Ankyra Sound "If."

---

There is no honor in defeat.

But is his banishment truly a blow? His family has never seen his potential, not even when he is at his best. The slaughter of the enemy was justified; they would have risen up, eventually, to strike back. In shedding blood, he saved lives. . .and this was his reward?
Well. If the Lycurgus clan is truly to survive, they will have to do so without their muscle. Good luck to them, getting by without him. They will not last the winter.
He travels the coast, putting everything he has ever known behind him. Memories, so long cherished, spilling out like grains of sand onto the beach with each and every step. He marches resolutely on, pale gold gaze set ahead, a compass pulling him toward. . .what? What will be his destiny, now? His pedigree had been his road map. Having cast it aside, he is free to wander.
But he has never been a wanderer, no. He is a planner, a man of action. Some may be content in a vagabond's life, but not Eurycrates. They say there were two--and two only--types of men: those who flee, and those who fight. The wanderers, the poets. . .they are the ones that scatter like ants from rain, when times grow hard. He is a fighter; he will not be unsettled for long.
It takes a while to get down to the pristine beach, but the arduous travel is well worth it. Muscles aching slightly from his journey, the titan stands upon the shore, gazing out at the gray-green waves, topped with pale foam. The afternoon sun glints hot on his back. His face is like stone, impenetrable.

Yes. Here.

---

Referencing this thread.

"Sha," acknowledged Ephraim as Thuringwethil made to part from him, leaving him to his own devices in the sprawling fields. With a deep inhale, he surveyed his surroundings with a sweeping gaze and swivelling ears, then kicked his feet into a trot that carried him oceanward. Thuringwethil was by then a smudge on the horizon heading north, and the young coywolf tailed her for a time before breaking off and sinking into the heavy shadow of a coastal forest. Might as well explore while he waited.

Something about the place provoked a spike of anxiety that reached far back in his mind, where a faded and threadbare memory of fleeing lived. He couldn't say he recognized it, having only been in the forest once before, but something akin to deja vu settled over him and made his hair stand on end. And even when he found the paths winding down to the sands, and even when he followed one down on cautious paws, he didn't recognize where he was. He had only that dreadful feeling to make him suspect that he should know it.

If Ephraim had found the grotto—if he had stepped into its depths and been awash in that faint blue glow from his den-bound days—then the memories would come rushing back and he would know that this place was his origin. But there was a figure standing tall on the beach, eyes to the ocean, and Ephraim froze in place upon realizing it. His tail switched tensely side-to-side as he contemplated whether he should climb back up to the forest and pretend he'd never been here, but it was too late, he realized. He'd done nothing to mask the crunch of his paws on the cold sand; Eurycrates had almost certainly heard him.

So he cleared his throat to announce himself properly, but his hind paws slid backward over the sand, his muscles bunched under his thin fur, and his eyes were quickly searching for some sort of escape in case the man wasn't friendly.

---

Naught but a coywolf appears to defend this territory, if he is indeed doing that at all. The barest of smirks touches his countenance before it falls flat again, gaze locked onto the other. Oh, he is young, as well. So young, and duty-bound--Eurycrates sees it in his eyes, that subtle yet steely look of devotion.
Perhaps this place is claimed.
Boy, he growls in a gravelly, travel-weary voice. Is your master nearby? Do you claim this sound? His nose makes a small arc in illustration, taking in everything: the trees, the beach, the waves. Even the gulls above are part of this dominion. They do well to line bellies, after all.
Eurycrates is impatient as he waits for a response, shifting on the sand. He has come too far to tarry. But at the same time, he has grown fond of the ground here, as if he had been meant to come here all his life. He is not without superstition; he believes in fortune and fate. And if this is his fate, well, then he will stay.

---

Boy, the wolf addressed him, and the coywolf, pitiably small in comparison, thought to wither for a second. But though he didn't know her at all and wouldn't so much as recognize her face these days, Ephraim was his mother's son. Somewhere within him was a cunning and clever knave with a crocodile's fierce heart. With training and discipline he might learn yet to master his timidity and face an unknown foe without twitching a whisker to betray his nerves. But he was still a boy, unable to control himself quite that well, especially around kids his own age.

The man asked about his master, and the grumpiest part of his personality surged to the fore. "I'm my own master," he asserted, pinning up his ears in an effort to seem larger and more impressive than he was. He had Heda, whose orders he diligently followed because she commanded respect with ease and had given him a life he might have lost had he been turned away. She had taught him their ways and tutored him even now so that he might become the best he could be. Drageda was a tough bunch of wolves demanding loyalty and strength of character, but the life he might otherwise have had was rougher still. But Ephraim didn't consider her his master.

