Moonspear beating wings they whisper, a baby's breath

AW

arcturus had grown significantly in the last month; his form boasted new height, and while still sylph-like and juvenile in stature, he walked with a new, near predatory grace. despite his growth he was still smaller than revui, who towered over his littermates in a manner that could not be rivaled. in light of this arcturus had learned to pick his battles with his brother carefully; and carried himself now with a sort of worldly wariness that suggested the boy was finally learning from the world, not just existing in it.

following the scent of hare, arcturus found himself near the trickling creek he and hydra often visited. lapping at the water lazily, the boy fastened his gaze on the green-rimed bank, where he saw two small eyes staring quietly at him on the waterline. arcturus bent down, watching the frog intently as it stared back, treading the water on thin fingers with a nonchalance that was deceptive.

Life on the mountain is slow, compared to all he has endured these past moons. A rebellion, a bloody coup, ending in his family's deaths. Life on the run, having to disguise himself in conversations with even the most innocuous of strangers. All to protect his identity, his legacy. Now he finds himself as guardian of a mountain he scarcely knows, and it is a challenge more exhilarating than anything. So much to learn, and so much to do. A blessed distraction from the horrors of his past.

Llewellyn treads the stream today, taking comfort from the gentle babble of the water and the songs of summer birds in the trees. He is alone for a while, until a dark form ahead catches his attention--a wolf, by its scent, but too small to be one of the adult members of Moonspear. Remembering his encounter with the brown-pelted girl, he smiles gently, approaching the youngster with quiet but steady steps. The pup watches something by the shore, golden gaze fixed like a seal on its target.

He gives as low a chuff as he can muster, hoping not to startle the boy or his quarry. The golden prince settles low to the ground, inhaling deeply, having too just caught the scent of hare on the wind. His sapphire eyes flicker from the young man to the stream and back; he waits for the pup to address him on his own terms, but will give him a nod of greeting, when he decides to look Llewellyn's way.

as the dark cub hung in the water, he found his breath suspended - his gaze focused solely on the idle eyes of the frog, which seemed to stare back with impunity. instinct then commanded arcturus to dive for it -- yet his instinct was sharper than his reflexes, which were slow and full of puppish clumsiness.

a ripple of water was all it took for the frog to depart; arcturus watched with a cry as it disappeared under the cover of disturbed water. he splashed around with an angry expression, pausing as a chuff met his ears.

he froze, having just caught the first glimpse of the wolf which hailed him. arcturus marveled at the man's pelt, which was a burnished sunset hue -- before he chirped "hi!" in greeting. his short time in moonspear had not taught him to be wary of strangers, for his relatives were too hardened to let danger slip into his life; thus, he reviewed this male with a sort of childish interest, curious if he would play with him or show him cool stuff only adults knew how to do.

Before his chuff rings out over the water, something disturbs the balance, and the creature--a frog?--splashes away, leaving the boy empty-jawed and frustrated. This anger quickly turns to intrigue as the dark pup notices him, bright eyes raking over the unfamiliar form. "Bad luck, bachgen," Llewellyn says in sympathy, nodding toward the opposite bank. "You'll get him next time."

He tilts his head, smiling down at the child. "My name is Llewellyn. I'm new to your pack." The prince delicately dips a toe in the water, testing it. Cool and clear, like any mountain spring should be. "What's your name, lad?" Llewellyn thinks he must be a sibling to the other pups he has seen on the mountain, seeing that the only breeding pair he knows of is Charon and his wife. Still, stranger things have happened.

arcturus was still studying the gilded hilt of the male's fur; how brilliant it seemed in comparison to his drab and dark features -- a vial of sunlight given corpeal form, interrupted only by the sweep of deep-sea navy eyes. arcturus did not know what a sea was, but he knew that color - it was the color of his family, of his father's stern gaze. wrongfully, the cub simply assumed this aurelian stranger was kin.

he didn't have much a repertoire besides 'hi', and glumly looked about him as the male spoke with the fluency of a creature well acquainted with conversation. he splashed the water and noted the ridges sullenly -- up until the male requested a name.

a name arcturus could do, for he was conditioned well to answer -- but not without fumbling. "arct--arcturus." the small boy resonated, his tongue thick and heavy against the roof of his mouth.

The boy is shy, enough that he has offered only two words thus far, and stumbled over one of them. Llewellyn holds no judgment toward the child for this--plenty of shy pups, after all, grow out of it and become fine wolves. He has witnessed it first hand. And even should this boy remain reserved and quiet for the rest of his life. . .one does not need to speak to kill. His fangs and claws will do all the talking for him.

"Arcturus," he rumbles, dipping his head in a slight bow. A fine name, fit for a warrior. "A pleasure to meet you." He has many questions, most of them revolving around the dark-furred lad's relations, but holds them back for now, hoping not to overwhelm his new acquaintance. Instead, he settles in alongside Arcturus, keeping close enough for his words to resonate without having to pitch his voice over the babble of the stream; far enough away that the child is not made uncomfortable by proximity.

The prince points his muzzle toward the water, the other bank, where the prey had disappeared. "Were you trying to catch a frog?" he asks, glancing over at the boy. Llewellyn's mouth stretches wide in a smile that lights a small flame in his soul--a tiny flicker of remembrance. "My sister, Seren, and I used to sit on the banks of the river, back home, and try to catch frogs. More often then not, we ended up soaked, water up our nose."

the aureate male was governed by the gift of gab; arcturus watched him silently in the water, nostrils flaring tiny rivulets of currents from each exhale. he blinked slowly at the male's cordiality, not unlike the very frog that had hastily left their company.

upon being asked about his inetnions, the boy simply gave a brutish nod. yet his tail seemed to stir underwater at the mention of the male attempting his own game hunt - exactly as arcturus had done moments before. it seemed perhaps they were not entirely different - perhaps a strategic revelation carefully doled by llewellyn, that he might earn arcturus' trust and confidence.

in any event, arcturus was not worldly enough to catch that, though he did gurgle loudly in the water in a rather hopeless response.

