Swiftcurrent Creek that gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand
Swiftcurrent Creek
Alpha*
1,095 Posts
Ooc — Rachel
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#1
All Welcome 
The journey to the valley was arduous at best—the sand and desert gave way to grass, which initiated a feeling of home within his chest, but it was a bittersweet and stolen moment only, for grief reminded him that not just home was missing his daughter, but the world as they all knew it.

He bathed in a spring nearby—washing the remnants of the past weeks from his pelt—and when he came to their borders he only gave a moments pause—jaw tightening—and then walked over them. A short howl broke out from his muzzle—he was home.

The Alpha had returned—and while exhaustion and sorrow clung to him like a heavy weight, he turned his path to the borders—beginning to mark his presence among them once more.

Routine allowed the mind to forget.

At least, that’s what he told himself.
Swiftcurrent Creek
Gamma
113 Posts
Ooc — Jess
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#2
Cygnet prickled when she heard the man's howl. Bones crunched in her teeth, and the weasel's body, already limp from being shaken violently, gave a gentle twitch. With a rumbling growl, she shook her head again, staggering sideways with the force of her own movements. 

She'd caught the creature digging at one of her caches; the chase had been tiring, but worth it in the end. The stash was safe, and the weasel would be added to it. 

She buried it hastily, her hackles lifting as she continued to growl to herself, over-stimulated by the waves of feelings she could not identify. Relief? Annoyance? Worry? She couldn't separate one from the other and thus, simply felt completely frazzled. She had no idea how she might feel when she clapped eyes on the man, but she loped toward the border with her docked tail lifted regardless, and when she set eyes on him, she stopped- and uttered a loud, gruff bark. She stomped one foot against the ground, and would bare her teeth if he took one more step along the borders.
Swiftcurrent Creek
Alpha*
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Ooc — Rachel
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#3
The demanding bark drew his eyes to her—perhaps she would see the hollowness that clung to him—Cygnet, while stubborn, was perceptive in so many ways. He blinked, gaze tracing now to the stomp of an ivory foot—the bare of her teeth.

His ears slid back—but it was not fangs that exposed themselves now, but more of his soul as he allowed the weight of his grief to slide him into a sit. He watched Cygnet, he didn’t know if she had been familiar with his daughter, but—

“Lilitu is dead,” he told her, his words quiet. ‘And I think I might be, too,’ he would have added, but there was little energy left to engage in such a thought.

Lilitu was dead, and so were his unborn children.
Swiftcurrent Creek
Gamma
113 Posts
Ooc — Jess
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#4
Her conviction flagged when his expression changed. An apology wouldn’t have curbed her ire, but something about seeing Akavir expose his grief rattled her, and shook her free of her stiff stance. 

She didn’t know who Lilitu was, or who she had been to Akavir. As an envious creature she had to wonder, but was not so stricken by Akavir’s grief as to ask outright. He sat. She leaned forward, whiskers still fanned and sniffed at the air between them. 

She sneezed abruptly, and used the motion to spur herself forward, pausing momentarily to give her coat a thorough shake. Her bobbed tail still remained at spine level, but her fur settled down along her shoulders as she moved toward him.

She moved into his space, taking short breaths so she might gather some information from his scent. She licked her lips and bumped her nose against his chin, the corner of his lips, his jaw- hoping to prompt some sort of motion that might show that he was not completely broken. She uttered a low grumble, as empathetic of a sound as she could manage.
Swiftcurrent Creek
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Ooc — Rachel
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#5
A shake of her tension, it seemed, and then she was forward, nose against him in the air, trying to pull forth the answers to the questions she did not speak to him—a crooning growl and a nudge to him—another nudge.

Another.

The corner of his lips tilted upward—his own muzzle grazing forward to bump against her own in camaraderie. A press of his forehead to hers for only a stolen moment should she allow it before he lifted himself up—giving his own pelt a shake, though nothing as simple could allow this grief to flee him.

Momentum, that was all he had right now.

And he turned, crooning an invitation—a round of the borders. Perhaps a hunt. A spar.

Anything physical to help ease his mind to a comfortable numbness.