Ankyra Sound On the horizon, out on the edge of the world

Dawn rose chilly over Grimnismal, with a strong wind blowing down from the northern and southern mountains alike. Wylla had been awake for several hours already, pacing the brisk strand in the darkness as she thought over what she needed to do. Ideas tumbled through her mind like dice, each one carefully considered alongside the others, until she had several courses of action laid out in front of her. To herself, she gave no further thought; she would have time to consider her own consequences later.
As the sun began to pierce the edges of the dark forest spanning their cliffs, Wylla selected a spot on the beach near a shallow, wide-mouthed cave in the cliffside. She gave a low, solemn and undeniably serious howl out across the strand for the attention of @Kierkegaard, followed closely by a second to state the urgency of her call.
There would be more to come, but he would be the first.

The sound of her voice was carried from where she stood into the depths of the grotto where he possessively watched over his children and mate. There was a moment of defiance that flashed through him; he did not want to step away to attend to the Alpha’s wishes. His mind returned to the day she had warned him, and he breathed a tired sigh as he rose from his resting place, touched his nose to the heads of each of his children and then Caiaphas, and left their den for the cold coastal air. The ghost made way for her with brisk strides. Kierkegaard had grown stronger since his fall into the depths, but he was still aged and weary.

Once near to her, he released a deep-throated chuff to announce that he was arriving. With a low head and a limp tail, the mercenary closed the distance between them and stood five feet from where she was. The molten color of his eyes roamed from her limbs to her torso and froze there. The breeze cut through the jagged ends of his coat. Her call had been urgent, and so he had presented himself urgently. A slight cant of his head, and the brute inquired to her, “how may I assist you?” The tone was even and respectful; not a hint of emotion, as was his custom. Kierkegaard was there to answer the call, but he had young to worry about and the tired sea witch, so he opted to keep himself as dutiful as he could.

Kierkegaard came promptly in spite of the effort he surely expended each day on Caiaphas, which was a saving grace for him; had he given into temptation and not come, she would have had to hunt him down, and she would have been much angrier. Her blood pounded in her veins as he approached, for she knew he wasn't going to like what she decreed. But, as she saw fit to remind him, "I'm the boss here. I make the rules."
No one had stopped her from rising to the top when Ingram decided it should be her to lead, so at least as far as the hormonal and temperamental Wylla was concerned, she was the boss and everyone that didn't like it could suck her metaphorical dick, and it was high time she made that clear.
"I know you're buddy-buddy with those cliff wolves," she told him ominously, perhaps giving him cause to think she knew about his most recent meeting (she didn't). "You speak their language and tried to call their leader down on my brothers. Don't think I didn't know." Truthfully, she let Kierkegaard off after that because Chusi's defiance and Arrille's betrayal had consumed more of her attention, and it had become sort of a moot point, but it served her purpose now—so typical of a woman—to bring it up when it wasn't really relevant. "And you broke pack law," she reminded him, smoothing back her ears, "so I take that to mean your loyalty is to someone else, not me, where it should be since you live in my pack."
"I said there'd be consequences and I meant it. Those kids aren't gonna be raised to hurt my family." And there was still the tricky matter of believing wholeheartedly that he was spying on Grimnismal and feeding information about their home and numbers to the wolves up there. To Wylla, they were vultures on high waiting for a chance to strike, and Kierkegaard was the flag at the finish line, ready to signal them. "You can continue taking care of the witch," she said, "but once they're eating meat, I forbid you from being near the pups."
"If you go near them anyway, then I'll take one's life as repayment for the disrespect."

The flurry of entitled words that tumbled from her lips had deeply astounded the pale guardian. It would not have been the first time that he found himself shocked at her display, or the sharp cut of her tongue, but as she continued, he started to believe it would be the last.

