Ravensblood Forest Wer um die Göttin freit, suche in ihr nicht das Weib

far above, something follows the shadow below. among great monoliths she walks, made small in this wood. the trees bleed, and now and again she noses at the hardened sap that drips there. the rolling calls of ravens are common here, a familiar comfort. König der Raben; er nahm ihre Augen und setzte sie in seinen Schädel. whispered tales, almost forgotten, now. 

she walks the edges of the wood, quiet and made dim by the long shadows cast by the surrounding peaks. pain lances suddenly through her paw, breath leaves her nostrils sharply. an examination reveals something slim and pale, and she works to seize the gently curving object betwixt her fangs.

@Donovan Azura ?

Steals

The great wolf-dog’s mind is casually blank as he walks along through the newly claimed territory. One with trees so tall they could touch the sun. He’s never seen a forest such as this in his life until the predicament with his former pack. The trunks acting as walls surround him on all sides, along with an abundance of other miscellaneous under brush.

His nose alerts him of a strangers presence in the area. The breeze flows along his body and tickles the hair of his ears and rustles his whiskers. A mischievous smile makes its home on his maw and he starts in languid pace towards the stranger.

Upon arrival, his golden eyes shimmer in the dim lighting as they catch onto another form. A form smaller than himself yet still tall enough to impress. Their form is lithe and the silvery grey of their pelt is eye catching to Donovan. Though it seems they have a problem of some sorts. Their teeth dig into their paw, perhaps something they stepped on. So Donovan thinks now is the time to reveal himself, even though he isn’t trying to be particularly secretive or sneaky.

Coming out from behind a wide tree trunk, a curious smirk on his face he hums at the sight of this new wolf. As he gets those few steps closer their scent is revealed to be female. He’s intrigued but keeps a comfortable distance away before he speaks. “Something in your paw, dear?”

fangs slip around the smooth object, struggling to gain hold. fangs tighten suddenly around it as paw steps grow near, hackles prickle only a moment when the voice breaks the silence. the Rabe does not like being surprised, and it makes the matter of her paw more urgent. a sharp tug, and she frees the object, pressing her paw to the earth gingerly. 

coal-dark gaze finds the stranger, a burly male with the sun set into his eyes. the object hangs still from her lips, with a neat toss of her head, she tosses it toward him so that it lands in the middling distance between them. a rib bone, sun-bleached and gently curving, one part painted crimson with her blood. a rabbit's, once, before the heart it protected ceased to beat.

“Mm, seems like you did.” He hums casually. Only coming a few steps closer to paw at the bone.

Then his golden hues meet her own once more. His smile isn’t devious, or even sly, it’s an easy smile that doesn’t display maliciousness but it’s not exactly innocent. “What brings you here then?” He asks, curious as to why she wanders in these woods. He’s not very territorial and most likely wouldn’t start a territorial fight until his pack grows significantly. Until then he’s all ears. A certain unstable curiosity that always picks at his mind. He tilts his head to her, brows shift up easily as his handsome face gives that same smile back to her.

he moves to paw at the bone, her gaze following him. it's been a while since last she'd turned to violence, and in the face of someone as large as he, she knows the fight would not be easy. but the smile he wears is not tainted by maliciousness, despite his size and the scars painted against his skin. 

still, she does not mirror it. expression is neutral as she allows her gaze to shift first to the nearest deposit of blood-red sap, and then upward, toward the unreachable canopy where her most recent companion surely lingers. she has no express reason save interest, but the male walks with a confidence that belies a familiarity with the place that she does not have. auds flick toward him and head cants, asking silently much the same of him.

He gives a casual hmpf as she continues her most unusual silent treatment towards him. His smile remains as his golden hues never leave her own orbs, made up of an interesting shade of onyx. Consistent eye contact is a dominating and confident feature in wolves and dogs alike, but it’s something that comes normally to him. His body language is consistently confident and he carries himself with pride, something not new to him at all. Although he he forgets, all too often, the effect it has on those who see him as a potentially dangerous creature. Which is wise of them. He is dangerous when he wants to be and most of the time looks menacing due to his appearance alone. Though, in this moment, he’s casual in a carefree sort of way. Too lazy to want conflict at the moment and much too curious with this silent raven of a wolf before him.

