Blackfeather Woods galaxies formed from gravity

@Kove

Being alone in the heart of winter is not something that fazes Shivali too much. Traveling from the north, where the temperatures are lower and wind is angry and the idea of warmth is merely nonexistent. Life is easier with the pack, though, she won’t deny that, but as the snow thins the further she goes south, and the easier it is to traverse the terrain, she doesn’t worry as much as another.

The biggest thing to bother her is the isolation but each pack she stopped at hadn’t been ideal, or beneath her, and so she keeps going with no particular purpose.

The snow is interrupted with objects protruding, unidentifiable with a new blanket, but the occasional smear of pink and red is obvious enough. Her ears twist upon her head but she lingers, deciding ultimately to hang around a little while longer.

For several minutes she remains in one spot, staring at the tainted snow ahead. When she does move, she has to shake loose a layer of flakes that collected, shaking out her fur, and she finds a section near the southern border, just where things begin to curve, and she looses free a low howl for attention on this cold, late wintry afternoon.

The dull ache in his joints urges him to take shelter in the tunnels, or perhaps take another trip to the springs, though he chose to do neither. Tensions were high—the birds called to him, the looming threat felt even by them—and he knew he could not so easily vanish from the territory, not until everything settled down. He took to the borders instead, trailing through the stretch of land between the eastern border and the lake, alert. The crimson print on his shoulder had faded, leaving behind a light stain that couldn’t be seen from a distance, allowing him to blend with the snow falling around him. He imagined himself to appear similar to his grandfather now, a silent entity hidden by the snowfall and existing as one with the northern winds; though the howls of the winds in the south were mere whispers in comparison to those of his homeland, they were still there, guiding him along.

Shifting closer to the treeline, he was prepared to cut through the forest and patrol the western border when a howl caught his attention—it was low but drew him in nevertheless. He sought out the owner, his patrol set aside for the time being as he continued southbound.

She was pale, blending well with the scenery that surrounded her, yet not invisible; to the untrained eye, perhaps she would have been, but he was accustomed to the starkness of the north and the wolves that called it home. Picking her out from the snow was an easy task, and he moved closer until there wasn’t much space left between them, creating a comfortable space for conversation. “What brings you here?” he asked without hesitation, fairly used to intercepting strangers at the borders. And as he awaited an answer, he looked her over, silently assessing her.

The further away from home she’d gotten, the less likely she was running into wolves that are familiar in tongue and virtue. Having traveled for weeks at this point, when she does see another, she doesn’t expect much. Her ears cup forward, watching the form turn from a snowy background into defined features and angles. Dark blue eyes hardened on his form until he is close enough to speak.

Carefully, she relaxes her posture and lowers her head. Common tongue slipping from his mouth is no surprise and she licks her lips, preparing for something unfamiliar.

”You from here?” she asks with a point of her nose; an obvious question. An easy one. As much confidence as she places in most things she does, this is not one of them. Her eyes fall on him again, noting the faded pink on his shoulder, like the blood when she approached. Maybe it is all so intentional. ”Where is this?”

The moment she opened her mouth he picked up on her accent, the thickness making it something incredibly difficult to ignore. He was reminded of his birthplace, the voices of his grandparents and many others floating through his head, carrying him home. It was easy to get lost in his thoughts, trapped by brief flickers of numerous memories. Luckily, he was able to rein himself in before he left her hanging for too long, focus jumping back to her questions; whilst her voice still clung to his thoughts, he forced himself to leave it alone, at least for now.

Nodding, he answered first with, “Yeah.” The forest was his home—had been for a great many years, too—making him a fine representative for them; he hadn’t been born there, no, but he was still from there, in a way. “This is Blackfeather Woods,” he added a beat later. “Far in the south.” Though this was likely obvious—even a blind wolf could tell that they were far from the north—he couldn’t keep the words in his mouth.

The obvious wasn’t the only thing that he couldn’t comment on, either, as his interest got the better of him and he could ignore her manner of speaking no longer. “Avanimiut,” he stated, not needing confirmation; he was certain of this, the accent unmistakable.

The way he says how far they are in the south, followed by a word of familiarity, she’s suddenly on the edge of her seat. She’d long since given up hope finding another and one sweeps up beneath her nose. “Âng,” she says. She even smiles and her tail sways a little behind her, shaking up the newest dusting of snow. “Apagâ,” she adds smoothly, her few words trailing out easily now.
 
For a moment, she forgets why she is here. “Blackfeather Woods,” she repeats, now far more interested in this land than before, even with the remaining bloodstains shy away from the wind covering most of it up. “A pack from the north?”

