Honeyed Pasture the world is already on my side

Anybody up for a friendly hunt in neutral territory?

The herds were returning.

Having lived all of his life with the Sea to satisfy his need for sustenance, still Szymon found himself well equipped for helping to bring down larger game; being raised in Warsaw, bred and trained for war, he was a proficient warrior whether on land or in the water. And when the heavy beat of cloven hooves drummed through the pasture that was just beginning to heal from whatever malady had struck the land before Szymon’s arrival, he moved swiftly downwind — the sound of his careful paws wholly drowned out by the ungulates’ uneven cadence. It appeared to be a small group of deer — of what breed, Szymon couldn’t say — and he moved with his lean abdomen scraping the ground, careful to remain out of sight. It would be follow to attack alone, and he glanced over his shoulder at the Donnelaith territory. Daring a howl of invitation to the wolves of the wood or any rovers like himself, he pitched his voice low and even, grazing the bottom of his deep bass register.

He only hoped he would not be chased off after alerting them to this bounty.

The fates say he doesn't smell Doe, so Sizzle is in luck.

His last offering to the pack had been a half-eaten raccoon, and he didn't want to make that the status quo, fat as it had been. And sure, he could've asked Phocion or Ezekiel to accompany him on this hunt - but what would that prove? That he was a blind fool who needed to be babysat?

But I could've asked Krypton to come along, he thought wistfully, glancing back toward Silvertip. Not too far away that she wouldn't hear him if he called - but who was he to call her? They hadn't even been properly introduced.

No, it was better to go alone and just hope he got lucky. His chance meeting with the dark female - the one in heat, not Banner - had stirred up all sorts of things that were usually content to lie sleeping in the back of his mind. Not so, today. Probably not for many days to come - until he could forget the scent that had wafted from her so sweetly, that seemed to have woven itself into his very bones -

"This is not helping," he said to himself, voice firm and forceful. "Stop this at once!"

That did help, a little, but he wished the ivory-toned stranger he'd just spotted hadn't been around to see it.

And phone post number three!
I should have my computer back in a few minutes.

Szymon's eyes flicked automatically to the approaching wolf -- a streamlined fellow with thick, lustrous fur cast in various mottled shades of gray. His lean muscles bunched in readiness as the strange wolf grew closer, breaking the silence with a sharp tone that brooked no argument: "This is not helping. Stop this at once!" Instinctively Szymon flicked a tattered ear, swiveling it with practiced nonchalance; hunting here was not against any rules that the golden-eyed Cairn was aware of. Still, he did not yet know whether the other wolf had company that would be eager to chase a loner from a prospective kill. Only the suspicion that the wolf had been talking to himself instead of addressing Szymon directly kept the prospective angler from vacating the premises. When the moment passed, Szymon sought to catch the umber-eyed wolf's attention with a low rumble. He looked pointedly toward the herd, wondering if the wolf was interested in joining forces. They could likely pull something off with one of the fawns even if no other wolves arrived.

He almost apologized for his outburst - but that would be admitting that he'd been doing something he shouldn't have, and Day decided it would save more face to just not mention it any further. He'd've felt better about himself if he left the unknown male behind and went his own way once more, but the question in the pallid man's eyes had him trotting a little closer, eyeing the herd himself.

Day kept his body loose, his tail hanging in neutral behind him. "Another set of teeth?" he asked in a low murmur, his tone taking on a studied nonchalance.

His dull eyes were ostensibly scanning the herd, but he kept the stranger always in his vision. He did not know this wolf - though there was a vague edge of familiarity to his scent - and felt that it was his duty to intercept all predators he might encounter on or around Silvertip's borders. As this wolf was not doing anything wrong, he felt no need to be unpleasant, but it would still be prudent to speak with him a little and see what he was really about.

"I'm Grayday - of Silvertip Mountain," he added, just a few beats after his question.

“Another set of teeth?” questioned the stranger, and although Szymon’s features remained set and stoic, his twitching tail whisked appreciation at its phrasing as his scarred muzzle dipped in an affirmative nod. He felt the stranger’s eyes on him but did not return the glance, feeling that it was simply the way of the wolf to size up one’s acquaintances lest they swiftly become adversaries. For Szymon’s part, he kept his eyes trained on the deer — two spotted fawns, three does — and supposed that his call had gone unanswered, which was somewhat disappointing but not terribly surprising. He was not one of Donnelaith’s number; they had no reason — as yet, until Skellige’s plan was well underway — to consider his voice worth listening to. Besides, he thought, the spotted pelt — even a portion of it — would be a good offering to the Leviathan or his Witch Doctor.