So finally, he rolls out a chortle. “Strong silent type then, huh?” Then he comes closer yet still stopping about five feet away. With a dip of his head he introduces himself. “Donovan Azura. As you can tell I’m attempting to claim these lands as my own. I’m rebuilding my pack.” He states quickly to answer any possible questions of why he would claim such a monstrous amount of land. “You don’t talk much do ya?” He asks again. This time his tone of voice is more playful than anything.

her brow raises a fraction, though the rest of her remains eerily still. it is not the first time she's heard that descriptor. he draws nearer, shrinking the distance between the both of them. near enough to lunge, if need be, and once more does her gaze trace him, noting the old wounds she could strike if need be, wondering at his stamina. there seems no need, not yet, but preparedness was a trait most often lacked by those who failed to emerge victoriously. 

in answer, she steps forward, drawing near enough to brush her muzzle near his shoulder, scenting the scent the wind had been keeping from her. she ought to know it, should this man seek to make himself a leader, one day. withdrawing, she steps past him, gesturing to the wood beyond, and back to him. she wants a name for this place, these bleeding monoliths.

The woman seems calmly suspicious of him and that’s good. He expects nothing less of a seasoned warrior and if she is no warrior, it matters not. The female is intelligent enough to be wary of him. Though even when he’s being rather hospitable, the male is always ready to stain his teeth crimson if he’s provoked. For now, doesn’t believe the ashen wolf is trying to or is going to attempt and provoke him. Hell considering those impressively long legs she could out run him is a few seconds flat.

As he continues his observation over her, she bravely comes closer, a leathery nose closing in on his shoulder to inhale his scent. Keeping his head high, Donovan doesn’t move, the only things that do are his eyes. Then as quickly as she scents him she’s walking past him, gesturing ever so silently towards the rest of his forest.

Honestly, he hardly knows how to reply to the female. Donovan is having some trouble reading what she is attempting to communicate with him. He’s usually a man of words and action, not silence. 

In a guess he’s finally speaks. “This place is called Ravensblood Forest. Or so the legend says.” He chuckles. Then he gazes up to the canopy above. “Ravens make their homes here in great numbers and these monstrous trees bleed, so I feel like it fits.” Walking forward to stand beside her his eyes rake along the many trees of all types. “This is the territory where the Saints will come to life.”

ravensblood. she could not have given it a more fitting name herself, agreeing silently with the male. he moves up beside her, and auds move to flick in his direction even while her gaze remains steadily on the wood before them. he discloses something more, then, before lapsing into silence. a dream, an ambition, and she is intrigued enough by this lace to ask for more. 

"saints?" comes her echo, more breath than word. it is low enough to pass for a simple stirring of the wind, and yet she makes no effort to repeat herself.

As they stand, basking in the glow in the serenity of the forest. The comfortable silence is bearable for the few seconds it lasts. Before the long legged she-wolf whispers a single word. Saints. He’s hardly able to do it and his own ears are mimicking hers as they swivel in her direction.

Eyes drift to her own and he nods. “My pack. The Saints of the Dying Light.” Then he looks away, a touch of pain evident in the gold of his irises. Not a physical pain — no — am emotional one instead. “I am rebuilding what I lost here in these lands.”

Again he finds enough strength in him to look back once more. “You don’t have a pack then? Doesn’t smell like it.” It’s merely a quiet observation. His intention isn’t to be rude.

he has lost, then, and seeks to rebuild. it is an honourable thing, the shadow thinks, to strive again for what one once had. but her thoughts on the matter, as with most things, remain unspoken. his gaze is somewhere else, and she does not seek to find it. 

his question is received only with a nod. she is alone, through no express attempts of her own to be so, and yet nor does she seek to change this. her darker shadow sweeps low, suddenly, dipping down from the canopy to rest upon a lower branch. it sidesteps, settling itself down as its gaze finds them for a moment.

He acknowledges her nod with a quick hum of his own. Then he’s drifting off into the silence once more. Until the flap of wings and a wiggling tree branch announces the presence of one of the many winged animals that reside her with him. The bird has no significance to him, it seems just any other bird Donovan has laid eyes on.

Now though, he doesn’t want to feel whatever he’s feeling at the revolting image of his pack being slain. He needs to entertain himself and the fact that this mysterious wolf isn’t a talkative, makes it harder for him to stay out of his thoughts.