Kierkegaard had spent the entirety of his life serving those who needed him. He had fought alongside many he found appalling. The brute had stood strongly at the side of numerous leaders that did not deserve their position. He had never cared, so long as he was rewarded with what he had desired. The ghost would have fought alongside the foulest of creatures if it meant that he would have his pay. Caiaphas’ love of the sound and the dark grotto had been the weighing factor in his permanence within Grimnismal. He had done well in listening to the quick tongued leader, had dutifully protected her claim and her family, all while standing as a quiet sentry beside the dark-hooded woman he called his mate. Kierkegaard had been content with living through the rest of his days in the confines of the ocean pack, and in protecting it from any danger that may have found a way through. He had not grounded himself in preparation for the tyrant who stood before him.

Wylla flooded him with her words. He felt as though he had toppled from the tops of the cliffs once more and had started only on day one of being thrown about by the waves. Each scornful word caused his coat to bristle and his eyes to light with fire. Before his summons, he had been willing to accept the terms of his punishment. He imagined he would have been expected to fill each cache, mark every edge of their borders, and wait on the royal snake Wylla. The snap of her words cut deep. She questioned his loyalty; she wanted to take his children from him. Perhaps if he had been younger, the terms would not have bothered him, but he knew that he would never have children again. The four pups who were tucked carefully beside Caiaphas within the grotto were all that he had left.

The ghost drew his dark lip over his yellow incisors and a growl hitched against the back of his throat. It was then that the brute threw aside all foundation of respect. His crown lifted, and his eyes wandered dangerously close to her own. The burn in the pit of his stomach fueled him. “No,” the ashen hound growled sharply. It was not a no to any one piece of her tirade; he was standing firmly against everything she had said.

Of course he would defy her. Not only was she being willfully entitled, as was her wont, and therefore deserved to be defied, but she believed him to be utterly loyal to the cliff wolves and not herself, so she took his every action personally. Just as she had taken Chusi's defiance personally. Just as she had taken Arrille's cowardice and subsequent disappearing act personally. It was what she did.
Still, wrong though she may be, "it wasn't a suggestion." She peeled back her lips and snarled full-bodied at him, bristling and bolstered by a variety of things—his significant age, her own condition, the bracing scent of the sea, and her belief that she had more allies here than he did. Within the strand, Kierkegaard was a ghost among wolves, and she felt confident—perhaps wrongly so—that her brothers and Mahler would stand with her. "If you don't like it, you know where the door is. My word is final. It's your problem for not asking first. You're lucky I even let them be born."

the howl that filtered down into the grotto was a grave one -- muted as it was by the stone interior, its urgency was not diminished. caiaphas propped herself upright, bowling aside her squealing babes as she upended them from her sides. unceremoniously, the siren queen left her brood on the stone floor and swept towards the surface.

the wretch that resurfaced the sunny world was spidery and drained of healthful vigor; she was nursing-lean and thin, her hateful eyes sunken and squinting from the brightness of the world. she swung towards the shattered strand, ears strained ahead and weary eyes searching for sign of either wylla or the unfortunate wolf wylla had summoned.

when she spotted the two of them along the desolate outcropping beneath a tall arm of cliff she prowled towards them, fixated on wylla and the animated manner of her speech: as she drew closer she heard only a fraction of the conversation, but it was enough to awaken an old, familiar feeling inside of her: rage.

caiaphas did not flinch as she drew alongside kierkegaard, her vitriolic yellow gaze resting firmly on wylla. "you're lucky i let you live." she hissed, a lash of her tail given as she sized up the wretch that had been born on her beach, without her permission. "he stays. you know better than any what it is like without a father." her lips curled back in a menacing sneer and she awaited the cataclysmic blow-up with her muscles tensed in preparation.

The way her lip peeled and hitched against her fangs suggested that she was not likely to take his ‘no’ as an answer. The brute seethed at her, ears falling to lay flat against his crown. The ghost was pinned between a rock and a hard place, though he bristled against her word and instruction with a defiant gleam in his eye. Kierkegaard knew that he did not have much of a place to go if he should be thrown from the ranks of Grimnismal. He thought for a moment to seek out Thurin and her dragons; he had worked for her before and he knew he could do it again to keep himself alive and well. It was the pups that put a difficult spin on his situation. The ashen wolf had never imagined he would have grown to be so protective of them. He had never known what it meant to be a father before.

