Meadowlark Prairie Codex

@Relmyna @Wintersbane

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Over the course of the past few days, Bruges had pushed his way Northeast, cutting directly through the mountains as it would save him time. It was tiring, but he didn't allow himself to falter. Led by a course he knew he needed to follow like a locomotive locked onto a track, Bruges snaked his way through the mountains, choosing switchbacks so as to not wear himself out. He proceeded down the slope, through grasslands and eerie forests, stopping now and again to tail a wolf's path, hoping he might find one that would lead to a pack. In this area, though, there weren't many to follow. The abandoned Caldera was calm and quiet, and he knew to keep going past that landmark. But from there, he did not know where to go, but knew to simply keep going. He had nothing but a vague idea, but for being vague, his motivation was incredibly clear. 

The morning was chilly even after the sun had been in the sky for several hours, and the dried grasss of the plains too quite some time to lose their layer of frost. The fog didn't make things easier- it was harder to pinpoint a direction in the fog, and by noon, the sun was visible, but the blue sky was not. He moved through long strands of dry grass, until a sound caught his attention. Something was moving through the grasslands near him, so he hunkered down, flicking his ears this way and that until he could pinpoint its location, and locked onto its scent. It was a fox; not his first choice for a meal, but it would do. 

Foxes weren't easy to catch, but this one was more focused on the mouse's den it was digging in, trying to catch itself a small meal to stash away for harder times. Bruges, slight on his feet, approached until he was close enough to ambush. The fox made an ugly sound and bolted, but Bruges was a furious shadow of black that descended upon it before it could get far. He was surprised to see, when he let it fall to the ground, that the fox was actually much like him- cloaked in a beautiful coat of black, although silver-ticked, and had a beautiful white patch on its chest. He almost felt sorry for the creature- finding it more beautiful than he was perhaps willing to eat if he hadn't been a lone wolf. 

But then, he heard another sound and flinched; he became immediately aware that he was not alone, and had the creeping sensation of being watched crawl up his spine, causing his hackles to lift slightly. His gaze swept across the dry grasses, searching for the one who had startled him, quickening his heartbeat.

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i'm going to use this for a tongue over teeth db quest. ^-^

there was a buildup of restless energy in wintersbane that he didn't quite know what to do with. fire had escaped. during his watch. he hadn't thought she'd be brave enough or even know how to find her way out of the labyrinth of tunnels that led to the world outside of wolfskull cave but she'd managed it. the gamma did his best to avoid mou or screech or whatever he fancied calling himself these days ( not that wintersbane was one to talk on that front, really ) if only because the tundrian feared that he'd snap and attack the scarred, pale boy himself. if war was brewing on this horizon it was all his fault and though relmyna seemed determined to protect him wintersbane couldn't say he shared the dark priestess' point of view. as far as the vartija patriarch was concerned mou-screech wasn't worth any of this trouble. wasn't worth the blood that would be spilled because of his continued mistakes.

it grows harder for wintersbane to remain objective about it, harder for him to remain diplomatic about the situation. soon, there would be no room for diplomacy. he thinks back to his time in the dark woods as a cream-puff cub and how he'd been told if his usefulness to the dark brotherhood ran out he'd be dealt with. apropos to that, it was a good thing he was not the dark master. if there was one time he agreed with that creed it was while he stood in the middle of this shitstorm mou-screech had brought to their doorstep.

wintersbane tries not to think about it; but the strategist in him knows they must prepare for war. it's a very real possibility ...mostly because redhawks have already been to their borders and with fire having escaped he does not trust her to keep her word. nothing had gone how it'd been meant to. wintersbane still has the tywyll card to play but he grows ever doubtful that his act of kindness towards one of their children will be enough to halt a war. perhaps it wouldn't even matter anymore. gratitude was a fickle thing, after all.

the morning is chilled, foggy, frost clinging to the ground and the remaining leaves that cling stubbornly to their last vestiges of life. he hears the tell-tale sounds of a hunt nearby and his hackles bristle. it is not claimed land but it serves as a hunting ground for blackfeather woods and wintersbane is nothing if not territorial. more-so since recent events. he approaches quietly and allows the shadows and fog to welcome him into it's embrace as he studies the lone male.

wintersbane does not remain in hiding for long. it'd never really been his style ( then again he was not made for stealth ). he shrugs past through the tall grasses and locks his glacial gaze upon the ebony man in full; assessing as he lets out a low chuff to finally announce his presence. nice catch. he compliments offhandedly with a gesture of his muzzle towards the limp corpse.

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514 words

WC: 676

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When the wolf revealed himself, it was with a casual saunter that he approached, putting Bruges a bit more at ease. Had the wolf been stalking him, he might have been more inclined to worry, but in this case, the fellow that approached him had a calm, conservative air about him and didn't seem too intent on pushing him away from his catch. A comment was made, but in an even tone, which caused Bruges to feel a bit more comfortable and relax. Now that he knew he wasn't going to be ambushed, the surprise left and he lowered his hackles, resuming his usual, cool-as-can-be air. He dipped his head, a mild-mannered smile gracing his ebony lips as he looked down at the fox he'd killed, taking the compliment in stride. ”Thank you,” He said, and paused. ”Although- I must admit, the resemblance is a bit unnerving,” He said, lowering his head to lift the fox and show it to the dark wolf so that he might see, with those icy blue eyes, the way the fox- with its silver-ticked black pelt- met Bruges' looks in that it too had an almost identical streak of white running down along its chest. He placed it carefully on the ground, as though it in some way was a representation of himself, and a grim one at that.