He tilts a chin at her a smile beginning to form on his maw. “Do you fight? I’m itching to spar if you have the energy. Or maybe go on a hunt. Your choice, dear.”

attention is returned to the male when he offers a proposal, one she's rather in the mind to accept. one side of her muzzle curls for only an instant, the ghost of a smile, before she dips her chin. tail-tip twitches behind her as she shifts to face him, after a moment beginning carefully to circle to his right. 

once more does she move to analyze, auds pressed forward. in a true fight, she would have lunged to strike first, but in a bout to test her (likely somewhat rusty) skills, she allows the male the first move.

Roll here!

The smirk she gives have says everything he needs. Though Donovan waits a few nail-biting seconds to see if the ashen female will strike first, he ultimately decides that if she won’t, he will. Craning his neck to give a quick bite to the scruff of her neck labels the introduction of the spar. It’s more of a move one would use when playing, but Donovan enjoys starting off light at first.

So after he bestows then bite upon her neck, he bounces off. Planting his feet securely, waiting to take her next hit with a confident smirk riddling his face like usual.

a quick nip to her scruff, and they've begun. the wraith does not allow him time to recover; to waste a beat would only allow him to steady himself against the rebuttal. swiftness, she had learned, was crucial. her next move is a bold one, slipping low toward him and then striking upward, seating to grasp hold of the soft hollow of his throat, the underside of his chin. there is a rythm to a good spar she seeks to fall into, while at the same time testing the male with moves she may not usually use should purely victory have been her goal.

Gonna let her get that hit in without a dice roll if that’s okay. My attack was unsuccessful.

 

Donovan doesn’t expect the swiftness to which this wolf can move. Or maybe he was, he remembers thinking about how she could probably outrun him in a few seconds. Her long legs and body scream agility. She’d probably be a deadly hunter. He keeps that in mind if she sticks around long enough; he’s want to see how she fairs in a hunt.

Though even as her teeth settle neatly on his throat, right over the ever sensitive and crushable trachea, she’s surprised to find that she doesn’t put too much pressure on his throat. So he attempts to combat it by flopping a heavy, massive paw on her back and pushes forward in an hearty push. Yet it seems she has other plans and he’s unable to push her over.

---

her grip is true, though in a moment he manages to swing a heavy paw over her back. like a pebble beneath a paw, she slips free under the weight, sidestepping and yet remaining close. her grip is made loose, but not lost; understanding the predicament the male has put himself in, she moves to exploit the balance he'd sacrificed in attempt to pin the raven down. 

tightening her grip, she surges suddenly against him, in the direction of the paw he'd left on the ground. she is swift, and sure, and he falters beneath her grip. in a moment, she has born them both down toward the earth, hers a position slightly more favourable as she stands half-above him. 

rolled a success!

Successful!

Impressively enough, the shewolf takes advantage of his unbalanced weight. The paw he left on her shoulders ultimately ends up being his mistake and he’s not surprised when she’s shoving him with an impressive strength and sending them both towards the forest floor. 

Usually in any other situation but spars or fights (and even then there’s acceptions) he enjoyed behind underneath a woman, yet the competitive twitch he feels when she’s able to pin him goes off and he smirking up to her. Folding in his hind legs, he kicks out the silver wolf’s back legs from under her and pushes her with heavy paws. Rolling to his feet he wastes no time in standing on top of her, awaiting her struggle to get him off. If there is none, he’ll simply step off of the wolf to give her her space.

her pin is quick; his kick of her hind limbs just as swift. she falters, momentum finding her colliding with the earth. he is successful in moving to stand over her as she had him. she does not possess the brute power he does, and does not wish to use less-than-clean methods to get him off her once more; at the least not during a friendly spar. 

he withdraws, and she slips away from under him. she finds her paws gracefully, the wraith, steadying herself alongside him. tongue smooths a patch of fur on her shoulder, picking away a cluster of pine needles stuck there. gaze returns to the man opposite her, muzzle dipping neatly as she regards him. he's a more than capable fighter, if that much had not already been apparent by the scars across his pelt.

She seems to appreciate Donovan’s quick retreat from being on top of her. When she stands she does naught but clean the morsels of leaf and pine out of her ashen fur. He makes him laugh. A soft sound reverberating through his chest. He nods to her with a smirk.

“You’re a good spar partner, dear.” He offers as a compliment. “You wounded find yourself coming around these parts more often would you?” His face becomes a bit slyer and he quirks a brow to her. He jests, moving round give her a quick nudge on her shoulder if she allows it.