"No," he answered simply, "but I wouldn't stay here if I was you. Heda wouldn't like it and she's not one to cross." Jabbing his snout toward the cliff towering over the beach, Ephraim said, "she rules the wolves up there, and they're strong." Stronger than you, he wanted to add, but he refrained. Instead, thinking he was quite sly indeed, he tacked on, "only the best wolves run with Heda. I bet if you impressed her, you could spend as much time as you wanted down here."

---

He very much admires the boy's determination, misplaced as it might be. His approval shines clearly in his eyes, even as the coywolf goes on to warn him away. This land is ostensibly claimed, by powers greater than he. Or equals. The titan sees a potential trap in the gentle offer, and lifts his muzzle in turn, staring up the cliffs.
What claim do the wolves of the cliffs have over this sound? Eurycrates asks, glancing at the boy. The scents here are weak. One could easily slip in and take it, while they are occupied elsewhere. His brows raise just barely in sardonic question. Not so strong when scattered, hmmm?
He is tiring of words, the parry of language. This is his brothers' domain. He knows nothing but blood and fear, flesh and bone. Eurycrates can only hope that more satisfactory answers come soon, or else he will leave this place to the crows, wolves above be damned. One should at least station soldiers within conquered territory.
Or is this waif meant to be their guard? He barely stifles a snort at the ridiculous thought.

---

Eurycrates had a point, but he had to stand firm on his own conviction. He'd only heard stories of what happened to those who crossed Drageda, but knew they had never lost an engagement with a foe. Perhaps they didn't claim the sound proper but they also didn't allow anyone to settle there without question. That was something he'd learned in his time with them; they liked their space, and given the size of the pack, Ephraim understood that. Heda never spoke much of the wolves that previously lived here, but he knew had they not left of their own accord, Drageda would have gone for them.

The rest of Eurycrates' counter argument went a little over his head. He almost rejoined with clarification that Drageda wasn't scattered, but stopped himself with his lips pursed. He shouldn't say too much about the state of his pack to a total stranger. "Heda has eyes and ears everywhere," was the response he chose to give, then rolled his shoulders in a shrug. He held himself neutrally; no reason to give Eurycrates the impression that he was threatening him rather than simply warning him. "She didn't like the last pack that lived here being so close so she brought down her warriors and annihilated them. That's why no one lives here now." Eurycrates didn't need to know that that pack had actually left on their own and Drageda had little to do with it—the more impressive he made his pack sound, the less likely they would need to actually deal with this guy.

"You wanna hang around here, you'll need to join 'em or bargain with Heda," he finished, "otherwise... Stay and find out I guess." It's your funeral.

For now, a cameo. Feel free to acknowledge/interact with her! Wanted to sneak in. ;)

Helix winds down the cliffside and on to a familiar path that leads to the sound. A traveler worn path has formed over the months of their existence and she only continues to put her markers behind, an imprint of a journey south along the coast. There is much she does not know about the Sound other than what little the rest of leadership tells her but she’d be curious to hear what Ephraim has to say. Her distance makes it impossible to hear over the crashing waves and cold wind whipping around the shores but she sees the solid wolf and another, small and angular, opposite him.

She does not yet recognize the coywolf by sight nor smell so she keeps her distance, watching as a silent guardian for the time being.

---

Not just determined, but loyal. A loyal little foot soldier. A hoplite comes to mind--suitable name for the boy, should his own be insufficient. If Eurycrates never knows the coywolf by his true moniker, this is what he will call him. But this is all beside the point--
Seems like all rivers run through your Heda, he rumbles, mouth twitching with irritation held in check. He does not like being told 'no'; he never has. There is only one way to claim this land, and it is through means he would rather not pursue.
His cool gaze lifts to find a burly dark shape close by, a silent watcher. So there are more guards, and bigger types than this lad. That speaks better of this band of wolves than his first greeter. Earnest as he is, the coywolf could have done much more growing in the womb, in his view.
Then again, the boy's head would have been dashed against a rock long ago, if Eurycrates had been given a say. No use for the weak and the small.
Lead the way, Eurycrates decides, with a subtle sigh. Why not? He already has gone against the wind by leaving his family. At this point, there is nothing left to lose but his life. I will meet with your leader and the wolves she commands.

---

"They do," Ephraim affirmed, though he really had no idea and was mostly bluffing. He'd heard a little about how Etoille had infiltrated one of their enemies and brought back information that was crucial for the pack's victory. In his imagination every wolf in the pack was like that—maybe one day he would be like that, too—so it wasn't so far-fetched that Thuringwethil might know much more than she ever let on. If nothing else he knew with certainty that they kept close watch on lands adjacent to theirs and it was only a matter of time before Eurycrates was discovered.

