Redsand Canyon Welcoming Committee

Setting: Evening — 1900. 77 degrees — clear skies, sunset.
Set on the southwestern area of the Redsand Canyon (Territory #9) beside Paranoia Peaks.

@Renard

Donovan paws through the wide open plains of this deserted area. Vultures fly above, probably assuming him to be ill and fall in the hands of death anytime now. He almost wants to lie down to lure them in and snatch up one of the long necked birds. Yet, it still seems like a waste of time.

So he treks onward, not to anywhere in particular, merely exploring the new environment of the lands his pack will settle in. Absentmindedly wandering, unaware of the other body lurking around, he paws through the miscellaneous shrubbery and sand.

ravensblood forest, when they returned, was quiet. it seemed likely that donovan had scraped up more of a crew in renard’s absence, so they’d even been so polite as to call at the borders – nothing. the forest still smelled recently of the saints – and recently of others. trails in two directions. they’d already signed their proverbial contract, so they found the saints’ trail before time and rain could tamp it down, and started tracking.

this was one of their better-honed skills. their previous profession – still truly their only profession, as long as there was someone to command it – had relied heavily on such matters.

this did not stop it from spiraling into a very long walk. long enough of a walk for their mind to wander, to start picking apart what they could discern of the scents; it was more than simply donovan, and the vast majority not familiar to their nose.

but there was one that they should have recognized. the thought followed them all the way through the hot springs, over a gorge, into the plains, as they drew closer – the advantage of traveling on your own, of course, was that you did not linger for anyone but yourself, and the scents grew less faded the faster they walked; days had gone by, and they were all the way into a thick forest that smelled unsettlingly of mountain lion before, in a flash of inspiration, they remembered it.

oh. of course. in retrospect, it was now very funny they had spent so long warning that neverwinter forest wolf of cannibals before turning around and joining them themselves.

anyways. it wasn’t a deterrent yet. they pressed on, and the trail led them straight from welcoming dimly lit forest to a wide open red-rock canyon, pine needles giving way to sand that shifted under their paws. the stones marked with a fresh smell, one that renard knew.

they did not howl this time, like they had in ravensblood. they slunk through the mouth and stuck to the shadows as the sun began to dip on the horizon, turning the canyon walls from red to orange to purple, and in the end it wasn’t that cannibal they found first (that would be a mess, though perhaps there would be some fun to it); instead, it was donovan, wandering through the shrubbery and sand.

“this is a dramatic change of scenery,” renard said from behind him. “was sap bleeding from the trees not doing it for you anymore?”

Donovan is lost in his weary thought when a voice practically echoes through the silence; cutting it like a hot knife through butter. Instantly he’s whipping his head around to see who it is and the form of the other wolf dog excites him. He hasn’t seen them in quite some time, eyes excitedly roaming over their face and landing in the tail that twins his own. Yep, that’s Renard.

He takes some steps towards his old companion and his tail dares to betray him by wagging without his permission. The appendage sweeps along his hips and lower back as his ears cup toward them.

“Renard.” He exclaims, surprise evident in his voice. “Where’ve you been?” He asks coming to stand in front of the other.

renard kept a handful of feet between them as they spoke, though donovan was uninterested in maintaining it; he whipped his head around, his tail even wagging – renard blinked, and mentally revised the assumptions he had of the man – as he came to a stop in front of them.

showing one’s face after vanishing for a month was not without risk, but renard liked to play their odds.

“i haven’t been here long.” renard hummed. “if we have a home to defend, it’s most effective if i know what surrounds us – the land and the people. i gathered some information.” their lip twitched into a frown. “that’s less effective now.”

“why the change?” renard cast their gaze around the dry dirt and scrub, the towering red-rock cliffs. “i did notice some…unfamiliar scents, back in the forest. are we making enemies already?”

Donovan nods, listening to them talk. Then a crease in between his brows appear at the information and the frown that graces Renard maw. He’s not mad at them, he only wonders what they were up to disappear for such a long time.

Then they point out the unfamiliar scents and Donovan instantly cracks a devious smile. “I hate to say it, but yes, dear.” He  looks off into the immediate distance for a few seconds. “The pack north of us, the coastal wolves, have declared us enemies and gathered their allies to drive us out.” He meets Renard’s eyes once more, a hint of maliciousness evident in his voice. “Their leader, a white she-wolf with an accent is the one that we detest now. Her allies we are not to bother unless they make a move on us as well.” 

