Alpine Lake Orksingolerpok

Knowing that he was only a half-day's run from the coast once more, Nippaitok began to call to his comrades from the crags of Alpine Lake. He meant to recuperate here— regain the few pounds he'd lost during the stint of his long journey; perhaps stay through the remainder of this shining day and night— and he reached with out with echoing howls to see if any of Tartok were in the vicinity.

Upon receiving no initial reply, he pressed along the sprawling mountain rivulets, scouring about for a meal or something of equal interest. Nearing the heart of this range, mist from nearby waterfalls began to cling innocuously to the blades of his fur, and he paused a slim opening on the mountain's face to examine the scents that lingered there. The opening was taller than he was but not wide enough for him to fit through. His skull could breach the cave with a tuck of tall ears, but the brace of his shoulders could not go beyond that. He stood like this for a moment, because though his eyes were useless in this moment, his attention was captured regardless by the faint rustling of bats as they nestled against every black wall in respite from the day's glowing warmth.

He pressed his ears forward with a mute's natural preference for listening.

She had heard him, though had not called back to him. Ikkalrok was close, now—and she bridged the gap between them, though did not hide her approach from him. No doubt he knew her lumber as she knew his; strangers might think them bear cubs, from their prowling gait. They were no less dangerous, and best avoided. Her ferocity was rivaled only by the tireless motherbear, who would stop at nothing to protect. 

Ikkalrok paused at the entrance of the cave, considering as she gazed at his hindquarters. They had trained in situations such as this. What were they to do, if they were cornered and alone, with nowhere else to go, and the enemy came upon them (and they had fit within the cave)? When by ones lonesome, it was found that the desire to kill might have petered with the more prevalent desire to survive. But one must always expect the enemy to have been trained as they were; to kill was to ensure their survival, brutal as it was, because even to let one live was to bring about the chance for eventual retaliation. Ikkalrok had seen it, heard of it. Many had faced it. Some had died. 

Those that had ever been soft, or thought themselves so, became hard; Tartok was like the kînaut that brought forth from their rounded foundations the sharp kinark they might possess. Not all among them were born stalwart and cold; but they became. All among them, who bore the name, became. Their bond grew stronger for it; together, united, and knowing, they would survive. 

She wondered if he could hear outside as well as he could within, what with the drumming waters she could hear here that was surely louder thanks to the acoustics the cavern might bring. With this thought in mind, Ikkalrok moved to incapacitate him as she lurched for a vulnerable hind leg, always one to test her theories rather than stand in inaction.

Nippaitok didn't know Ikkalrok was there until it was too late.

Fortunately she gave herself away at the last moment, and whether it had been by her will or not, he was given enough of a warning to at least free his neck before her onslaught. Even still with a warning, as he withdrew from the cut, the ârnaluk's teeth were already at his leg, causing him to buckle his hindquarters away from her bite. He rebuked the act of surprise with a snarl and whirled to meet his attacker head-on, his retaliation on full blast as he did not at first register that he was familiar with this predator.

He fought her at first like an animal who was fighting for his life. Behind his strike there was no play, no gentleness, and no stay of fangs where he might preserve the skin of her face. Though, almost immediately, he recognized the powerful body returning his ferocity. He knew Ikkalrok, almost every inch of her— and it was this last inch he chased, patient and unrelenting. It was the only bit of her he wished to claim alone.

The iron brute broke from her, attaining space to that he might reorient his behavior. He was unafraid to harm her— she could take more than her fair share of abuse— but he could never face her with the intent to kill. He thought this way of several Tartok kin, but for Ikkalrok the sentiment, if it could be called that, would always be greatest.

Nippaitok panted to expel what remained of his anxiety, and set his dire sights on the she-wolf with a challenge in his eyes. He was aware of a thin bleed happening at his back leg, but he could only acknowledge it mentally before launching himself at his opponent.

His shifting prevented her attack to play out as she had intended. The woman had no desire to make him bleed—it was not their way, it was against their laws—but his reaction caused fangs meant to only grip to bear down a measure more (not enough to cause true harm, or sprain or break) to the point where she suddenly could taste the fluid. Once this transpired, Ikkalrok released as he reacted; she knew the drive in his movements, and knew she would have to engage him, titan against titan, until he came to. 

Fortunately for her, she had been in the better position to start with—but he was a wolf against a wall, who truly believed his life to be at risk. Still, as he wildly came for her, Ikkalrok was solid as she opened her jowls and lunged toward him, engaging him as he engaged her; her jaws deflected any blow that might come to her face, though the tip of them, initially, swept over her nose enough to draw blood. They collided against one another, neither one moving far in the process, and had he not sought to back away Ikkalrok simply would have sought to reacquaint him to herself with a rousing bite to his shoulder (to grip and pinch and shove, not to tear or rend). But he had, and he withdrew, and Ikkalrok was on all fours again, growling in a manner that indicated she was pleased by the turn of events, pleased by the way that he had done as he had been trained time in and time out. 

None but those of their name could have survived that, and perhaps none but she could have suffered so little from the reactive display he had been brought to. She licked her jowls, tongue rolling over her nose so as to taste the blood, but there was no anger there; she had bled him, and though it had been unintentional it had still occurred. And so there was no rebuke, or anger, only the proud sweep over her plume over her hindquarters. 

As he came for her again, the prelude to such an incident the flash of his eyes, Ikkalrok lurched forward, adjusting her course so that her shoulder might slam against his chest while her fangs made to hold the apex of his nearest shoulder. It would be pointless to push back against a weight as good as equal to her own, but should his forelegs land after her own she might unbalance him and make quick work of this. The reaction was effortless but perhaps lazy; there was hope that she might not succeed, that they draw this out.

