Blackfeather Woods bruised by god

Tagging @Kove but all welcome. You're welcome to attack her (no death!) but be aware she's covered in wounds already. @Ithrik is the one that brought and left her here. She's in the northern part of the woods.

She never knows where he’s taking her. She’s learned to stop asking. He only talks to her when he needs something from her, or to twist her mind even more. At this point, she scarcely believes the memories of her former life. Day in and day out is nothing but darkness, torture, and abuse with the occasional meal and sometimes he doesn’t hurt her. Moving her keeps her on her toes, and prevents others from finding her. Her heat would likely attract attention and leaving the mountain behind once her season would avoid any further run in. The speed at which they move hurts and he negatively reinforces her speed, fighting against wounds, fur caked in blood, dirt, and bodily fluids—he never cared to keep her clean—and blood cake hard against now-irritated flesh on either side of her muzzle from her scarred sockets.

But when they begin to approach claimed land, the scent of markers becoming strong, she starts to panic. She slows, which warrants retaliation, and she shifts close to avoid any unnecessary pain. Which only lasts a few minutes because the smell is stronger, to the point she is certain they’re right on the border, and he does not show any signs of stopping.

Tension builds in her system and her heart begins to speak faster. She opens her mouth to say something, to object, but he sees it and snaps at her face and she doesn’t know who to fear more. Is he on a suicide mission? Is this planned? She stumbles over her feet, struggling to keep going against better instincts, but her inability to see anything prevents her from really objecting. She does not trust him but she’s forced to stay close, given her only chance at survival.

After a moment, she realizes there are only one set of footsteps to her ears. Her head turns and she reaches out for the brute—when traveling, he’s always within reach—and she opens her mouth but nothing comes out. Ocra whines, using her nose to smell the wind for which direction to go. “Where are you?” she whispers quietly as her heart sinks. He does not give her an answer, does not let her know he’s there, and she’s turned around somewhere unfamiliar and he’s nowhere to be found. What kind of sick joke to leave her in the middle of claimed lands without any idea of what is going on. They’re going to kill her. Ears fall against her head, limbs shake, and she slowly lowers to the ground—a messy, hollowed out shell of a woman.

hesitantly, the woman had begun to leave @Shivali with @Astara and @Averna when she ventured from the den. she did not venture far in these days, wishing not to invite the dark ardor of wolves blackfeather had wrong. today, rather restless with their constant yearning for her, relmyna had nursed her daughters into a velvet slumber and called lowly for the pale woman.
with her children in the care of the lovely northerner, relmyna had trotted into the eldritch wood, relieved at the chance to arch the tension from her body in a less cramped environs. however, as she paused, the scent of a wolf she had not seen in some time came to her. teeth flashing in a silent snarl, relmyna dipped her patchwork body low to the earth, until the thread of the monster's scent had faded.
in its place, blood, and the aspirant paused, lifting herself slowly and approaching on small paws poised to flee if the man should show his skulls'-grin again. but he did not come, and presently relmyna stepped to the side of a bedraggled and much-abused wolfess, letting out a hoarse whine in entreaty that she meant no harm.

Ocra doesn’t know where to begin. She can’t back track her way out of the forest since he’s taken her all over the place, crossing their scents intentionally. If she tries to walk around until she finds her way out, she runs the risk of danger—either in the form of another wolf, or something unfamiliar on the ground—but it is less than ideal. Calling for someone runs the same probably as the first, since she’s already in the territory, but if she sounds apologetic enough, maybe they’ll understand?
 
Either way, she does not have a chance to decide when the sound of another approach. She flinches at the sound, swinging her head to reveal two sightless holes in her head, and she immediately shrinks back. Ocra does everything she can to make herself small, touching the ground with the underside of her muzzle, but a beat later she turns to expose her throat (hopefully in the direction of the stranger).
 
“I-I—” she hoarsely manages. She takes a breath and tries again, if allowed. “I didn’t… please, I didn’t mean, He made me,” she pleads.

the she-wolf was blind.
she had been blinded — relmyna saw the spill of rusted blood beneath the staring caverns, and was seized with a horrible wave of nausea. it passed in a moment's time as her dark ears strained to hear the frantic words spoken by the other. with no ability to answer, the motherwolf gave a soft croon and dipped her muzzle to stroke the matted cheek of the other, if so allowed.
perhaps the scent of milk that clung to her, the warmth of the flank she pressed to the other's own — perhaps these things would soothe the wounded creature discarded on blackfeather's doorstep by a face relmyna would rather not remember.

i couldn’t help myself but to reply right away sry

For a moment, there is nothing. Panic rises in her chest and out her throat, releasing a shaky breath while the rest of her trembles. She feels more eyes on her, that they’ve got her surrounded, but the blood pumping into her ears prevents any real indication of who is around her. It’s not until she hears the crunch of the ground close, the soft sound coming from another, that her attention is directed toward the other.