Then finally he shrugs, expression showing his usual carelessness. “It’s too late to change the past. We must go forward.” 

it didn’t seem that donovan minded their absence; a positive in renard’s book, as they wouldn't have apologized for it either way.

donovan’s mention of the coastal wolves stirred the memory of a similar description – one they had been given not so long ago. “that’s a shame.” there is a wryness in the word. “yuèlóng? i don’t believe i’ve met any, only heard of them.” they smiled. “you think they or their allies will cause further problems?”

leaving enemies alive did not grate so much on renard. they understood the value of a long game; they had no trouble being patient. but they did have trouble with not having a plan for when those enemies might come. anyone who played at peace could still pose a threat, when it came to it.

they tipped their muzzle, just a fraction. “as you seem to have done. how large are the saints now?”

Roll here!

His smirk comes maliciously, not towards Renard of course but at the mention of their enemies pack. “Isn’t it?” He muses “Of course they will. Or perhaps it will be us causing the problems, hm?” His voice is playfully mischievous. 

Their next question almost makes him preen himself with pride for his developing pack. “A fair amount. More than seven now. We’re fairing well, Renard. It’s a good time for you to come back.”


He begins pacing around Renard. His movements are careful, practically slow motion. His canary eyes following Renard’s own as he walks. “How about we make up for lost time?” With those foreboding words he hop forward playfully. His smaller front teeth find the meaty part of Renard’s rump and give him a little nibble. Urging him to cave in and play with him. For old times sake of course.

will also be doing my rolls in that thread! this was a miss :)

“quite a walk now. but that’s never stopped me.” renard inclined their head, smiling pleasantly.

the curiosity lingered as to just what donovan had done to have brought the wrath of so many down upon them, but they knew it wouldn’t matter to them, whether it was something minor as trespassing or straightforward as murder – all that mattered was the result.

“seven?” more than they were expecting. given that their frame of reference in these wilds was apparently a cannibal who had tried to rip their throat out (and who was, if their nose was not misleading them, here with the saints now), anything would have been a surprise. “i’ve missed a lot. it will be…interesting to meet them.” an understatement.

at which point donovan started moving, pacing in slow circles around them, staring at them, and renard could not miss a tell that blatant even without its accompanying invitation.

there is something you learn, when you spend your time focused on becoming little more than a shadow, and it is that any noise when bearing down upon your enemy is not only a waste of your time, but an alarm to others. renard’s stalking and killing, back then – when it was a serious thing – was always done in perfect silence.

with donovan sweeping in after them, though, just like their last spar back in the woods, like the tug of war with the deer, renard growled, even as his teeth scraped into the flesh of their hindquarters. a playful bite, to match the tone of their own response.

it was all very playful. after all this talk of yuèlóng, of packs who had chased him from the forest, renard wondered what – darting in with jaws opened wide to grip donovan’s back leg, their teeth clipping together just short of the limb – he would do when he ceased to be.

Rolls will be in the same thread from now on ;>

Just narrowly does Renard’s bite miss his leg. The powerful jaws of his opponent — his fellow pack mate — snap only centimeters away from him. He’s sure Renard could really do some damage is they were having a friendly spar. He can tell they’re equipped enough to do so; in skill and strength.

So Donovan rounds back into them, going in for a hopeful gnashing of teeth to thrash them by their scruff. Sadly, his attempt fails. Leaving his own jaws to do the same clicking noise as they Alamo together. Missing his mark brings mistakes, now he must suffer the consequences of Renard’s next attack.

side now exposed by their failure to land a blow, renard arced around like a cat, flattening until their chest brushed closer to the ground. donovan's teeth clipped together just above their scruff -- they could feel the movement.

body now poised under donovan's chin, renard jerked their head up; their jaws slid back open, teeth raking over his shoulder as they moved past, moving quickly in the hopes that they would be out of his range before he recovered enough to strike again.

Rolled a miss again lol

His teeth are able to snap an inch away from Renard’s scruff, but again it’s a miss. Either Donovan is off his game, or Renard is really in theirs. Either way Donovan needs to get his head in the game. He thinks this especially when he feels teeth scrap his shoulder. The other before him trying to slink off to avoid his teeth and they’re lucky enough for it to be successful.