 

I did 1d10 in DISCOOOO for defense and blessedly got a 10. praise yeezus, was about 2 give her her first scar if I was UNLUCKY

During long months that had turned into years spent under the tutelage of a reputable branch of Tartok, Nippaitok had both the pleasure and misfortune to face Ikkalrok many times during their exploits into battle-prep. They nearly always mixed up their styles with one another, careful not to fall into a predictable routine that either opponent could smartly dismantle, but habits between them had been made anyway. It was with this concept in mind that Nippaitok reliably guessed that his familiar mock-enemy would meet him head on, and he prepared for such an occurrence during his charge.

She did as he expected, but perhaps in knowing him as well as he knew her, the black bear of a wolf interrupted the rhythm of his fast advance— smashing into him the exact moment his forepaws lifted from the ground mid-run.

Nippaitok was thrown off balance. He scrambled, trying to grasp onto the bedeviling she-wolf beneath him, but his hind legs could not produce the strength needed to repel the steamrolling tank that was Ikkalrok on all four of her legs, and he was effectively bowled over by the move. The mute staggered, managing to stay on his feet, but he was now at the complete mercy of his opponent: trying to get out of a crouch that had put him in an easy position to dominate.

Outcome roll here

The breath left her as they collided, though she felt the mass of him give—her timing had been impeccable, and such had become her odds as he collected himself. The woman gathered the breath that had been expelled upon their abrupt contact and as he withdrew she continued her approach, moving with the momentum success had granted her; Ikkalrok moved to bear down upon him as he attempted to recover, a grizzly roar and spittle released from her fanged mouth—however, she abruptly adjusts her course and causes the dirt around them to fly upward, and the dust to create a cloud around her ankles.  

Ikkalrok's lobes twitch, her gaze not leaving him as her tail waves over her hindquarters. Were they training, she would not have ceased in her onslaught. As it was, they were not, and they had more ground to cover—and so, wordlessly, she turns away, one ear cupped back so as to hear him follow, if he elected to, or remain to investigate this place further.  

Instead of her weight bearing down upon him as expected, Nippaitok was instead greeted by a spray of brittle dust and gravel. He stood up uncontested, and looked at Ikkalrok curiously as her attentions turned elsewhere. He was relieved, somewhat, that she had not forced him into submission. He felt as if he'd paid enough for almost literally putting a bag over his head— having (unintentionally) received a well-deserved nick to his leg— and if there was a lesson to be learned then he had learned it well and good.

Snorting the dust from his nostrils, the male took up swiftly after his packmate. At her hip he gave her ribs a solid brush of his muzzle, a more appropriate greeting, and perhaps a whisper of an apology for forcing her to defend her life against him.

Ikkalrok felt him come to join her, and her tail swayed evenly behind her hips. It was good he had come here with her; he was a strong, capable male, a good subordinate when needed, though only to those that deserved to make a demand of him. It was for good, ample reason that Ikkalrok had ever arrived to such a point; she had proven, time and time again, she was inexhaustible in abiding by her indomitable instinct. It reared its head now more than ever; the past season had seen to it that Ikkalrok felt some shade of desire for her own future through the continuation of her bloodline. She had left herself ample time to cater to this desire: complete her mission, find a base of her own—one that Anuniaq knew the location of, had been born upon. She would see that place; she would have it.

These thoughts idled in her mind. What drove her was her surroundings. No other of their ilk had crossed this territory, but Ikkalrok scented many a wolf that had passed through. She glanced to her companion to see if he detected any scent of note; a wolf that had abandoned, a wolf that had needed to be found.

For Nippaitok, a more intuitive wolf than most, a glance was all it took for him to know Ikkalrok's general thoughts. Because of an inbred compulsion for silence, his life revolved around knowing how others felt without them having to intentionally tell or even show him. Over time he'd found an advantage to this state of mind, one that didn't need noise to understand or respond, and the kind of meticulous dedication needed to understand every individual's personal set of non-verbal cues was just the kind of work that satisfied him most. It was refreshing, he thought, to know how other's were feeling and what they wanted without ever having to utter a word.

And Ikkalrok: he knew best. He gave a single shake of his large head, quick as her glance and just as efficient. No, these lands were bare of wolves. He had traveled as far south as he could and not encountered a single soul. It had perhaps been unlucky, but Nippaitok wasn't complaining about how lonely his trails had been. He preferred the absence of others. It meant less competition for his own conquests; but in that same vein, he understood their need for more bodies. More support. More Tartok.

He knew she had her head set on reaching Anuniaq's homestead, but Nippaitok had seen much of the lands surrounding the Alpine and he was inclined to claim this bountiful peak. Indicating this, he stopped full and looked after her pointedly until she met his eye.

Ikkalrok slowed when she no longer heard his step behind her. Her mighty head turned to peer behind him, ear twitching—had he found something else? But moments ago, he had not—what had changed? Shaking out her furs, Ikkalrok made to meet him once more until she caught his pointed look. 

A deep scowl settled on her features. They could not stop and make claim to any place until their duty was finished. Besides that, for all the bounty this place offered, it seemed to harbor far more water than it did stone. Were the water to belong to the sea, she might be inclined to think of returning here... but the still water would only serve to train the future cubs, not those that had already held the trade and worked to master it. 

They had more to do. Even Ikkalrok, who desired a distant landscape, would not settle until their work was finished. Winter was some time away, and with the number they did have, they could afford such a life for a time. Her plume flicked, her expression shifting to indifference. Her stormy gazed offered her thoughts: it was not yet time for that.