“I ain’t going anywhere, girl,” he spat at her with a cross expression. Were it not for the scent that traveled to him with the wind, Kierkegaard would have challenged her for her rank. Instead, he turned his skull sharply in the direction of her hawkish gaze and he froze. Caiaphas moved toward them with an intensity he had only seen on her a few times. The sharp stab of her gaze bore into Wylla, and he stepped aside to allow for her to enter the scene. The sound would always belong to the citrine-eyed sea witch; he would never see it under anyone else, and it was this that caused him to peel back so abruptly. If there was anyone who should have challenged the leader of Grimnismal, it was Caiaphas.

The ghost extended his muzzle and touched it lightly to her flank – a sign of support. In the back of his mind, he worried for their pups. Too afraid that he would inspire a newfound wickedness inside of the young leader, he did not turn his head to look in the direction of the grotto. He held his gaze level with Wylla and waited.

"Then you can die and take their place, old man," Wylla decided, but before she could make a single move toward him, Caiaphas stormed onto the scene with a threat. Several thoughts flitted through her mind—how was the crone able to leave her pups? Who was watching them? Was anyone watching them? Could she outrun two decrepit creatures, one old enough that death's shade tickled his ears, the other bone-thin and made old by years of hatred?

She sure could, but threats or no threats, Wylla didn't have it in her to go after innocent lives without a reason. She should have known better than to think these two would ever listen to her. She should have known better than to let them stay—they must have fancied themselves a pack within a pack, beholden to their own rules, loyal not to the leadership, and that belief was incompatible with Wylla's belief that she alone ruled Grimnismal. She seethed at the witch from behind yellowed fangs—in that state, she thought she could probably easily best Caiaphas even with her own healing injuries.

But she made no move, because Wylla knew two versus one was no contest, and she also wasn't stupid enough to expose her throat long enough to call on the support of her siblings. So she glared and spat, "then kill me, you ugly old hag," because that's what they were gonna do anyway. She didn't even think to point out that Caiaphas had claimed her pound of flesh in the form of her brother, and that Wylla was exercising the exact same right.

she felt an energy ripple through her -- the intensity of the situation caused her hackles to flare on end like sharpened quills, and a thrumming sensation trickled from her heart to her limbs. as her mate offered his support in the form of a light nudge she stepped forward, her sharp gaze resting on the alpha with obscene indelicacy.

wylla's fury that they had coupled without her consent might have been within justice, but caiaphas was as heedless as she was arrogant. in her mind it was her right, as she believed the sound belonged to only one wolf, and that wolf was not wylla. the pups were at the back of her mind in this moment -- for while their lives were of upmost importance to the siren queen, she refused to raise them without the presence of her mate.

caiaphas knew wylla well enough to know she easily understood she was outnumbered -- when she made no move to assault either of them, and then ordered caiaphas to kill her, caiaphas set her muzzle high and regarded her coldly. "no." she growled, her tail hiked across her thin hips. "i will not." while she had very little affection for the only girl of the luschyon brood, caiaphas still considered wylla one of her own and loathed the idea of harming her. "he stays." she repeated, her voice firm in spite of the shaky situation they found themselves in.

Skipping with permish.

What had she expected? Fangs at her throat, if Wylla was being honest. Neither Caiaphas nor Kierkegaard showed her any measure of respect in the form of submission, in the form of asking permission, or anything else; surely they took issue with her leadership and, in Wylla's judgmental eyes, surely to take issue with a wolf's leadership was to take issue with their very existence? Little did she know that at that exact moment, Lycaon and Nyx both were also undermining her authority. Would that she knew.

"I never told him to leave," she said, skimming her lips back to their fullest extent and flashing red gums aggressively at the former siren queen. "But he will not be near those kids, not when he's a spy for those cliff fuckers. That's the price you pay for acting like the selfish piece of shit you are, and that is the price he pays for betraying us. If you aren't willing to pay it then I will take it from you until you learn." Would Caiaphas have not acted in the same way, if she was still Alpha? But that was the problem. The wretched little coywolf didn't seem to think anything had changed in Ankyra Sound.