On the other hand, Donovan can’t help but laugh at the game they’re playing. It’s a fun game of more than just strength, but of wit as well.

the dice every time we spar. i swear.

three years of honing speed was in this moment enough; it carried them past donovan’s jaws as he moved in their wake, and his own teeth came back down short of their hind leg, on nothing but empty air and accompanied by a laugh.

renard twisted their head around as they came to a sharp stop, peering back over their shoulder, tongue lolling briefly from between grinning teeth. “you’ll have to be faster than that,” they teased, taking a slow step forward, one which lengthened into a sprint as they lunged to grasp donovan’s muzzle in their jaws.

Renard spins and eyes Donovan down briefly before they’re rushing toward him again with a witty one liner. He doesn’t have enough time to truly dodge, but all he’s able to get out is a quick laugh at the teasing comment. All before his muzzle is quickly snatched between two sets of teeth. The bite could be a damaging one but thankfully Renard understands where the words spar and fight differ.

So surprisingly all Donovan does is stand their. Face scrunched up in the type of way when someone’s about to get hit and he just takes it. Hilariously, he peeks open one eye at the other and mumbled laugh escapes him.

jaws locked around donovan’s muzzle – a gentle grip, by necessity – renard held him until it became apparent he was no longer interested in fighting them, until he squinted one eye open and started laughing as best he could with a set of teeth tight around the delicate structure of his nose.

instinct made them reluctant to set him free, for a moment, but they weren’t here to do damage. with one last shake, renard unhinged their jaws, a low half-growl of a laugh slipping from their chest that echoed donovan’s own.

“again?” still teasing. “do you ever finish what you start?”

Rolled in the thread again lol

Donovan shrugs and laughs a bit more freely now at the other as words. “I might. Just gotta keep you on your toes.” He hums and his smirk becomes quite devilish.

He’s kicking up red dirt as he speeds to snap at the curly tail centered above Renard lower back. It’s a near miss of course but he doesn’t stay to find out what will happen next. After jaws click audibly together he’s making a run for it. Trialing plumes of the clay particles behind him, expecting Renard to follow.

they were not far apart now – a foot at most. when donovan lunged in after them, they were ready, even if it stopped their reply before it was even half out of their mouth; they snapped their tail away as he lunged towards them, red dust pooling in the air.

his jaws shut on nothing; renard, turning after his tail in turn, also missed by inches, only succeeding in biting down on a mouthful of sand in his wake. shaking their head, they scraped their tongue against the flat of their front teeth and took off after him, deeper into the canyon.

above them, the sun was setting in earnest – the angles of the red-sand cliffs cast wide swaths of shadow across the sand and scrub brush, patches of darkness that renard stayed hidden beneath as they ran.

Donovan isn’t made for speed, nor is he made for distance — some of his only flaws. About thirty seconds of good running has him panting to cool himself and he reluctantly comes to a stop. He’s sure Renard is in better shape than him when it comes to running on any given day. He waits for the other to catch up, if they already haven’t.

Looking over to the other he laughs bashfully. “Not good at running obviously.” He breathes out, speaking about himself. “Wanna go check out the den?”

renard prided themselves more in their speed and stealth than their ability to overpower – there was a reason they preferred an ambush to a straight fight. they weren’t much more suited than donovan in the other regard – they were northern-born, used to ice and snow and forest, not cliffs and sand and sun.

it was not a competition, but what could they say? they were panting before they caught up with him, mouth dry and sandy; for a moment they ran neck and neck, renard keeping an eye to the side unless the spar was to restart again, until he came to a sudden stop.

it took several paces for them yet to slow, kicking red dust in their wake; they swung their head around to donovan’s words, ears cupping forward with a huffed laugh of their own.

“you don’t want to make it a race?” renard smiled with their teeth, though by now they were both panting; the offer had no weight behind it. “lead the way. you can tell me of the other packs we’ve made such good friends.”

The other comes to a skidding halt, throwing up the red clay and turning to face Donovan curiously. This tease makes the larger male give out a low rumbling of laughter and he waves them off with a large paw. “You’ll have to go to someone else if you want a real race, speedy.”

He continues in the direction they were originally intended to go, eyes settling on Renard. “Of course!” He exclaims lively. “We have build so many good relationships over the past few weeks I just can’t fucking see straight.” He chuckles after his own words. “Come, I’ll explain as we walk.” 

With that Donovan will lead Renard to Warriors Heart. Explaining to Renard the whole situation of the enemies and friendships the pack has obtained in their travels. This should be fun.