Familiar words reached his ears and, for a moment, he forgot where he was. He saw himself in the northernmost reaches of the world, rarely using the common tongue and favouring his native; that was years ago, back when he was much younger. It was so easy to be sucked back into the past, lured in by a language unrecognised by most of the company he kept nowadays. And to have such a friendly face behind the words, too—he couldn’t believe it. “Atjiganngituk,” he admitted with a chuckle. So long had passed since he’d last spoken in his native language with someone other than one of his children that he found it to be terribly strange—but appreciated, all the same. In the presence of someone like himself, he lacked caution and his usual, stoic facade, able to relax despite knowing nothing about her.

“Auka, mânngat,” he explained. In truth, he was the only Inuk dwelling within the pack, for they had not come from the north—not the founder, Meldresi, anyways. There was a possibility that some of the current or past residents—Bane, for example—came from the northern regions, too, but he’d yet to hear any of them speak in Inuttut. This he did not share, using his time instead to ask, “Atikit?”

Shivali droops a little, her smile sweeps from her muzzle, but she tries to stay light. Just because it is not a pack of many of them doesn’t discredit them entirely. This northern wolf stays here, though can easily be a hundred reasons. She inhales a long, steady breath and nods her head in acceptance.

“It is unlikely I’d find that here,” she implies more than anything. If there are others in this area, he’d know about it—she’s sure of it—but she does not press for information. Instead, he returns the questions back to her. It makes sense. She had been the one to call for attention and she’s thankful to have been met with something that settles her mind. “Shivali. Yours?”

I don’t feel like doing translations, so bleh, italics are in Inuttut.

Kove had come to accept the lack of Inuits long ago. Rarely anymore was he struck with terrible pangs of loneliness, understanding that being without those of the same culture meant nothing. He still had a family there with him, as well as friends that he’d defend with his life. There was no reason for him to feel as if he had no one when, really, he had many—but despite this, he felt his chest swell with a strong sense of home simply by being in the presence of another northerner. “You’ll get used to it,” he informed her, not knowing if that was a good or bad thing; this his voice betrayed, a dash of uncertainty finishing it off.

“It’s nice to meet you, Shivali,” his words were genuine. “My name’s Kove.” The name was unlike those commonly heard throughout the history of his lineage, being a gift from his foreign mother. “How long have you been travelling for?” was his next question, curious to hear just how far she might have ventured from home.

You’ll get used to it. Her lips twist and her smile completely fades away. She can tell it’s not true. In the short amount of time since she’s departure, she feels the lost connection. Maybe it gets easier, as all things do with time, but she doesn’t have to think much on it now. She’s scored early, at least. There’s no telling the last time he has spoken to someone from the north, based on his reaction.
 
“Kove,” she says quietly and to herself. It is not the same she has familiar with but, from her understanding, neither is hers. The influence of another culture dying out is the cause for her name, deepened in her mother’s past. “It has been a moon or more,” she answers. She wants to ask about him, curious of what life has brought him, but perhaps there could be another time for that. Maybe this is the end of the line for her. She glances up to the darkening sky in the distance, the reflection of half a moon seen. “I don’t think I want to travel any further.”

At least a full cycle of the moon, possibly more. He could recall having travelled for even greater lengths of time before, his younger self always on the move, rarely stilling. It was still a long time to have spent alone, the distance she’d covered since setting out likely unimaginable. “Have you been alone the entire time?” he questioned, curiosity getting the better of him. Back when he’d departed from home, there was no one there to travel with him. Kove had travelled alone, occasionally crossing paths with other lone adventurers; he remembered the lifestyle being a lackluster one, never rooted down for long and unable to create lasting bonds with anyone; it was why he’d chosen to settle down in the first place, really.

Hearing her decision, his ears swiveled forward, assuring him that no tricks were being played on his mind. Without thinking, the words exited his mouth quicker than he could blink, creating what felt to be an incredibly important question: “Do you want to stay here?”

She nods, perhaps quicker than she intends. She left the tundra with no one at her side and most of her travels remained the same. The occasional loner or much-too-nice pack wolf keeping her company for a little while but she did not stay long. She rested for a few hours and continued on the next morning. Her bones ache and her joints are weary, growing more tired by each night. Now that she has prospects, an opportunity to start somewhere new while still latched on to something familiar, she can feel just how much her feet throb the longer she stands in one spot.
 
“Can I? I do not come emptyhanded in skills,” she says, letting her smile return to her features easily.

Ayyye, 700th to you

She seemed eager to join, and he found himself feeling something similar for her; to have another like himself around, someone that spoke his language, was almost too good to be true. “I can see to it about you joining,” he told her, confident that there was a place for her. Although he wished to accept her right there on the spot, he knew that he had to take things slowly. Wanting everything to go as smoothly as possible, he reminded himself that it was necessary to follow the book.