“I’m Grayday — of Silvertip Mountain.”

The feeling that swept through Szymon was that of a student in a classroom with a difficult-to-pronounce name, knowing he was about to be called and dreading the ridiculous noises that would replace who he truly was. He could just nod and accept the stranger’s name without offering his own, but Szymon couldn’t make this kill alone. He needed this wolf — and so he would have to play nice. “S-S-S — ” he edged out, reaching for the sense of calm and relaxation that he felt when Doe was around — but it was too far out of his reach in this particular situation, when his muscles were already readied for battle and his throat was locked in a vise grip. “S-Szy — m-m-mon.” He refused to look at the other wolf — if the hunt disintegrated into teasing or ridicule, Szymon would simply leave. It wasn’t worth attacking him over; the youngest Cairn had no desire to spark dissention between the bay wolves and Silvertip Mountain.

Still, he found himself expecting it — if not outright teasing, then certainly the cruelty of laughter. It was — almost, he amended, thinking of Doe and her quiet acceptance — all he knew.

Embarrassed for the boy, Grayday tried to keep his expression as disinterested as possible. A few comments came to mind - Hey, at least you're not talking to yourself! among them - but quickly decided that anything spoken on that topic would not be taken kindly. Wisely, he kept his opinions to himself and his attention on the deer.

"No bucks," he said crisply, dull eyes honing in on the larger of the two fawns. "They'll startle easy - let the little one go, and we'll have the big one between us. Sound good?"

Mindful of Szymon's discomfort, he kept his point short and his questions easy to answer. With any luck, he wouldn't have to do anything but nod, and then they could be on their way to dinner. Grayday only hoped that this wolf was a proficient hunter.

Appreciative of the male’s silence, Szymon blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding on a sigh of relief. Flicking his eyes to the mottled grey wolf, noticing for the first time the faint cloudiness of the male’s eyes, the younger wolf dipped his scarred muzzle in a nod of agreement and skimmed his ears back against his skull with a whisk of his tail that bespoke of respect. The decision was a sound one; two wolves were more than capable to take down one fawn, and it would leave the other fawn to grow and add to the newly burgeoning population. Although the famine was limited to the wolves who followed the herds and not quite as large a factor to the bay wolves who would learn, in time, to reap their bounty from the Sea, Szymon knew that when the inland territories were bountiful again, it was better for the wilds as a whole.

Turning his attention to the deer, he surveyed their options — it was likely they would break for the weald of spindly trees or the sequoias of Donnelaith, and so Szymon wound his way around to keep his back to these areas. They stood a better chance, he thought, if they could attack out in the open — for if the deer fled to conquered territory, they stood no chance at all — and licked his lips. Glancing toward Greyday, the Cairn boy crouched and gave a nod of readiness, ready to burst into movement the moment the mountain wolf gave indication that he, too, was prepared to attack.

Slight PP, let me know if I should change it!

Seeing that the pale wolf was orienting himself to intercept their quarry should they attempt to flee into the territory of the woodland pack (he did know a little about Donnelaith, having passed it on the way to Silvertip - but still not the name of the place), Grayday get himself into a position to do the same, should they try to head for Silvertip. Though he could chase them there to his heart's content, it would not be fair to Szymon. Besides, if this scarred and silent stranger did not already know the exact location of the territory, Grayday was not sure he wanted him to find out.

Toward the bay, then, he thought cheerfully, hoping that the sand might give them the advantage, should their prey get that far. He needn't have worried.

The ready look in Szymon's eyes was all the prompting Day needed to kick off the hunt, streaking forward and barking loudly when Szymon got near - their heads swung toward Grayday before Szymon reached them, and Day made a show of lunging and snapping to rile them up, confuse them. Perhaps not as quick as a stealthy attack, but Day didn't want the does feeling brave enough to defend their young. Better to have them running than to get a sharp hoof in the side.

It’s good! ♥ Same goes for me; I am new to hunting threads, so if I need to change anything or anything sounds amiss, please let me know. ^^

Hunting deer and warring with wolves was definitely not as similar as Szymon had initially thought it would be — but fortunately, Grayday’s ingenuity made the young wolf’s first hunt a bit easier on him. Chasing the prey toward the beach was a good idea — one that Szymon ardently hoped would work, as he was uniquely qualified for fighting in that sort of terrain — and as the golden-eyed, golden-hearted wolf barreled toward the long-legged ungulates, he kept his eyes trained on the larger of the two fawns and his ears trained on his umber-eyed ally. Noise, he supposed from the mottled grey wolf’s barking, was important — and Szymon sounded forth in a rolling, bass-toned howl, snapping at the large fawn in an attempt to drive it toward the bay as several gruff, guttural barks ricocheted from his hungry jaws.

