Cedar Sweep fall to the knees of the siren

the famine dice say arturo will feast placate his hunger

 

Hunger had begun to become a familiar friend to Arturo Fearghal whom had never before known the gnaw of his stomach as he had since he'd stumbled into the Teekon Wilds just shy of the pestilence that had struck and left skeletal remains and disregarded carcasses within it's wake. The coywolf sovereign had missed the swarm but he certainly hadn't missed the aftermath that the wolves of these Wilds were stuck trying to survive through. That was the highest priority currently: survive. He'd planted a few seeds of his intentions when greenery and the herds began to return but for now haplessly planting seeds appeared to be all that was within the Fearghal's power. For now, it might be enough. He took opportunity where he could find it, not a man to sit idle on his intents. The famine merely slowed him but was hardly enough to deter him. Patience was a virtue he was more than willing (and forced given the uncertain state of the Wilds at present) to extend.

The Hinterlands had been his haunting grounds since his arrival into the Wilds and though he gathered there were lands beyond he'd taken a liking to the southern reaches. He explored, planted the seeds of his intentions, hunted to ensure his own survival and he bid his time, laying in wait. These were what made up Arturo's days and nights: how he filled his waking hours. At the moment, there seemed little else he could do and for now it was enough.

It was at the riverbank of Cedar Sweep that Arturo had caught and eaten his meager meal: a scrappy rabbit. It was no elk, nor deer nor any other big game that he would have killed for as of late, but it was food and beggars Arturo had quickly learned could not be choosers. There were some days and some nights that he went without anything at all — not even scraps left behind by some barely surviving scavenger. After he'd polished off his dinner, little left but tough gristle and bones, he discarded them in a small hole he'd dug and kicked the loose dirt and rubble to cover. He'd worried the  plausible bones, suckling the marrow from them until they were depleated. As the sunset painted the world around him a myriad of colors: soft golds, pastel pinks and brilliant oranges — not unlike the color of his eyes — he padded down to the bank of the river and lapped at the cool water.

The slender she-wolf wove silently through the trees to the riverbank. Her paws were cracked, bleeding from her journey through the mountains. The harch rock and scrub was alien to her, her paws used to the lush valleys and forests of the north. She though about making some sort of poltice- however she was lacking in knowledge of the plants in this area, and beside, had no knowledge of how to do so. She instead longed for the cool currents of the river to numb the pain in her paws, and eagerly made her way toward the sound. 

The sunset painted the world in beautiful colours- her own pale green orbs sparkled in the sun's glow as she looked up for a moment. The scent of another wolf caught her off guard, and she stood still for a moment. Male, and an adult. Perhaps he could tell her about these lands. She adopted an amiable stance and made her way toward him, fur in slight disaray and head lowered in an unthreatening way. She stepped up to the river a couple of meters away, letting the current swirl around her paws. Her fur tinged a slight orange with the sunset, she nodded in greeting. "Hello. Isn't it a beautiful sunset?" She paused for a moment. "My name's Althaia. I don't mean you any harm, sir. I was just wondering if you could tell me a little about this place" she said earnestly.

The water was cool as he lapped at it, crisp and refreshing. It did little to soothe the always present rumble of hunger in his stomach but it soothed his parched throat and washed his palate and the blood that had dribbled from upon the over-creamed coffee coloration of his chin. His head rose slightly and he drew his salmon pink tongue across his jowl to collect the rebellious droplets of water that had collected and spilled. Drinking was never a neat action but Arturo prided himself on his appearance, vain as it could be considered, and did what he could to ensure he was kempt and, at the very least appeared put together. He heard the slosh of approach in the water before he'd seen her appear on the close horizon as if she were the myth of Deirdre reincarnated: an image of beauty that would cause men to go to war for her (like Helen of Troy :0!). Always one for a wandering eye, Arturo took a moment to admire her light grey pelt, delicate and lithe frame accented by the golden rays of the setting sun, his fiery orange-red gaze studying her subtly for a few moments.

“It is,” The melanistic coywolf's lips parted to speak in a murmured concurrence to her observation. She wasn't wrong: the sunset was particularity stunning and it had been some time since Arturo had taken a moment's pause to appreciate it's beauty. She did not strike him as particularly shy but this was not something that the gangster minded. Her name followed her observation. Althaia. The use of the word sir told Arturo that she had manners — something that the gangster had always capitalized on. Immediately, the Fearghal monarch warmed ever so slightly towards her, though he remained stoic as she continued to speak, offering her his rapt attention, however, by the cup of his ears forth in her direction.

“I am Arturo,” He offered his own introduction when she finished. For now, he omitted adding 'Fearghal' to his first name, not because it would have impact but because it didn't seem necessary. At least, not at the moment. If he would have known he was to have such lovely company he would have saved her some of his pathetic rabbit but alas the dapper man had nothing to offer her, not even the knowledge she sought. “Is there anything specific you wished to know?” Arturo asked for a clarification in case he could be of some assistance to her. “I have to admit that I found these Hinterlands just after the locust swarm that caused this-” He gestured with his muzzle to the skeletal remains of the cedars and barren ground around them. “had departed; but I will attempt to assist you where I can.” Because something didn't sit right with Arturo Fearghal about leaving a lass to the feral and skeletal wilds without sharing what little he did know.

The male introduced himself as Arturo, and odd name that Althaia rolled around her tongue for a moment. She said is silently, maw barely moving, as she listened to the melanistic wolf speak. There was something odd about him, that Althaia soon recognized as being the figure of a coywolf. Her ears perked at the mention of locusts, and for a moment the word was unfamiliar. But she had remebered tales of such creatures, in her birth pack. They were like grasshopers, were they not? And something else...swarms. Yes, that was it They came in swarms, and then they destroyed. 

"Locusts?" she asked. "Are they the insects that look like grasshopers, but bigger? Do you know, sir, how long ago it was that they came?" Althaia was curious to how long these lands had stood barren. Surely, not everything had been eaten by the bugs. Something had to remain...perhaps beyond the mountains? She glanced at them quickly, a small idea taking root in her mind. She wished to find out more from this male.

“Mhm,” Arturo drew when the word “locust” left her lips in a question. Upon his arrival into the Teekon Wilds the ground had been littered with carcasses. Of those who had keeled over, or perhaps those that had gorged themselves and those that could no longer keep up with the swarm. These days they were far and few in-between, no doubt scavenged by those desperate enough to lower themselves to eating insects (not something the Fearghal would do, mind) and birds. At least, for a while, the birds did not have to worry about starving death unlike the rest of them. Lucky bastards. They could eat like kings and he — a king of his own rights — had to settle for scraps and scrawny little beasts that were just as hungry (if not worse) than he was. At least it would take care of their population and also be some kind of small mercy towards them. “Ugly little devils is what they are,” Arturo murmured. “but yes, they look like grasshoppers though bigger.”

“I've been here for over a month,” Arturo spoke with heavy contemplation mentally attempting to map the time line from what he had to work off of, an errant flick of his tail given as he thought it out. “A few days before I came to these Wilds, I'd wager. A few tiny swarms remained when I first arrived here,” But luckily they had quickly dissipated and left the Wilds to it's ruinous state. “So almost two months, maybe,” He drew fixating her back within his fiery orange-red gaze which had lifted as he'd done his quick mental calculations. “Why do you ask?” Arturo inquired without bothering to stifle his curiosity towards her own.

She answered his question and after a few more moments of idle conversation they parted ways and Arturo resumed his exploration of the territory content in his solitude.

this hasn't been replied to in almost a month so I went ahead and edited in a conclusion and archived it.