Falls of the Hinterlands rhaeadr

So fiercely has he been guarding the borders that he allows himself a small day trip outside the territory, to sightsee and to hunt. And there is much to see. He travels back the direction from whence he came, a little apprehensive at what he might find. These lands were not good to him in the past; why should they be any different, now? Still, it is foolish to fear something based on coincidences, and so he marches onward, taking the long way around the impassable barrier mountains and coming to an idyllic scene at the foot of waterfalls.

Llewellyn laps at the clear, crisp water, sending ripples out to merge with the swift current. He stands at the foot of the crags; on the opposite side of the river, the land slides further downwards into a thick forest, the leaves beginning to show their autumn colors. It is quiet and peaceful, and very much what he needs right now. While he will never truly be lulled into serenity--he has seen too much bloodshed for that--this is the closest he comes to that divine state.

He knows he cannot stay long, but he will relish this, for now. The scent of small game is thick in the air. If he's lucky, Llewellyn could fell a deer. He is strong enough, he thinks, to drag it back home if he moves slowly and carefully enough.

@Fire

While this takes place after she's arrived home and been settled a while, she's going to have memories of this incident that may make it seem like it happened more recently than it actually did, lol.

She's covered in blood.  This time, it isn't from a man she could have loved; it's from some prey animal that put up too much of a fight.  But it still reminds her of him in a way.  Even hunting has become hard for her.  Now whenever she finishes off some creature, she imagines tearing through Nashoba's throat, and then Siarut's.  

It makes her sick.  She leaves her kill where it falls and avoids the urge to retch.  

She feels useless.  What good is a wolf if she can't hunt?  What good is she if she can't defend her family?  She follows the stream to the falls in the hope of washing up, and finds that she is not alone.  Her solemn gaze finds Llewellyn's.  From the smell of blood, she can't tell if he's found what he's looking for.  Did you ever find somewhere to settle?

The russet wolf from moons ago arrives, the smell of blood with her. She is liberally coated in the stuff; it is only that of prey, but it flares his nostrils nonetheless. He lifts his head and licks the droplets from his chops before speaking, voice less gruff than it had been after a cool drink.

"Moonspear," he answers succinctly, without preamble, just as she had done. "Just over the mountains, if you are not familiar with the kingdom." He eyes her, gaze moving from her pelt to the trees behind her and back. She is perfectly suited for autumn--she blends right in. He meets her verdant eyes once more. "I do not believe we exchanged names on our last meeting," he rumbles.

He gives a small bow of his head, foreleg bent slightly with the movement. "Llewellyn," he decides, remembering that she was not familiar with Mynydd before; thus, there was no harm in giving out his true name. He raises his brows. "You are?"

He is a welcome distraction from the thoughts that'd been whirling around moments before.  He is large, virile, and she feels small and awkward in his presence.  She finds herself wondering if she's pretty, then squashes the thought without qualm.  It didn't matter anyway.

Moonspear.  My pack fought alongside yours in a war not too long ago.  Ceara hadn't been there for it, but she knew enough about it if he asked that she felt comfortable divulging the information.  

I'm Ceara Blackthorn.

His ears shift far forward at this revelation, a glint in his eyes as he speaks as soon as she's finished speaking, nearly cutting her off. "What is your pack called?" he asks, a bit sharply. Charon had mentioned no allies, no friends--nearby, that was. How far away does this woman live? Or are his and Charon's definitions of "nearby" different enough that Moonspear does, in fact, have allies in these lands. . .if not strictly nearby?

Ceara Blackthorn. She gives her full name, which in turns sends a pang through his stomach. It has been moons since he last gave his own complete moniker. Llewellyn ap Gwynedd Bleddyn. It is a source of pride, and once one of power, as well. But the Bleddyns have fallen from grace, beheaded and bloodied, and it is no longer relevant. Likely just an unusual bit of trivia, for wolves of these parts.

"I have not heard of this war," Llewellyn explains, trying to amend his hasty query before she has a chance to respond. Sunspire, and now this. It seems that there was a lot more to learn about Moonspear than he had initially thought.

