Twisted Slough enshrined in crematoria

set for tonight! for @Renoir @Tachyon @Constantine. powerplay to get them going

the flesh of the kill had rejuvenated lasher, and it was at a ground-eating clip that he led the three of his wolves away from donnelaith, calling out to @Dante, @Osprey, and @Aria as he went. he did not like to leave the pack so unguarded, but if a herd could be found, the strength of more than one wolf must be needed to bring down a hooved ruminant. 

it was the trail of elk, used in the summertime and well-worn, that the druid followed. he had scented no fresh spoor in some time, but he held faith that the animals could be found again. keeping the sea at his shoulder, he lowered his muzzle from time to time to scent the ground, lifting it to take the salt-tinged air. nothing.

it was a deep and twisted swamp in which they paused for the evening, for beyond it lay the promise of new lands, and lasher wished to move inland. and yet it was a dark and horrid place, and his hackles bristled at the stench and the threat of what might live here.

as they trailed the faded scent tachyon became less and less familiar with his surroundings. at first, the new landscape was breathtaking -- jutting blue ridges, rolling and boundless hills -- but now it filled him only with a sense of dread. for even here in this unknown frontier the bugs had came and swallowed life, leaving nothing but desolate twigs and dirt in their wake.

tachyon was silent as he followed lasher, his features drawn in a semblance of solemnity. he had lost the scent a long time ago, and was having difficulty concentrating.

Renoir was surprised by the invitation to go on such an expedition, but he was gracious enough to accept. It was not as if they would be gone long. Plus (and he would never admit to thinking this) he was fond of the idea of spending time with the dark man, with or without company. The boy was nervous to leave the forest just as the Alpha was, although his own worries were focused squarely upon the young girl Deirdre; it felt as if he were being pulled away from Monet's side all over again, and was morose as he followed the others. Affected so much by a somber attitude, it would appear as if Renoir's spirit had been severely depleted by the destruction wrought by the bugs, when really it was his own thoughts that sullied him.

Heeere. :c I promise to be better.

The invitation to seek out prey had been offered, and the youthful man was only too eager to prove to his father of his worth. Hesitant to leave behind Eilidh, Deirdre and Emaleth, Constantine had ushered a quick goodbye to them, not fussing over them as if it was a huge deal he would be gone for a few days.
 
Quiet in his travels, the ebony wolf strode closer to the side of his father, though did not ignore his other companions, despite his unfamiliarity with them. The days were solemn as the scent they tracked remained faded, and with a worried glance, Constantine’s eyes took in the sights of devastation as they continued along.
 
He was unfamiliar with the Hinterlands, and the wariness that coursed through him stemmed further from malnourishment – his very soul was on edge with the need to help his family survive.

ill PP tachyon in the next round; @Constantine & @Renoir, feel free to reply <3

the quartet was silent, wary -- lasher's glance traveled between the other three. he too had lost the elk-scent, but did not wish to speak this aloud, afraid it would crush the barely rallied spirits of his companions. presently he came to the foot of a clearing; here he searched for scent, for movement.

"there is water nearby. prey oftentimes comes to drink. let us go," he intoned, lengthening his stride into a slow trot that carried him in the direction of the stream he could hear, but not see.

As Lasher spoke, Renoir was watchful, listening but hesitant. A part of him wanted to return home to where it was safe, to bask in the company of the angel child and forget about this foolish adventure. He was not adventurous. It worried him that they'd travel so far, only to starve themselves to death before returning. It worried him also that they'd find nothing and come upon Donnelaith with only their withered bodies as a result of it. But Renoir trusted in Lasher; he enjoyed the man's company and was loyal to his rule, so when he mentioned they were to move, he followed.

Lasher spoke quietly, and the moment his father began to lead the way, the youthful man followed suit. His gaze would drift between his companions, though not linger upon any of them. Devastation came from the lands in waves, and the dark Mayfair’s movements were slower than usual, his energy far gone.
 
His ears perked at the sound of the gentle trickle of water, and as his fiery eyes fell upon the stream, his eyes sought out the potential for fish, wondering if they lived within the shallow waters of the stream. Anything would do right now – the desperation was becoming more real each passing day.

last round?

tachyon fell into step alongside lasher -- the four of them thus moved in brooding silence through the barren land, though a flutter of movement caught the druid's hungry gaze. geese, though they were lifting into the air, and too far away were the fowl for the wolves to pursue.

still ... "let us follow," he suggested. "perhaps they will settle where they can be reached." it was not a herd they followed, but a flock; the clawing of his belly allowed him no ability to turn away, and so lasher set a slow trot for his party, after the winging of the geese overhead.

tachyon had fallen to studying the dejected features of his comrades; all three of them worn and grim citizens. he kept his thoughts to himself, though his exhaustion wore plainly on his thin features. with the despondent cheerlessness only a starved refugee could muster he padded after lasher, obeying without command his order. he was not outwardly optimistic, though he kept his thoughts tightly lidded.

Last from me.

He did not notice the movement, not until Lasher's gaze directed him towards it, and even then Renoir was reluctant to give chase. He was no hunter. He had never known the feeling of the wind upon his back, the pump of his heart or the thrill of adrenaline coursing his body; he felt out of place. But his duty was to the pack. He was here to seek food for them all, alongside these fine men, and so he would not give up, much as he wished to turn around and head home. The boy nodded to Lasher's words and then moved with the others, and roamed along.

An ear would tip in the direction of his father – the Mayfair yearling cast him a glance before studying the flock above them. It was hard to keep the saliva from pooling within his jowls at the thought of a plump bird, but the swarthy wolf managed to maintain himself.
 
With hope spurring him forward, Constantine dutifully trailed after his father and pack mates, his own voice remaining as silent as the nature around them had become.