Nipping threateningly at the heels of the smaller fawn to drive it away, adding to the panicked chaos that Grayday was creating, Szymon did his best to avoid those dangerous, trampling hooves and drive their chosen quarry toward the bay. They were herd animals and it was their wont to stay together like a school of fish — he found it difficult to keep the larger fawn to continue in the direction he wished but did his utmost with the clapping thunder of his jaws.

Pleased with the other male's work, Grayday came alongside him to help separate the larger fawn from its herd. When a light snap at one of the doe's legs brought the scent of blood into the air, he knew that they'd succeeded. A part of him worried that she would die and her body go to waste, but the fear quickly abated. It was a shallow wound, and nothing ever truly went to waste in the wild.

"Get it!" he laughed, riding high on the joy of the hunt. Two of the does and the smaller fawn were out of sight, and the mother of their meal had strayed several yards away before pausing to look back. She didn't seem to be thinking about coming any closer, so he thought they were safe enough to attack. Since Szymon had done all the hard work and found them their meal, he figured the other wolf might want to be the one to deal the killing blow. Day would assist if it looked like the younger male needed it, but he thought those worries were rather unfounded - he was a very scarred wolf, and few without talent could live through that difficult a life.

It was worrying, perhaps, but his questioning could wait for later. For now, they had a fawn to catch and a meal to eat. And, hopefully, a full conversation would follow.

The joy of hunting alongside an ally — of running full tilt toward the promise of a warm-blooded kill — ah, though Szymon. He could understand now the inland wolves’ love for the sport. “Get it!” laughed the mottled mountain wolf, and Szymon shot him a wickedly roguish grin, tongue lolling joyously from his jaws; the Cairn needed no further invitation. The muscles of his hind legs bunched — he found this packed terrain much more forgiving than the wet sand near the shoreline — and Szymon leapt with vicious accuracy, his jaws flying wide as though they’d come off their hinges. Briefly airborne, he snapped his steel-trap maw closed over a good portion of the fawn’s throat and dropped his weight forcibly, coiling his body into a fetal position so any blows from the ungulate’s hooves would fall upon muscle. It was an undignified shuffle that he found himself in — blood flowed freely from the wound, spattering his face and chest, clouding his vision — but he was immovable.

Snarling with considerable effort as he blinked blood from his eyes, he rode out the fawn’s uneven gait and released his jaws briefly at the crest of motion only to snap shut again on the fawn’s nape, repeating his earlier maneuver at a different vantage point.

This time, he thought, he would successfully bring it down. The muscles of his neck tensed as he threw his weight down and swung his head to the left in an attempt to throw the spotted fawn to the ground. The creature had already lost too much blood and now, slammed to the earth in the throes of Szymon’s grasp, it pedaled jerkily with all four legs — a last involuntary reaction that was merely physical. The soul of his prey had gone. Still, Szymon kept his jaws clamped on the fawn’s neck, remaining in place until all movement stopped. Then, dusty, bloody, and a little bruised from the impact of tiny hooves and the bronco like bucking, he backed away from the kill to let the older wolf have the honor of eating first. Meting out the killing blow satisfied Szymon in a manner that he could not easily process or express — he watched the surrounding area with suspicion, lest the kill be taken from them, and felt…alive. He felt like a war machine. Like a Cairn.

Day kept a good distance from the fawn until Szymon had stepped fully away and acknowledged his presence. Though he already felt something of a camaraderie with the pale stranger, Day had stayed alive and relatively unscathed by giving such simple courtesies. It was better to be hungry than dead, after all.

"Thank you," he said to Szymon as the younger wolf made way for him. To be polite, he gnawed off a leg with as much speed as he could manage and dragged it a few feet away. He appreciated the defferential treatment and would certainly not turn it down, but that didn't mean Szymon should have to wait overlong for his own meal.

Keeping his eyes away from the younger wolf, Grayday lazily munched his meal, biding his time until the other male had finished. When it seemed polite to do so, he spoke up once more.

"What's your business in this area, Szymon?" he asked, still gnawing on a bone, so that he might not feel rushed to answer. He would, of course, insist on an answer - but he had all the time in the world.