But it had, and Wylla was full wolf with a temper to match and a thread of patience that was fraying dangerously close to fully snapping, and she bore into Caiaphas' personal space with a deep-throated snarl. "I lead here, not you."

wylla's exposure of teeth was met in stride with a crinkled sneer; caiaphas' lips lifted to show an array of fearsome teeth. she stood evenly, her limbs stiff with preparation as wylla's outburst continued. the accusation of her mate drew forth an incredulous snap of her teeth -- "spy?" she spat, ears swept back as wylla brushed into her space with assertive steps. caiaphas tensed, canting her muzzle towards wylla's own in case the woman lunged for throat -- she would meet fang instead if she tried such a careless move.

caiaphas would be ready -- her neck half-arched, her limbs splayed in apprehension. "he's not a spy." she snarled, a continuous grumble bubbling in the pit of her lungs. "you lead?" the coywolf's expression turned into a derisive grin, her knotted molars and wicked canines exposed in a laugh. "you lead whom, exactly?" her gaze slid to wylla's own pointedly -- she knew the tender spot she had hit, and dug deep into it with sinister satisfaction.

”Spy?!”

It was evident in his voice that he was both thoroughly humored and surprised by this accusation. His eyes glimmered with a hint of a laugh playing at the corners of his mouth. He had not realized that Caiaphas had echoed the same word within the same breath as he. Still, the expression on his features was genuine; he had no idea what she was talking about. The mercenary recalled to his meeting with the dark Heda and he wondered if Wylla had seen them from afar and imagined a scenario in which he would spy against his mate’s family for the woman next door. It was that which had ushered a chuckle from the back of his throat. Surprising to him that she would find him so skilled in the arts of subterfuge, he was not afraid to scoff at the accusation.

Caiaphas then cracked with a whip of her tongue, and he looked to his dark-hooded mate with a severe respect. Then, to Wylla, that same reverence having vanished. Kierkegaard did not understand what had happened with the Drageda wolves to have caused high tensions from both sides. He had never wanted to be involved in the kids’ drama. The brute had been inclined to retire by the coast with the sea witch and their children – he had imagined peace, if there was ever to be a thing like it. The ghost did not remark on Wylla’s leadership. It was evident in his expression that he did not see even a fractured piece of an Alpha in her.

Kierkegaard and his chuckle both went unheard, so laser-focused was Wylla on Caiaphas. She would have, in another time, questioned greatly why he felt such respect for Caiaphas and none for her—she was little different from the wretched witch in her youth—but she neither noticed nor cared any longer. It was plain neither one of them would ever respect her, and she was tired—so dog tired—of having to demand that which she felt she deserved. Ingram and Lycaon had put her in this position because they felt she was the most worthy to lead of the three of them, but Wylla wasn't made for putting in so much effort.

Not for ingrates like them.

"More than you," she hissed back, angling her ears sharply over her brows as she pulled away from Caiaphas. At Wylla's back she imagined she had Ingram, Lycaon, Mahler and Nyx, whilst Caiaphas had Kierkegaard. In numbers, Caiaphas' forces were higher if you counted the four squalling babes, but they were no army. She still felt certain of her ability to oust these two from her shores, but instead she peeled away and snarled lowly. "Let's see how you stomach your own bitter medicine when they refuse you," was all she said as she left—permanently.

caiaphas had expected wylla's anger to convert into something physical -- she half-wanted the woman to rip into her, to tear her down for her impudence so she could counter it -- and as wylla hissed back in rejoinder, caiaphas once more felt herself coil for the strike. she expected wylla to come down upon her like some titanic fury, and instead the only thing wylla flung upon her were a series of ominous words.

before caiaphas could so much as retaliate wylla had turned heel and left. caiaphas' ears unpinned, her tension slowly unraveling -- and in bewilderment she looked upon kierkegaard, her features lit with surprise and suspicion. "what the fuck is she talking about, spy?"

