Twisted Slough in the big rock candy mountains, all the cops have wooden legs

All welcome! WoooOOOooo~ What’s that scary noise?

NOTE: Each of the traveling threads is a day apart. ♥ This is day six, March 26, 2017.

The thick miasma of rotting wood and murkwater was a drastic change from the clean openness of the seaside plateau, but although Lotte’s muzzle contorted into an involuntary grimace, she didn’t really mind the uninviting scenery. It wasn’t her turn to play sentry, but she found herself wandering nonetheless as tendrils of fog swept in and warped the silhouettes of her fellows into gruesome, unrecognizable shapes.

An unearthly groan with no discernible origin struck the air, starting low and sonorous and guttural before it rose in pitch and volume, breaking at its apex into a bloodcurdling shriek. It was a sound unlike anything Lotte had ever heard before, and her dark lips curved instinctively as she issued a soft warning growl directed toward whoever — or whatever — had caused it. Pivoting neatly, she turned to the wolves of Teaghlaigh with an expression of concern, but as she opened her mouth to voice her concerns, a piercingly cold wind whipped painfully through the moors, slapping hard against every wolf present.

Lotte sucked in a harsh breath as a cramp doubled her over, and in that moment the very earth seemed to shake as the thunder of what sounded like a multitude of hooves filled the air — but no matter which way Banríon looked, there was nothing to be seen. Deep draughts of the sour air seemed devoid of prey scent, though the smoke-and-shadow rogue could easily have been upwind from the phantom herd, and she turned to her packmates with an intent air, barely able to discern the wolf shapes in the fog.

During Teaghlaigh’s trip to their new territory, Olive will be experiencing the 7 stages of grief — grief over the pain of Dakarai losing (and regaining) his memory, being brutalized, BFW finding them, being demoted and abandoning Ravensblood Forest… and a little bit of postpartum depression. Each thread will represent a different stage of grief, dated in order (albeit, a little expedited). This thread represents stage three: anger and bargaining. 

Of course, feel free to skip Olive! I’ll bring her in when she is needed and/or addressed.

Oh also, I have literally no clue who’s watching the pups. Feel free to assume that responsibility if you feel so inclined… but let’s pretend that they aren’t alone <3

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The coast was behind them and so was every memory she had with Teaghlaigh; surrendered as if her livelihood was something to be taxed and owed to her oppressors. Blackfeather Woods had stolen the life she had known, and though Olive was generally quite open and accepting of change, this she had difficult reckoning with. Because of those hellhounds, her children would never know the forest she had loved so dearly; because of Blackfeather Woods, Ceannsach had to abdicate the forest he claimed and made his home; because of  Blackfeather Woods, Lotte’s children would be born in place that was foreign and unfamiliar. It was all because of Blackfeather Woods. All of it.

But was Blackfeather Woods really at fault — or was it her? In a past life, Olive might have cast blame completely upon the shoulders of their enemies. After all, such evil existed in the world and necessitated eradication because evil acted without provocation or reason. Wolves like the stygian pack that lived amongst the shrouded, dank woods needed no outstanding reason to seek Teaghlaigh out and threaten their sanctity. Sure, Olive had incited their anger with her desperate breach of their borders… but Olive did not feel such a violent reaction was justified. It was completely unfair — and the universe wasn’t usually so polarized. Where was the homeostasis that was so coveted by everything natural?!

No matter who was at fault, the fact of the matter was that Teaghlaigh was to transpose themselves [and had been doing so for quite some time] in a faraway strath. For a long time they followed the straight and narrow of the coast line but departed from such a trajectory for a more inland pursuit.  Their milieu was dark, dank and uninviting — and Olive felt distrustful of such an ominous location [for she and Dakarai had been slighted by far, far less unpleasant!] but did not voice her concern. Olive rarely did not away: not only was her opinion unwarranted and unwanted, but it was ultimately a waste of energy. Still Olive knew that their scouts and leadership would not put her or her babes in danger, so swallowed her reservations and tucked her family up against the base of a gnarled tree.

Their repose did not last long. The quietude was shattered with a bestial shriek, the likes of which Olive had never heard before. Immediately her feathered ears flicked down and back, pressed hard against her skull. The mother’s breath hitched in her threat and her gaze jumped from family member to family member, wondering if they were as perturbed as she by the clangor.  Slowly, she rose — joints aching and loose breasts swaying and gritting her teeth against the soreness she felt deep in her lower belly — only to be buffeted by a chilling wind. A glance over her gamine shoulder ensured that the cubs were warm with a caretaker. When the wind died, the sound was replaced with a subtle vibration and energy that ricocheted through the earth. Olive felt it through her weakened legs and a wave of vulnerability percolated through her spirit.

I will never transgress again if only you keep this threat from us, she beseeched the clouded heavens above. A hushed growl rumbled from her chest and her pale lips tightened around her teeth, flashing the tips of her ivories to a shrouded audience. Her growl did not fade and Olive assumed a most agitated stance — legs far apart to provide a wide, support base, hackles raised, her quicksilver coat rippling and rising along her spine. Whatever this threat was, she would not be a passive bystander any longer. Perhaps the universe wanted her to fight for whatever she wanted; fight for Dakarai, fight for sanctuary, fight for the trust of her leaders and fight against the evils in the world that wished to do her harm — and she would fight this, too.