Szymon nodded cordially as the older wolf sequestered a haunch of the fresh meat and distanced himself from the kill; licking the blood from his muzzle, the Cairn boy ripped off a chunk of meat from the carcass at random and settled some feet away. It was easier to talk while his paws were busy and his body drained of tension in the aftermath of a successful hunt — and although it was not normally Szymon’s way to eat in the presence of others, he was learning to adapt to these wilds and perhaps to thrive in them. What was his business? How much could he entrust this stranger with? Swallowing a mouthful of the warm-blooded flesh, Szymon considered his options. The umber-eyed wolf had not mocked his stutter before, and he felt vaguely comforted by that. “Th-Th-Thank y-y-y-you,” he replied, for without the other wolf’s help, hunting would have truly been a pain in the ass. Or maybe the face or the flank, depending on which kicks might have landed.

My business, Szymon thought to himself, tearing off another strip of meat and chewing it to buy time before answering. “P-P-P — ” he started, revving his verbal engine, “p-passing through.” It was the truth, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Dragging air slowly into his lungs betwixt clenched teeth as he forcibly willed his muscles to relax, he paused before continuing: “M-My b-b-b-bro — th-ther,” he stammered, chopping his sentence up into vital pieces to make it more manageable, jerking his muzzle in the direction of the coast as a general indicator of where the mysterious brother dwelled, “s-s-searching f-f-for other f-f-family.” It was all true, but Grayday didn’t need to know that the current family goals included fratricide and building an empire.

So true was his pity that Day hardly questioned the pale wolf's story. His garbled words kept any hint of his omissions well hidden, and the story was as plausible as any. So Day took the wolf at his word, trusting his own judgement perhaps a little too much, and perhaps lacking a certain degree of shrewdness that was necessary for detecting lies.

"I hope you find them, then," he offered, standing and stretching his legs. "Take what you will - but a portion to bring back to my pack would be nice."

Not necessary, but very nice. The fatter they got this summer, the better off they'd be in the winter.

I am sorry! This post is not very nice; I am feeling very sick. >< It is also a little bit rushed because I have work tomorrow.

Grayday did not question Szymon’s poorly worded half-truths, and it was possibly the first time in the golden-eyed Cairn boy’s life that his stutter presented an advantage instead of a handicap. Relieved that the mottled mountain wolf did not seem bent on continuing their stilted conversation, he backed away from the carcass — what he really wanted was the hide, and he did his best to say so. “Th-Th-This,” he stammered out, tugging lightly at the lovely spotted pelt. He would bathe it in the tidepools and hope the blood washed away — and if it lured a shark for the glory of Skellige’s wolves, so much the better. Then, backing away with eloquent nonchalance, he fanned an ear toward Grayday but turned his gaze toward the distant horizon. “I’ll take whatever else you don’t want,” his untroubled posture clearly stated. The extra meat would be nice to pad the caches, but he did not have need of this meat the way the inland wolves did.

At first, Day thought he was gesturing to the entirety of the kill - which would not have made him to happy, he supposed, but there was no harm in letting the other wolf take it. Day had eaten a sizeable portion, and perhaps Szymon had more mouths waiting back... wherever he was going. Still, the realization that he was talking about the pelt relieved quite a bit of irritation.

"Huh," he said to himself, circling once around the kill. Why would anyone want the pelt? It was the only useless part of the whole thing - and, being a sensible wolf, Day had never tried to take the pelt off in one piece. Usually, he just tore off chunks and either spat out what he didn't want - or paid for it later. "I guess we could try opening up the belly... and we'll have to take off the rest of the legs."

Doable, he decided, looking back to Szymon with a short twitch of his tail. "But why do you want it?"

“But why do you want it?” guilelessly asked Grayday, and Szymon surprised himself by having the answer to that unexpected question ready and waiting. For Doe. At first, the golden-eyed wolf had been torn between giving the odd gift to the Leviathan or the Witch Doctor — but the very pretty but largely useless hide of a defenseless fawn wasn’t exactly an item that would pop up on a list titled “Ten Suitable Gifts for Your Warlord Brother — You Won't Believe the Things Wolves Are Hoarding These Days!” Swallowing, Szymon summoned speech again, and perhaps it was owed to the utter certainty he felt when it came to his feelings about Doe, but he managed with slightly less difficulty than usual: “A g-g-gift — for th-the girl I — ” Could he say it so baldly? “For m-my — Chosen One.” Szymon was not naïve; it was unwise to showcase one’s vulnerabilities, and he was incredibly vulnerable where Doe was concerned. He was also young and giddy in his first foray into love, and riding high on the success of his first hunt so soon after his spurdog catch.

Needless to say, he was far more open than any Cairn ought to have been.