The pup is attentive, if somewhat quiet. He offers only a nod to Llewellyn's question; the warrior has no choice to continue with the barest amount of feedback. He is not sure if the boy is even paying much attention to his words, or only mesmerized by his strange accent (he has yet to find someone in these wilds that sound anything like himself or his family).

"You have to be still, lad," Llewellyn explains, his body stiffening in illustration. He holds this pose for a moment, silent, then lets it go with a smile. "My sister was better at it than me. She had patience--I had nothing but energy. She would keep still as a stone, waiting for the frog to come near enough. . .then she pounced, and the creature was hers. Seren brought home many more frogs than I ever did. Terrific frog hunter, that girl."

He feels a pang for Seren. She had married a man from the Iowerth line--Padric, he thought his name was, or perhaps Padrig? Their first litter of pups had been born this year; Lllewellyn had gone to visit them, a moon after their arrival. Shortly after, Ioan had launched his coup. Seren lived far enough away. . .had she and the babes managed to escape?

It is a longshot, but Llewellyn prays every night that she is safe. She and her husband, and their three beautiful children.

"The frogs still croak," he says, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat. He sounds much like a frog himself, punching each word through the haze of emotion. "Do you want to give it another try?"

he watched as dark bubbles rose to the surface, interrupting the thick water with fragile rims that rose and splattered along the water's surface. llewellyn arched his body and demonstrated perhaps the flaws in arcturus' approach -- sodden with water, the boy imitated the golden wolf's pose.

he was unaware of the distance emotionally put between them in the moments that followed. already the black cub was looking for his next frog -- and still held stiffly the pose instructed by llewellyn.

his gaze swept back to the male as he spoke, noticing the hoarseness in his voice. arcturus gave a silent nod, quick to train his attention back on the murkwater for any sign of frog-like disturbances.

He is loath to disturb the boy's hunt; he makes no motion to step forward or back, his body still. Instead, his sapphire eyes are fixed first on Arcturus, then the opposite bank, looking for frogs. They had a tendency to blend in with the murky ecosystem, but their beady eyes usually stuck out among the reeds. And where there was one, there must be more. Llewellyn just hopes the first attempt hadn't scared the others away for good, today.

"Do you see anything?" he asks softly, lips barely moving. His voice is a ragged whisper on the wind--he trusts it is enough to reach the pup's ears. Besides the customary hum of insects and sounds of an alpine forest, it was very quiet; each word fell like stones into a pool, rippling out. Every syllable somewhat consequential. He knows well that his rumbling tones could alarm the prey, just as much as a twitch of his body could.

arcturus felt his body still, suddenly aware of the world around him as if he had been pulled out from some strange reverie; the cool water swept around him and he was aware of a subtle current that played along his toys. his paws felt the flat, smooth surface of the river-stones, the scintillating glint of sunlight on the water that rippled in the far banks, the steady breathing of the honeycomb-hued wolf besides him, the quiet sigh of reeds bent in the wind, and besides him, the subtle ripples of water reflecting off of his stilled body and leaping ever outward.

his eyes were the only part of him unbroken by immobility: stern as the glissading features of a crocodile parting water, he drifted towards the shadowed reeds soundlessly. ahead of him in that shaded egress hes saw the fat form of a bullfrog reclining on a brilliantly green lily-pad, its thick fingers splayed out and soft white throat pulsing as it watched the world with two spherical, liquid amber eyes.

he drew closer, closer -- a shadow descending on that arch of ropy water-reeds and tall cattails. the bullfrog tracked his doom's approach with a languid sort of indifference, and just as the boy felt victory was certain in his grasps, its speckled form slipped casually from its plantly throne and all that was left was a lily rising in insouciant bobbles in its place.

Everything came together perfectly. The boy was quiet, still; the frog that emerged to rest on the lilypad looked for all the world completely and blissfully unaware of the present danger. Llewellyn's eyes widen--he is afraid to even blink, for even the slightest movement could ruin the hunt. He holds his breath, watching and waiting. Nearer and nearer, the shadow slips--

The boy comes up short, the startled frog making his getaway a heartbeat before capture. The prince knows Arcturus will be disappointed by yet another negative outcome, and keeps his face neutral, thinking that even the slightest hint of distaste over his features might come off the wrong way.

"They are tricksters, frogs," Llewellyn murmurs, voice low and gruff. "Some even say they are shape-shifters, transforming into fish or snakes at their convenience." He gives a firm nod to the boy, gaze warm with praise. "You did well, Arcturus," he says. "You did everything right. Not every hunt can end in success. That is the way of the world."

indeed, a pall of disappointment overcame the dark cub, who watched the bobbling water mournfully. when he looked up, he caught the warmth of llewellyn's gaze -- how artfully the guardian hid his disappointment, if he had any -- for arcturus felt slightly encouraged in wake of his defeat. llewellyn was a master orator, and the boy listened with a flick of his ear and his gaze faithful.

he managed a small half-hearted smile in response, but did not attempt again.

no -- that was enough frog-bobbing for the day; arcturus' heart couldn't handle another demoralizing blow. slipping downwards so his belly scraped the sand, arcturus blew bubbles with his snout underwater, thoroughly done with the frog-hunting game.