Bramblepoint Back beat, the word was on the street that the fire in your heart is out

Peregrine stared at the puddle of vomit between his feet, swirling his tongue around in his mouth as he swallowed his sour spit. Strangely, he felt incredibly hungry after emptying his gut. Well, perhaps that wasn't so strange. He hadn't thrown up due to nausea; it was the intensity of his headache that had caused him to puke. But it had died down a bit and now all the black wolf wanted to do was find something to eat.

He began moving slowly through the trees, walking slowly to avoid inviting his headache to reawaken or jostling his tender stomach. Honestly, though, he felt a lot better than he had even thirty minutes ago. And soon he struck the trail of a wild pig and began picking through the regrowth of underbrush in search of some hot, raw bacon.

He had struck out from the woods many days ago, leaving Xan and Ocra behind as he traveled beyond the mountains to the west and farther still. His purpose was threefold. There might have been more wolves suited to fledgling Tortuga beyond the reaches of the valley. Sriracha felt a desire and a duty to recruit them. Further still he wanted to know the lay of the land, to know what lay beyond the imperious mountains. He wanted to know what the political playing field was, and whether some outside thread might close in upon Tortuga and her friends.

And so he found himself far from home in unfamiliar lands. This was not upsetting so much as exhilirating. Beneath the boughs of a myriad of trees. They were tall and stately or bend and gnarled, and beneath them the underbrush was clinging, their thorn's catching in Sriracha's fur. He ventured bravely on, avoiding the bramble thickets when he could. He, too, caught the scent of a wild pig. Hunger turned his stomach, and without thought he was off, chasing down the smell, unaware that somewhere near, another wolf did the same.

did i try to stop? no. no i did not

Flaris found it easier to leave Donnelaith when he had stopped seeking validation for doing so. It seemed silly to confine himself there simply because he hadn't a reason to do otherwise. He had no great interest in the territories surrounding his home, but that didn't mean he needn't explore them anyway. Deciding not to travel towards his usual haunt, near the women of Malkaria, he instead chose to  head inland, further south from the coast than he had gone before.

As he was most comfortable with, he found himself within an aromatic orchard, reminding him deeply of Bergamont— a place whose own name had come from the misspelling of a fruit— and he knew he might find something good here. The scent of swine grew steadily as he moved, and inadvertently he crossed the trail of a wolf (Sriracha), who he followed with mild interest. The searching wolf came into view ahead, and Flaris made a noise to attract him, eager to place himself in a hunt that might now include three; noticing another, more shadowy figure, moving along a path similar to them in the near distance.

Peregrine snagged himself in a particularly tangled thicket and emerged on its other side only after several minutes' struggle. He shook out his coat with a quiet huff, then continued on the game trail. The pig's scent was pungent in his nose now. When he passed a fresh pile of its dung, his salivary glands activated. He trotted through a clearing and then began winding along a narrow rut through the underbrush. He was getting hot, hotter, hottest... there! He spotted the pig asleep between the roots of an old tree, partially obscured by leaf litter, and pounced.

The thing let out one last, shrieking squeal before Peregrine's jaws crushed its throat. The black wolf then swung around, dragging the carcass across the filthy forest floor, back toward the clearing. Once there, he released his grip and panted from the exertion. As he waited to catch his breath, his head lifted, ears cupping as he detected the sound of nearby footfalls. A growl bubbled up his throat as he loomed possessively over the carcass, one broad paw coming up to rest on the slain pig's flank.

Little bit of PP on Flaris. Hit me up if you want me to change that.

The squealing of the pig came shortly after the bid for his attention, and Sriracha was divided between both in a moment of indecision. He did not stall, still moving inexorably towards the source of the squeals. But he did turn his head, acknowledging and beckoning the other male on. 