It sounded like it was going to be an ordeal and a half, and Szymon wouldn’t blame the wolf if he wanted to get back to kith and kin — but he wasn’t going to spurn the offer of help, either. Maybe it would be slightly easier if they parceled out all the usable meat first, although it would leave behind a rather unappealing mess. Nodding toward the kill, which still remained largely intact, “T-T-Take all y-y-y-you need,” he urged Grayday, leaving it to the older male to take what he wished. So long as Szymon had meat enough for Doe and Skellige, all would be well. He had no attachments yet to the other wolves who lived in the bay — and even if he did, he had more than done his share with the caches of food littered throughout the territory.

"Oh," he said, still faintly puzzled. He looked down at the spotted pelt and thought he might see a strange sort of appeal. It was not a gift that Grayday would have thought of or appreciated, but it took all kinds to make the world. Besides, he was rather more interested in this Chosen One - somehow, Szymon hadn't seemed the type. Was he trying to get a girl or trying to keep one? One that likes baby skin? "More power to you," he settled on, offering a grin and a wag of his tail.

The legs came off, first, and then Day opened the belly as neatly as he could. It was a strange experience, and to be honest, it made him feel kind of bad for the little fawn. But he still didn't mind helping Szymon, who seemed to be a good sort, if not strange and a little rough. The fawn wouldn't care what happened to its body, anyway.

Nosing the heart toward the other male - he'd made the kill, after all - Day looked speculatively at the torn and bloodied neck, wondering if Szymon wanted any of that to go with the pelt. He hoped not - looking at the head made him feel sort of sad. Poor kid.

"What next?" he asked, genuinely stumped. If only he were a raccoon. Hands might be nice right now - a sharp rock. They'd have to tear the hide off of this thing, and that would be quite the fete. "Maybe if I held it down and you pulled," he suggested after a moment of consideration. The other way around might work as well, but Day didn't fancy ripping the skin off this creature anymore than he faniced dragging the pelt home to Krypton.

It was, quite possibly, an odd gift — but there was little about Doe and Szymon’s relationship that was not odd. The creamy pelt with its brilliant white spots was pretty and soft, and although Szymon wasn’t completely certain what Doe wanted to receive as a gift — hence all the slimy seafood — he knew that he wanted to fill her life with them, and something pretty and soft didn’t seem like such a bad start.

The Cairn did not share his ally’s sentiment about the fawn. It had been meat since the moment the wolves had set their eyes on it and Szymon bore no attachment to it. He did not, however, relish the idea of trying to separate its skin from its neck and head, and he set to with a will — his teeth worried relentlessly at the crest of its young shoulders, creating a wide swath of material that was vaguely rectangular in shape. Grayday’s suggestion was a good one, and Szymon nodded affirmation, delicately gripping the skin in his mouth — as much as he could, anyway — and throwing his weight back against it when Grayday seemed ready. It tore with the grisly sound of ripping fabric and rending flesh, but it tore. Szymon glanced down at his pallid chest and huffed a wry sigh at the blood that smeared his body — as much as he relished the kill itself, the sticky sensation of blood was not entirely to his liking.

“G-Gray — d-d-day,” he ventured, delving into conversation with some reluctance yet wanting to show his appreciation and camaraderie with the other wolf. He concentrated on relaxing the muscles of his jaw and neck, focusing on the thought of Doe’s paw against his — of her teeth in the fur of his neck — as a low sigh escaped his lips. “W-What gift — y’think — to g-g-give a m-m-mate?”

hinthintwinkwink

Day studied the pelt with interest, seeing a little bit more of why a shewolf might value it - it was certainly spectacular, after all. Something about it was very... pretty, despite the gruesome way they'd collected it. And, as Day began to warm up to Szymon's ways of courtship, Szymon in turn asked about his own.

"Cubs," he said at once - that was what one gave to a shewolf, when they truly desired her. What was a mate, if not someone with which you raised young? Love, though sweet, was imcomplete until pups came into the picture. Of course, one still had to woo their Chosen One before attempting such things - Day had learned this the hard way. He supposed fawn skin might woo some females, but he would try... something else. Anything else, really.

"Maybe food? I guess it depends on the girl," he said after a moment, answering the spirit of Szymon's question, this time. Somewhat disgruntled, he tried to imagine what he might've tried to give Krypton, if things were different. "Your guess is as good as mine," he decided, his shoulders rolling in a shrug. "There's your pelt, anyway. I'm going to get some of this back to my pack. Thanks for the hunt, and it was nice to meet you."

Picking up another haunch, he flicked his tail toward Szymon and trotted away.