“What skills can you offer?” he asked, wanting to be fully prepared prior to making any final decisions. For any questions that might be asked about why he had accepted her, he wanted to be ready with an answer.

There are still many questions she has for him but she hopes there is a time for them to come. Even as little as she knows about Blackfeather Woods (basically nothing), she’s more enamored by the fact another of her kind is here, in the flesh. When he suggests he can talk to the leader, she nods. “I am a good fighter, and hunter,” she tells him. She has a size to rival the one standing in front of her, as most northern women, and she’d lack the pride one of, if she were lying.

The answers received were none too surprising. Inuits, both male and female, were strong and noble beings, easily able to look after themselves. Still, he nodded and considered her answer as if it was unexpected, assuring himself that it would be enough for his decision to remain unquestioned. “Hunters are always needed, which you probably know already,” he noted aloud. “Warriors, too. Especially now…” Letting his voice trail off towards the end, he gave a slow shake of his head, shooing the thoughts of the war away—it was neither the time nor the place.

“Would you be willing to offer your strength to us in the coming weeks?” he asked then, more so out of curiosity than necessity. Whilst he still had a nagging sense to accept her right away, he couldn’t act so carelessly, not now. To be sucked in by the promise of another Inuk couldn’t be his only reason for granting her entry—surely, she would never be accepted by the others if he did so.

She does not miss the subtle indication and her ears twitch, curious. While note wholly unfamiliar in the line of battle, she has had wolves around her she knows and trust. Expecting some elaboration on the matter, she remains silent for a brief pause to hear him out despite the strike of anxiety that crosses through her chest. When he doesn’t explain further in the detail that she wishes, her lips purse and she glances away. It seems strange to try for her acceptance without knowing what she’s getting in to. One northern wolf isn’t worth her life, especially if the pack doesn’t hold the same values they should share with herself or Kove.

”Suna?” she questions, swinging her head back for more.

Questions were expected, given his wording—had she not been cautious, he would have been more surprised. But he did not answer immediately, considering his words carefully before speaking. He thought of what he could say and what he must remain silent about, some secrets not meant to be spoken with a war on the horizon. “There will be wolves at our doorstep before long,” he settled for. “Those that want to disrupt our way of living and bring harm to this place.” He spun the tale with ease, believing it himself to make it a temporary reality for her. He was not going to allow for his one connection to the lands back home to be torn away from him, not when there was something that he could do to prevent it.

“Can we trust you to help us?” Trust was a tricky thing to deal with, and impossible to place in strangers—but he had to say something, keep her from leaving somehow. With the intention of easing her mind, he added, “You do not need to fight for us, not so soon after joining, but we will require your help somehow. Perhaps by watching over the young, the inexperienced?” Can you do that? was a question added and hidden within his tone.

While she had questions for the northern, saving them for later when they had time together, she held her tongue because they do not pertain to the pack and her acceptance. When he does not elaborate as much as she wants, leaving the veil not quite thin enough for her to see through them, she isn’t able to hold her tongue anymore. “Sok?” If wolves they are facing are on the offensive, something doesn’t add up and he hides them for a reason. The rest of what he says goes unanswered as he continues; dark eyes harden as she searches for some sort of motive of what he is hiding.

Sok?

He wanted to frown, to say that the why didn’t matter, but his expression remained neutral and the words unspoken. “Because they hold a grudge against one of ours,” he decided to answer truthfully this time. “And we will not go against our loyalty and throw him to them.” Those within Blackfeather were a lot of things, but the one positive that they had going for them was their loyalty to one another. They were a single unit, a family, and one could not betray another and still expect to be a part of them.

Even though the answer is still vague, it is enough. Perhaps the wolf in question committed a crime and his wolves are only protecting them. She’d do the same for any of her wolves, if she were still there, unless it was something deplorable. But they’ve always had good judgment, in her experience, and she can only hope it transfers over to her newest companion. Her feet, having become a little antsy in the last few minutes, settle once more and she nods her head. She will not die for these wolves so soon, and she’s thankful Kove does not ask so much of her (and perhaps it will change in the future) but for now she can defend herself. ”I will be useful,” she tells him after a moment of consideration.

It was simple, then. She would show her usefulness to the pack and, in return, they would offer her a home to call her own. Kove nodded, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of his maw. “Then follow me,” he voiced, swinging his head towards the woods, his body slowly turning with the motion. He waited for her to close the distance and then started towards the treeline, leading her into the forest; there he would show her around, give her an idea of what areas to avoid, and, more so than anything, spend more time speaking with her about the north and herself.