 

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While the momentary recess upon the plateau had thrilled him to no end, Pendragon knew they would have to keep on moving. He didn't know where they were supposed to end up, but the man trusted his betters. The thought of raising the kingdom's children upon a cliffside brought him many pleasant memories of his home, but also reminded him of the dangers inherent to such a lifestyle; these wolves, although hardy and loyal, did not seem the type to do such a thing. So when they inevitably were made to march again, Pendragon had been on his feet and distancing himself.

Perhaps he had been with the group long enough now, though it was only a few days, that they trusted him? He was soon granted access to the children, but he assumed (almost with a bitter tinge to the thought) that it was because the rest of the wolves were tired of them. Many seemed less inclined to aid the new parents, outright avoiding them, and it made him wonder. On one hand he understood the wrongness of two common-blood wolves bringing unneccessary life (and work) into the lives of the general population; on the other, they were alive, and by that fact alone they deserved protection and care. So, when given the chance to watch them, he did it with as much zeal as he could muster.

Pendragon was never alone with them though — or ever, really — and as the pack crested a hill heading towards the nearby moors, he found even his attention drifting. There was a sulfuric stench to the air that made the bile rise to the back of his throat. A thick fog began to move in around the band, and while he was at first concerned with the safety of the child he watched, the guard partnered with him was swift to scoop up the babe and take them somewhere safe (though they cast a baleful glance his way). Without a purpose now, Pendragon chose to adventure through the mists.

They grew thick the further the pack migrated through them. Soon, wolves were replaced by amorphous shapes and dark, shadow-like replicas; travel was therefore stalled as an unease swept through them all. This fog was something ethereal indeed — nothing like the brine-filled clouds he was used to — and with a stern look of determination, Pendragon began to fjord his way through the thick of it in search of the queen. At the very least he could make sure she was safe, for she carried the future, and that was of paramount importance.

Powerplaying the puppies, @Sirius in particular.

@Hemlock, want to get in on this for Caregiver? It could be a Medic one, too.

@Pendragon, feel free to find the queen cowering like a useless pile of fur.

A strangled whine of pain crawled weakly from Lotte’s lips, shredding itself on the tightly clenched fangs it weaseled between. She issued a short, clipped howl — “Stay together!” — and immediately sought out Olive and Dakarai’s brood, winding her way through the fog and chasing away the current sentry with a low chuff. She had no way of knowing that Pendragon was on her trail or that he’d recently been relieved of his own duty. What she did know was that something in the air smelled off — and it was centered around the chubby-cheeked trio. Peering intently at the three of them, she noticed that whereas Cassiopeia and Aries were bright-eyed and bobble-headed, Sirius was practically listless in comparison. He was sleeping, but there was something different about him. His little body was chilled, and Lotte hurriedly hunkered down beside the three, tucking them against her thickly-furred décolletage. To stimulate the heather gray cub, she groomed him roughly, her tongue swiping insistently over his little body until he wriggled and fussed.

Rudimentary battle medicine was the most Lotte could manage — illness was beyond her abilities. She tipped back her head, intending to call for Hemlock, but just as she drew breath to do so, thunder rolled and lightning crashed, briefly illuminating the mire and turning the twisted trees into creatures of nightmare.

Fortunately, the puppies were still basically deaf.

Unfortunately, Lotte wasn’t.

The last time the smoke-and-shadow rogue had witnessed a thunderstorm, her entire home had been obliterated — Deirdre and Starbuck and Witchhazel and Castiel had disappeared — Lotte herself had nearly died. She had so much more to lose now, and she was utterly terrified. Trembling uncontrollably, she bent her body so that her throat and chin protected the children — and it would have all seemed very gallant and protective if it wasn’t for her squeezed shut eyes and traitorously whimpering throat.

Hemlock had parted from the main group for a bit, needing time and a moment away. Her strength waned, she'd brought her kills to Lotte for the children and she hadn't much eaten on her own. She didn't have the stomach for it. The cries of the Banrion brought her attention and Hemlock cut through the dense fog as swiftly as she could. She found the small cubs nestled beneath the Banrion and her eyes narrowed on the hunched figure, wondering what was happening. A gentle murmur and Hemlock reached out to press her snout behind the downy fur of the woman's ears. "We are here," She murmured quietly, voice pitched low enough that she might be able to speak without rousing anyone else's awareness. 

The storm raged near them and Hemlock stood, red fur head lifted to watch the storms nearby. Her eyes narrowed, looking back down towards the cubs. "We should try and find shelter, keep them from the cold." Then she could actually look them over and see what was going on; it would be good to get Lotte out of the elements as well. 

In the end, only @Arturo’s touch could save the terrified songbird. Hemlock, with Pendragon’s help, was able to get the cubs back to their parents and to a safe, warm place — but Lotte wouldn’t move. With her mate at her side, she faceplanted like an ostrich in a wind tunnel and stayed that way until the storm finally abated and it was safe to travel again. Then she got the hell out of dodge, because the slough sucked big time.