The loner's gaze was going off somewhere past his shoulder now and Ephraim turned his head to see what had drawn the other's attention. He had seen Helix once before, just before they departed for Trigeda, but he didn't recognize her. His eyes lifted to the cliffs above, seeking a familiar face looking down, but there was no one. Just Helix. It was a bit of a long shot but he called out in a slightly unsteady and uncertain tone, "Friend or foe?" He would know from that if she was Drakru or not.

Even if she wasn't, her presence affected Eurycrates and that alone bolstered Ephraim. He narrowed his eyes in a poor imitation of Thuringwethil's most no-nonsense expression (it was very out of place on his youthful face) and gestured. "Toward her, up the cliffs. Let's go then."

Distant muffles make it difficult to hear what they’re saying and she doesn’t put in any effort to try. She remains stiff and uninviting, watching intently. Her purpose is to keep the borders of Drageda safe and they may be miles behind her but they’re close enough to annoy her. Her feet remain planted, unable to move until the others have gone about their way.
 
The smaller of the two, however, acknowledges her. Her nose lifts slightly, heightening her posture in response. He shouts something—Lukot o baga?—and her ears stiffen, leaning forward to make sure she heard correctly. She spends a few seconds to look at the pointed frame and frosted colors. She vaguely recalls a child returning to Trigeda with Thuringwethil. Neither of her sons mentioned anything about Heda, having left before they’d gotten there, but does this mean they’re back? Helix’s jaw tightens and she tightens her posture in anticipation.
 
“Lukot,” she says smoothly, glancing over to the other in an attempt to jog her memory. The other one doesn’t seem familiar at all, but it could have been a wolf in Drageda before Thuringwethil left and she’d simply forgotten but she hesitates any further assumptions.

---

The boy turns and begins to speak to the other in a tongue he does not understand; he bristles despite himself. His family have used their shared language to their advantage--and to others' disadvantage--for so long that he cannot help being wary. Whatever the exchange, it seems like he is in no immediate danger, and he begins to walk up the cliffs, careful to keep his footing.
Eurycrates, he says to the woman--it is a woman, dark and broad--with a bland face. He very nearly tacks on his surname and place of origin, remembering just in time that it is no longer relevant. He will never return there, nor will they receive him with any kind of joy. I wish to speak with your leader.
Heda. Perhaps this is Heda. A name or a title? Though he thinks not; the boy seems to not have recognized her, and he is not showing the deference Eurycrates would have expected from a lad who spoke so highly of his leader. No, she must be further up, further north along the cliffs. At this point, he does not know what to expect.
Will you lead me there? the titan asks, casting his gaze between the coywolf and the brute she-wolf in direct query.

---

Lukot. She knew their tongue. Ephraim visibly relaxed at that and his tail picked up a slow wag as he tailed along behind Eurycrates. He didn't mind that the man didn't address him as well; it was second nature for him to treat all other Dragedakru as higher ranked than he. He would be surprised to find that wasn't necessarily the case. Everyone in Trigeda had outranked him as well, so he merely assumed, and in this case it was the safest assumption to make.

"Ephraim," he announced to the dark-haired Helix, sweeping his gaze over her approvingly before dropping it to inspect the path. "I am Dragedakru," he tacked on in the pack's tongue, "I walk with Heda from Trigeda." It wasn't that he wished to exclude Eurycrates from the conversation. He had just grown used to using it while in Trigeda and it reassured him to hear another using it. Few wolves there deviated from it without a good reason and he'd had to adapt quickly, though there were still many words he was unsure of. He stumbled sometimes and chose the simplest language to convey his point, which Helix might pick up on. He was clearly not born of Drageda but he was learning fast.

To Eurycrates and his question, Ephraim passed a quick look and then turned his gaze back up to the Fleimkepa. It was her call now.

Join me over here!

Helix watches carefully as they close the distance a little more, speaking more directly to her. Everything that is spoken, however, causes her mind to reel a little more than she anticipated. Eurycrates, as he introduces himself, wishes to speak to her leader. A few seconds ago, that had been Blixen. Now? Now, she doesn’t know where they stand in the grand scheme of things.
 
Ephraim explains a little in a tongue not that is not his own, but the effort is noted nonetheless. There isn’t much she knows about the kid outside leaving with Heda and his transformation from outsider to Dragedakru has been absent but coming from Trigeda she has faith enough that since he came out alive, he’s worthy to be their own.
 
Before she has a chance to say anything, a howl rolls over the wind. Having heard Ephraim tell her Heda is back (in not so many words), it is entirely different hearing her song again. Her jaw tightens and she looks between the two before gesturing her with nose to follow, turning sharply on her heels and heads for the nearest border, a constant search of their dark commander.