He turns sharp for a moment, and she sucks in a nervous breath, tensing in turn.  Her brows furrow as she rakes over their conversation.  Had she said something wrong?  Was she being too pushy?

Her lip flattens until he responds, but the pit in her stomach does not disappear.  We're the Redhawks, she admits quietly, keeping her gaze trained on the ground as she watches him in her peripherals, now guarded against his presence.  He is large and intimidating, and it is not something she'd realized until she considered he might be a threat.

I don't know much about it.  I didn't fight in it.  I just.  It didn't matter, anyway.  Um.  She remembers suddenly that she is covered in blood.  The pit in her stomach rolls, and she threatens to vomit for a moment before she shakes off and moves to bathe in the water.

Redhawks. He mouths the name to himself, trying to commit it to memory. It is something he will have to ask Charon or Amekaze about, when he returns. If they had warred together once before, they could war together in the future. Was the enemy still out there, somewhere? His mouth quirks, suddenly troubled, before he notices her obvious discomfort.

"Are you all right, miss?" Llewellyn asks, watching her face fall before she steps into the water to bathe. A crimson cloud billows around her; she is a lady of fire and blood, and he stares at her for a long, quiet moment, riveted. There is something undoubtedly alluring about her, this timidity within strength. He wants to explore it further.

"I did not mean to snap," he says softly, wondering if he could have caused this change in attitude. "I came after the war, too. I did not know of its existence until now."

How long had it lasted? How many had died?

Blood rolls from her fur and into the water.  It doesn't help.  It just makes it look like there's more, but it's just diluted or something.  The golden prince — Llewellyn — speaks again and her head whips up, ears standing at attention.

Oh! she starts, glancing at the sapphire jewels of his face, so different than the pool of blood that streams from her coat.  Um.  Yeah, I'm good.  It's been a weird few days.  Weeks.  Months.  It's been a weird fucking life, kind handsome stranger, do you want to hear all about it?

Haha.  Jesus, Ceara.  She walks back to shore, shaking out her coat to intentionally stir up the blood.  The water, for the most part, is clear again by the time she is back.  It's okay.  I don't know much about it.  But I can tell you what I do know, if you want.

He is silent, watching her. He understands the concept of "a few weird days." His life had been strange for moons now; while it is starting to settle down, it is still nowhere near where he saw himself a year ago. Away from Mynydd, his family dead? He would have thought himself mad, had he come to that conclusion. So, in truth, he gets it.

"I would appreciate that," Llewellyn says sincerely, dipping his head in acceptance of her offer. "The more I know, the better." He isn't really sure if she refers to the war or her life in general. He hopes for the former, but if it helps her to talk out her problems, he is happy to sit and listen, at least for a little while. He doesn't owe her a thing, but it doesn't hurt to make a new ally--and perhaps a friend, if things go right.

Lucky for Llewellyn, she had meant about the war.  She wasn't interested in sharing everything that had happened, especially since she still saw herself as weak because of it.

Our pack used to be called Redhawk Caldera, because well, we lived at Redhawk Caldera.  There was a pack nearby called Blackfeather Woods that were attacking and kidnapping wolves.  Pack wolves.  In broad daylight.  We had different leadership then, but they took our current alpha's sister from another pack.  That would've been Drageda, right?  The one Bat had just come from?

She lowered her head.  She escaped.  Their pack came to us for tactical stuff.  We sent the children away, split, and attacked.  We won.  But, then, where did Moonspear fit into this?  I don't know if Moonspear worked out their differences with Blackfeather or not.  But I know that somehow, you helped us, at least.. that's what I think I was told.

Great.  Anyway.  Blackfeather scattered after we beat them, but they came back later under different leadership.  So we moved out here.

Well, that was a lot.  She scuffed her paw along the dirt and cleared her throat.  So anyway.  What're you doing out here?