They broke quite suddenly from the gnarled underbrush into a clearing. Sriracha was pleased by this new development, he had thorns clinging everywhere on his coat. But he did not think on it long, for they had found the pig and its killer. No worries, he said warily. We're not going to take your kill, you got there first. Fair and square. Sriracha cast a glance over his shoulder at the other man, the one that had followed. At least, I will. I don't speak for my shadow here. Oh, but his mouth watered at the thought of just a few bites of that pig.[/ooc]

// herp. late joiner.



Dakarai's ears perked straight up at the squeal of a pig. "oooh boy" he murmured well aware that he'd most likely get into trouble as the area stank of male wolves. The intoxicating scent of pig blood overrode his senses and he padded forward, straight into the view not one, not two, but three other male wolves. He blinked once at the pig, and then to the fellow wolves and to the pig again, his tail swaying behind him uncertainly "I uh...hello" he said regretting his choice to follow his gut, which to his horror let out a loud protest right then and there. "oh boy" he muttered again. Looking toward the one who had killed the beast (hence the pig blood staining his jaws) he dipped his head "hello, i'm afraid i lost my senses for a moment. I wont be taking your catch, don't be worrying about that" he said, and lifted a paw once giving them all another glance before he sat down "Not a pack i hope?" he asked, a worried look coming across his face.

The male turned to Flaris, and he noted first the slash of black across his handsome countenance that was attempting to mask the red-brown glow of his eyes. At his bidding, the Donnelaith gentleman followed. His steps were light and jaunty, evidently very content to follow the lead of others; even complete strangers. A sharp squealing drew them to the exact spot of the kill, where a large black wolf loomed possessively over the slab of fresh bacon. The bold smear of blood across his mouth went quite nicely with the pair of evergreen eyes above it, and Flaris tucked his ears back in a show of deference for the man's property.

"He's quite right," he mused, coming to stand neatly at the bandit's shoulder. "I fancy myself a great many things, but a thief is not one." Another figure appeared just then, just as dark as the hunter, but with eyes too blue to have changed much since his birth. He was intensely aware now that there were a lot of perceived threats here to the wolf clutching his kill, even if they all seemed to come in peace. "We're all strangers," the earthy wolf told their latest company. "And I fear we're crowding the man with the meal."

Smiling politely, he wiggled the white tip of his tail and shimmied several steps backward.

What seemed all at once, there were three wolves crowding his space. Peregrine's hackles stood on end as he hunched over his kill. He fretted that he'd somehow trespassed on a pack's territory and it seemed he wasn't the only one to share this concern. But the male's question pretty much clarified the matter and it quickly became clear that nobody intended him any harm, nor posed a threat to his meal. That was, if he took them at their word. But they were perfect strangers, so of course Peregrine didn't trust them.

"You are," he agreed a little brusquely, eyeing each of the other wolves in turn. The first sort of looked like a masculine version of Fox, though the mask reminded him of Ferret and it put a sour taste in his mouth. It was unfair but Peregrine immediately disliked him. On the other hand, the second stranger's resemblance to Atticus made him feel a sudden stab of nostalgia. Finally, the last man vaguely reminded the Redhawk of Lasher. The nostalgic sensation grew. This was the very place he'd often met with his former lover and best friend and that coincidence wasn't lost on him.

But none of it made him want to share his meal. "I'd be more comfortable if you all backed off," he grunted in a low voice, his eyes lingering a little on the ruby-eyed man whose scent only now made its way into his nose. He even smelled like Lasher, the telltale scent of The Sentinels causing Peregrine's dusky jade eyes to widen slightly. This possibly should have endeared him to the man but it just made a sickly wave of nostalgia wash through him.

In fact, it was so bad that his earlier nausea returned with sudden and brutal force. As his face twisted into a grimace and he pressed his lips together to stave off the bile creeping up his throat, Peregrine abruptly turned away from the pig. He didn't say a word as he darted into the trees, though the three strangers more than likely heard the sound of him gagging and heaving. This went on for perhaps two minutes before silence fell. The hunter did not return to reclaim his prize, leaving the trio to fight over his abandoned spoils.