Wylla had found her limit. Kierkegaard watched with a vacant expression as she turned and left the sound. He followed her with his gaze even while Caiaphas turned to him, cracking her whip once more. The ghost did not believe that he was seeing her turn away. Wylla had been sharp – too much for him – but he had never anticipated that her pride would allow her to relinquish her hold on the terrain. His mind was ticking, and he knew that if their numbers turned to new paths, Grimnismal would be no more. When Wylla had vanished from his gaze, he turned to the dark hooded sea witch and frowned.

“The dragon woman is coming for you,” he explained to her in a gruff tone. His meeting with the Heda had been confusing, but the dark creature had made herself clear. Kierkegaard had not mentioned it immediately, but he knew that Caiaphas had the right to know. “Don’t know why. Just know that she seemed set on it.” Then, a quiet huff of a sigh passed through his lips and he shrugged his shoulders to the lean woman. Her sharp gaze burned through him, but the brute had nothing to hide from her.

Drawing his tongue across the hairs of his muzzle, he grounded himself. “Worked for her years back in an old pack called Seageda. They’d hired me to fight with them, so I know her well enough.” You learned to be close to those who fought alongside you; wars were trying times. “Wylla is mad if she thinks I still follow the dragon’s orders. Done nothing but work to keep this shit hole safe and functioning,” the ghost growled, gesturing with his muzzle to their surroundings. He was obviously irritated at the claim that had been made. Then, too, having Caiaphas lash at him upon hearing it.

if her experience with wylla had not already set her on edge, the insinuation that kierkegaard was possibly a spy certainly did -- she felt suspicion coil around her like some fat and gilded python, suffocating her sensibilities with dark tendrils of insecurity.

he was rightly affronted by the accusation, and she studied him blatantly, trying to detect any semblance of a lie in his gruff voice. his explanation was not enough to soothe the resentment that nestled within her, making her heart its home. her ears clasped to her skull and she hissed: "who even is that? what were you even doing, meeting her?" without caiaphas' knowledge? the siren queen suddenly was cognizant that perhaps wylla was not so far from her mark after all -- what business did kierkegaard have, sharing council with the wolves on the cliff?

“Hunting for you.”

He snapped his teeth together in his answer, pinning her with a burning stare. The resentment that he felt toward Wylla was tearing through Caiaphas; he could not help but to feel the questions as questions against his character – who he was – and all he had ever been for her.

“For them.”

The ghost turned his muzzle in the direction of their abandoned young pups with a furrowed brow and a thin-lipped expression. Kierkegaard damned the emotion that bubbled within him, spilling through his gut like a vat of acid. It ached against his insides – it burned him. The indignance in his voice was rightful. The mercenary did not know how he could be a suspect to such distrust. Had he ever been anything but dutiful to her and her cause? Had he shown her anything other than devotion and respect in his time with her? No, he could not stomach her questions because of the wariness in her eyes.

“I have done nothing but work to protect you and your family. I was not made for this life, but I have adopted it… for you, Caiaphas. Do not sever this tie because of your mistrust.” You should know who you’re speaking to.

"Her name is Thuringwethil. She leads the wolves next to us. I do not know what bad blood you have between you, but I did not make the choice to start a pack beside her own. It was not I who needed to be here. I have followed you and only you."

kierkegaard's gaze cut through her, raw and savage and smoldering: caiaphas' sunken eyes fell upon him balefully, the fire bled from them. she listened as he explained his reasons for his clandestine encounter, though her heart still smoked in paranoia.

he was right -- he had done it all for her, and she knew it. moreover, she understood it -- but she would not admit her fault in this, nor would she apologize for scrutinizing him in the wake of wylla's heated departure. she thought perhaps later she would see wylla again -- wrongfully she assumed the hot-headed leader had simply stalked off to cool her temper.

caiaphas became gravely silent in the aftermath of kierkegaard's defensive reply. she had nothing to say. had the grotto not housed her squalling pups perhaps she would have cleared the sound for a few days -- but her duty was deep within the grotto's heart, and she took furious strides away from her mate in the direction of her infants.