He settles in as she begins to speak, expecting a drawn-out tale. Not so drawn-out as he might have expected, it turns out--but no less bloody than any of the great legends. His lips curl at her description of Blackfeather Woods--the name itself is repulsive enough, but their actions? Abhorrent--and he gives several curt nods regarding what came next, glad that the coalition had bested their enemy.

Their enemy. Charon had mentioned none nearby. What does he know about these lands? It seems like everyone and everything is coming as a surprise.

"A bit of hunting, scouting," Llewellyn says, quickly fending off her question. He is much more interested in the relationships between packs. "So Blackfeather Woods. . .the pack still exists? They were not snuffed out for good?" His eyes grow cold, harsh. "You cannot cut the tail off the serpent and expect things to be done. It will grow a new tail, come back stronger than ever." Young Ioan had taught that lesson too well.

His face is sour as he continues. "Perhaps we should band together again, take them out once and for all," he suggests darkly.

He is a rather focused and demanding man, quick to deflect her inquiries with answers that require no follow-up.  She wants to be annoyed by this.. but something inside of her can't help but to be charmed.  Now that is annoying.

She gives his first question a curt nod.  Blackfeather Woods indeed still exists — at least, as far as she knew.  They still existed when Siarut in his family left, but she did not know how many wolves that left them with and if it was enough to stay formed.  

His second is met with an inscrutable look.  For the things they had done to her family, she believed they deserved to fall.  But could she do it herself?  Could she kill again, this time unprovoked?

I do not know where we stand with Moonspear, or if my pack would be willing to put forth their mercenaries.  They had newborns; they chose to move away instead of deal with them while they were still weak.

There is a dancing glint in her eye as she regards him.  I doubt the two of us could take on an entire pack.  But if I ever catch them out here?  Totally a bluff, but he didn't have to know.  I'll take them down.

Now this is an idea he can get behind. Llewellyn isn't against the idea of taking matters into his own hands, as long as no one besides himself gets hurt. His eyes glint in similar fashion, the beginnings of a smile stretching his lips just slightly. He likes her willingness, even if it is a bluff. Bravado has the chance to turn into real bravery, after all.

"Me too," he responds, nodding. "Do you know where these woods are? Maybe I will pay a visit nearby, to stake out the place." He didn't know whether he had the capacity for infiltration. No matter; it would be near impossible to fight them on their own turf, where they had the advantage. Better to catch them out in the open.

Ruefully, he glances up to the sky, where the sun is sinking faster than he'd like. "I must return to Moonspear," he says. "I like to walk the borders in the evening. Will I see you again, Ceara? Will we take these bastards down once and for all?" It is a mission that sent newfound fire coursing through his blood, and he is grateful to her for it.

She offers a small nod.  They are past Moonspear, almost at the foot of another mountain range.  From what I was able to tell, there are plenty of places to hide out nearby.  Forests, the Caldera, meadows.  Fresh water, too.  

She turned her nose to the sky as he did, and met his gaze as he admitted he was leaving.  But he asked something that surprised her, and her tail swayed for a beat.  Will I see you again, Ceara?

Before she could stop herself, she said, Do you want to?  She took a single step closer, then stopped herself.  Even if all he was interested in were pack relations and blood, it felt good to even think she was wanted by this striking man.  We can meet again here.  I scout pretty frequently.  Go home to Moonspear.

She moved to leave before she made herself more vulnerable, no matter his reaction.  It wasn't Llewellyn's problem that she was so insecure and she didn't need to open herself up to getting humiliated again.  And Llewellyn? she called over her shoulder, a shimmer in her colour-stripped eye, Take care.

He stores the information away carefully, knowing that he'll need it. He is fairly well tied to Moonspear for now, but when Hydra and Lyra return. . . There is a malevolent cast to his gaze that fades when he looks at her, especially as she asks a question of him, rather than answering his own. A half-smirk blooms across his muzzle before fading again, his eyes regarding her coolly.

"I will see you here again," he says decisively, with a nod. They part, but not before she throws one last thought over her shoulder.

"You do the same," Llewellyn responds, watching her pad away before heading off himself. Next time, perhaps, she will not be coated in blood. Then again, that could have been why he finds her so charming.