Swiftcurrent Creek earth skills

the general's daughter moves like a lethal shadow through the creek's claim. at first, she follows the trail along the winding, serpentine creek; frigid moonlit night blooming to colder dawn, to cold but slowly warming morning.

the fox, wily thing by nature, avoids her. leaves her false trails.

determination strikes true and holds like blade burrowed into stone.

the commander does not give up and when she finally catches up to her target, launches at herself like the feral wildling she'd been born to be.

bellatrix catches it and keeps it's suffering as minimal as she can with a quick and painless death. she gathers it betwixt her jaws and takes it to the creek where she cleans it ( and herself! ) of blood and bits of carrion.

@Arric had recently accepted a newcomer to their ranks, and so when a dark wolf caught his gaze—turbulent like the sea, with which a hint of steel blue glinting from her pelt—he could only assume this was her. Even more that caught his interest was the stark pelt of the fox kill she now cleaned, and moving closer, the champagne pale eyes of the man remained fixated upon her face for now, acknowledging her presence with a low rumble in his chest to draw her attention.

“You must be Bellatrix?” His words soft for now—though loud enough to maintain the space between them, and the man moves closer to the creek edge for now, muzzle sweeping down to take a drink of the cold waters. He felt a certain disconnect from his comrades for the time, and a stab of guilt that it would likely become worse with his potential upcoming travel, rather than better.

the water weighs down the fox as she lifts it from the creek and sits it on the stone that leads to the squelching silt of the creek bed that was exposed by the slight recede of water during the cold months, when ice formed sometimes thinly on the surface, sometimes thicker if cold enough.

this, she stands on.

it is slick and messy but she cares only, for the moment, to clean her muzzle and chest fur.

it is this action that she is caught in when the low rumble breaches the quiet babbling of the creek, drawing her ears and attention.

she turns to face the man draped in shadows. for a moment, she mistook him for arric until he speaks and she takes him in a bit more slower. missing that strange marking of the eye.

and asking if she was bellatrix.

i am, the commander replies, stepping out of creek and creek silt to stand upon the dry rocks, turning to face him in full.

Her manner seemed no-nonesense—something he was used to, given Moss’s company… or lack thereof. He regarded her quietly—the step from the creed bed, the stare she offered him and the few words. He began to close the distance between them, a wolf coming to investigate his fellow pack mate.

“Welcome to the Creek,” he offered then, still offering her space as his own paws lay their prints to the silt and slush. “I’m Akavir.”

He allowed his eyes to trace away from her and study the waters instead—the heart of their home. “What do you hope to accomplish in the creek?” Not an easy question, possibly—but something he wanted to know.

bellatrix watches as he moves nearer, accepting the welcome with a dip of her head in gratitude. thank you, she murmurs in the soft seconds between his welcome introduction.

akavir.

ah, so this was the alpha that arric spoke of.

a soft tilt of her head is given at his question; considering. it wasn't something anyone had ever asked her before and so it throws her for a bit of a loop. thus far, she'd just been surviving. her joining had been about survival.

nothing more and nothing less.

i'm not sure, she admits after a moment longer; allowing the slip in her usual confidence.

She was silent—though he didn’t take it as insult. If anything, he idly wondered if she would be the perfect companion for Moss—two steadfast and silent guardians who worked with little spoken,

At her next words, he considered. “What interests you most?” Champagne eyes were sharp upon her—his stocky form easing as he transitioned to what he hoped would be a casual conversation as the warmth of the sun pressed down upon him. The thaw would come soon. Snow would give way and melt, and with it, new life and spring.

He was ready for that.

he poses a different question, one that has an easy answer.

the commander, ever the general of the saints' daughter, knows her answer to the very marrow of her bones.

diplomacy ... and sparring. guarding. protecting. fighting, but that felt like a harsh umbrella term for his numerous skills. she didn't usually seek out fights for the sake of it. she wasn't reckless — at least, not anymore.

luckily ( for her ) she'd grown out of those tendencies.

“How do you feel about holding a training session for anyone who wants to attend for fighting techniques? Including wolves from Kvarsheim and Riverclan.”

It was only a suggestion—and as she mulled over what she wanted to do, Akavir wondered if she even desired such a purpose.

While the creek could always use guardians and fighters for itself—if they could offer further knowledge it would help make good on their word to their allies.

akavir makes her an interesting offer: to hold a training session: for the wolves of the creek and the wolves of their neighboring packs interested in attending.

it reminds her of her time in sangeda for a long moment, calling up memories of the time she spent there with a soft pang of longing in her chest.

i would be honored. the general's daughter finally speaks, with a soft, ghost of a smile tugging at the edges of her lips.

She seemed pleased with the idea—and so he left it there. She had been busy upon his interruption of her—and so he found this a decent place to end his introduction to her, allowing her to continue cleaning her kill.

“I’ll leave that to you to plan and execute then,” he offered, his tail giving an idle flick through the cool spring air. “Let me know if you need any assistance—or feel free to utilize anyone else here with such a request,” he offered, giving one final nod before stretching his shoulder muscles and then coming to a full stand. “Welcome to the creek,” he finally offered, and, if she spoke no more, the man would turn and take his leave.