory.

She had said something to him before in a language not known to him, and although Viin was unable to understand her words they simply captivated him further. He drank deep the sight of her sleek frame as she trotted before him, her feathery tail swaying at her slender hocks as she moved with such elegance. He purled softly, easing to a halt beside her as she paused to test the scents on the snow. "I might be," he teased with a mischievous grin. It took two to tango, and he embraced the opportunity to play her at her own game. "My name is Viinturuth."

Blanc did not pause, but a smile met her lips as she turned back and noted the mischievous grin. Blanc was many things, and she took after her grandfather in respect to his adoration of the opposite gender. She was young, and thus felt no pull within her loins, but the stimulation of the mind was enough for her. They were lovely to look at, and fun to beat in any way possible. How mysterious, she responds lowly, and strides forward. His name is exotic, different, certainly not from the immediate area. She enjoyed the assumption that she had been correct, and as she moves, searches, she repeats his name in a low hum, Viinturuth, and her tail sways to insist that it was a pleasure to meet him.

And then she realizes she has not introduced herself, and she looks to him. I am Blanc, she introduces, noting him beside her then and throwing him a sidelong glance. Your name, she says, thoughtful as her eyes glance to the canopy above them, Does it have any meaning? Surely if it did, it was more creative than her own, white; but her mother was french, and her father uncreative; she had been a number before she had been given her name, and it had always been more of a nickname. Her mothers colombe blanc, white dove.

She seemed to welcome his mischief, and returned her own by commenting how mysterious he appeared. His smirk remained and, when she repeated his name in that sexy accent of hers, he emitted a low rumble of approval. The offering of her own title was given then and, with raven ears pricked forward, he drank deep the sound of her voice. Blanc. He did not know its meaning, but felt that it suited this divine creature perfectly.

Viin eyed the young wolfess curiously as she questioned the origin of his moniker, and he was more that happy to answer. "He was a dragon in stories from my mother's family lore," he said with a roll of a broad shoulder, uncertain if it would impress her or not. He waited to hear what response she might give, before he canted a dark lobe to ask after her own. "And what of yours?"

He enjoyed her company for some time, chatting mindlessly with her until they at last parted ways. Viinturuth watched her go, enjoying the view of her fine haunches until she was out of sight, before he moved in the opposite direction to assume his usual and late patrol of the borders.