The side of her muzzle is touched and she yelps; though for more fear of pain, she can’t tell. All she feels is pain, all she’s known for... weeks? months? has been pain. Even compliance has not saved her some strife but it’s all she knows anymore. Ocra tries not to pull away suddenly, afraid to anger, and she does not register the sweet smell of milk or the effects it has on her.

Ocra does not move from the touch, too afraid it’ll anger whomever has approached. Her breathing increases the longer it goes on, her violent shudders fading into trembling every few seconds. Her chest still heaves violently, unable to subside the panic, but maybe, if she doesn’t move, they’ll be merciful in their actions. There’s not an ounce of fight left in her and a swift death is all she asks for, slowly lifting her a chin a little more and rolling over to her side to give the stranger the option.

the woman reacted poorly, and relmyna withdrew. seafoam gaze flickered over the wounded body of the other — she fought to keep her lip from curling at the realization of the scent wreathed through the woman's coat. however, the priestess drew a breath — a low whine floated from her throat. unsure of what else might persuade the ragged wolfess that she was no threat, the priestess gingerly settled to her haunches some feet away, her dark ears splaying in consternation and worry. soon, soon she must return to the pups, but for now relmyna focused her soft gaze on the other, seeking to convey some sense of safety despite the silence of her ruined tongue.

The other woman shuffles back and she can only tell by sound as she settles back somewhere else. Her submission must be enough to prevent any further touching, but she does not understand why she is still breathing and not a bloody mess on the claimed land. Slowly, her nose moves across damp soil but she doesn’t know where to angle herself. Not that it matters, anyway.
 
Ocra swallows a hard lump in her throat (which is still exposed), and offers a gentle whine that causes her to flinch away, but remains otherwise silent on the ground.

was going to wait for rel to reply again buuuuuuuuuut

Kove was not the first to find the battered woman, nor did he see her abuser. He’d been away at the borders, trailing the southernmost reaches of the territory and marking where his scent had begun to fade. Nothing drew him away from his post nor lured him towards the duo, nothing aside from luck; he did not rush, not even as he spotted the pair, the scene concerning only because there was a trespasser and the traces of an enemy.

He was slow in his approach, coming up alongside his packmate, at whom he nodded; he thought to ask who the other woman was, yet the words would not form after he turned his gaze to her, eyeless sockets the first thing to be noticed. His body grew rigid and his lip twitched, a silent snarl threatening to break his normally stoic features, for the sight and the scent combined were too much. It was a sign, a message, that made him lose rationally for a brief moment and seek to tear from the deserters their throats—

—but he did not do so, nor even rush off to try and trail after the male that had entered his land. He focused on the girl instead, though his voice was meant for Relmyna: “Clean her up and treat her wounds.” Though Blackfeather was far from a sanctuary, Kove was not some bloodthirsty monster, nor would he leave someone to sit and suffer when they had done nothing awful to him.

the whine that broke from the shattered woman's throat pierced relmyna, and she would have moved closer again, had not the dark master appeared. offering subservience, relmyna nevertheless observed how kove's gaze roamed over the wounded creature.
he was not a harsh man, nor a violent one; kove sought peace where it could be found. and this was evident in the tonality of the command he gave to the woods' mute. noting the tension in his stance, relmyna dipped her pale head and slipped forward. this time her touches to the wilting wolf's shoulder were firm, definitive — she sought to gentle chivvy blackfeather's newest charge to her feet, sidling along the other's flank to support. a soft glance was given to kove before relmyna turned her attention back to the invalid.

She hears the distant footsteps of another and she remains statuesque. She wouldn’t fight should they retaliate against her for her the crimes of her captor. He’s scent long ago, fading from the area, though she’s certain it’ll never be gone entirely. Imbedded deeply into her memory, he’ll haunt her until her last day—which can’t come soon enough—but not knowing what’s going on around her really plays part. Her life has been limited to single caves and places where she doesn’t have far to move, her senses suppressed by damp, stale air. Though the forest is a dark canopy from one side to the next, everything is… more. All the sounds seem louder, scents stronger, the fresh air overwhelming the longer she lays there.
 
Someone—male—speaks and she flinches, turning her nose inward a little. There isn’t much she can garner from the command to take care of her, but what does that mean for her? Why prolong the execution?
 
When the other female gets closer, she twitches with each crushing step and flinches roughly when she’s touched again and whines at the pain it causes. There’s nothing aggressive about it she it takes her several seconds, but eventually she gets to all four feet, hunched over and low to the ground where her nails can dig into the soft soil.

the wild thing flinched and cowered, but relmyna knew only a firm hand would guide her now. assuming the dark master would trust in her ministrations, the evoker did not glance toward kove again. instead, she lowered her muzzle and pressed it gently against the wounded wolfess' shoulder, beginning slow steps forward and maintaining contact to guide the other. it would be without swiftness, but relmyna had determined she would allow the other the time she needed to ensconce herself in the glen.