Bruges wasn't a terribly uperstitious wolf at all, but there was something about the whole situation- killing an animal that looked just like him, but smaller and as a different species- that caused him a bit of concern. How rare were black foxes, anyway? This was the first one he'd seen, at least up close. He'd seen a melanistic coyote once, but not a fox...And for it to not only be black, but to bear the same white pattern on its chest just seemed like a strange coincidence. Not that Bruges woulc ever be able to assign some sort of meaning to the situation, like how one might interpret a dream. No, he'd never dabbled in such areas, and so, interpreting the whole situation was completely out of the question. He was weirded out by the unusual specimen he'd just killed, and perhaps felt a tinge of regret for killing something that looked so handsome.

Bruges was a creature with an eye for beauty, and though he wasn't particularly attracted to males, generally, he did find himself admiring the coat that the stranger wore as well. Envy showed in his features as he regarded the handsome male, whose fur almost had a blueish tint to it where the light touched it after passing through the silvery fog that kept them in dim, mystical light. Around his proud neck the fur faded to a silverish grey, and trailed down between his forelegs before fading back into the darker hue once more. His eyes stood out in stark contrast to his dark, handsome features and he- like sister- felt himself inexplicably allured by the quiet stranger. He can smell the scent of other wolves clinging to the male's plush, lovely pelt, and he finds himself even more allured- but not surprisingly so, as the male carries the scent of Fire on him, even if the scent is incredibly faint. Bruges, a master at disguising his thoughts, regards the handsome fiend before him with a calm, warm gaze. ”You live around here? I hope I'm not too close...” He said respectfully, and looked down at the fox at his feet. ”But if I am, here- take this as a peaceful tribute,” He said, and he picked up the fox he was fairly sure he couldn't bring himself to eat. He carried it toward the stranger and laid it on the ground humbly. He didn't really want to hand it over- but he had to get closer...Just to make sure that it was Fire's scent he smelled, and while it was faint, there was no mistaking it. He stepped back, satisfied that he'd found someone of interest...And he definitely intended to get closer to him.

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as the black fox is lifted by the stranger — an invitation for wintersbane to observe it and see the similarities of the two for himself — wintersbane ghosts forward and fixing his glacial gaze upon the corpse, studying it's black pelage and the white mark upon it's chest and then, when the corpse is laid — gingerly, the tundrian notes — back upon the ground he runs his gaze over the man before him, assessing and observing him in clinical earnest. there is a grim resemblance that might've been a bit unnerving to another. wintersbane, however; isn't unnerved. he is a hellhound of mephala's own divine intervention and creation — as clever as the devil and twice as pretty — and a warrior beyond that. corpses do not perturb him even when they do bear a striking resemblances ( could the same be said if it was his own resemblance, i wonder? ). why did you kill it then? wintersbane concludes his study with a simple inquiry, curious but not accusing.

envy forms upon the stranger's expression as his eyes take in the gamma, and wintersbane has to fight the wicked quirk that threatens to twitch upon his lips. it's not as if wintersbane isn't aware that he's a eleven out of ten — can't have that much vanity without being aware of one's own physical beauty — it's just that he doesn't think about it. until he needs to use it. mephala was the goddess of sex ( among all the other things she wields and reigns over ) after all, and she teaches him that his allure is a tool and weapon both.

if you were too close, wintersbane draws on a soft chuckle. you'd know. and likely they'd be having a very different conversation. the tundrian's understandably been on edge recently and has been much more territorial than usual as a result. wintersbane's eyes flicker to the tribute briefly before his gaze falls and rests back upon the loner. i'll keep the tribute though, the gamma decides, and the corner of his mouth does quirk. unless you want it ...? a soft ( perhaps cruel since the admittance that the fox's resemblance perturbs the stranger ) tease is offered hinting at the tundrian's sometimes satirical sense of humor, with a gesture of a paw in the corpse's direction.

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392 words

the woman fire was gone.
though the churned scents might have told her the story, or questioning the pale yearling pair who had brought so much chaos to blackfeather, relmyna did neither of those things. with the growing cold, her seizings had doubled; the woman had spent several days secluded on the outermost corners of blackfeather wood, removed even from her children. and when she had reemerged, the listener bore the stark look of a thinner creature, consumed by her own worry and the growing illness burning within her.
no matter. the gods will provide, came her thought even unto herself. it was not to the core of the wood she returned; the ailing woman wandered out into the flatlands, tracking the proud scent of wintersbane through the long grass. 
voices; the stench of fox. the pale listener emerged from a thick stand of sedge to flank the darkfurred man. her turquoise eyes fell upon the slim boy to which he was speaking, a pretty thing limned almost in a feminity. it was the roguish charm of his features which bespoke masculinity; she had not spoken to him to know he was effortlessly charming.
mistrust bloomed immediately within her, and then a whisper.

WC: 945

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The icy-eyed male prowled forward to investigate the fox Bruges had shown him, and Bruges watched him as he did. There was a calm, cool air about this fellow that Bruges liked. He didn't seem to have the ego or the bravado that males sometimes put on when they were in the presence of another male- as though they were meant to out-masculine each other. If that was even such a thing. Bruges was fully aware of the fact that he was not a typical image for a male, nor was he a picture of strength- but he had his assets, so his confidence sprang from within a sort of comfort that he felt in living in his own skin. He thought he looked damn fine, and had a fair amount of confidence in his ability to survive, and that was enough. He didn't need to be Mr. Bigshot with all the bulk and muscles in the world- and he doubted that all females even found that particularly attractive. The fine fellow before him was quite a looker- he was in good condition, which was part of the reason he was so confident that the male was a pack wolf. But he also sported a handsome, unique pelt, and eyes that blazed so brightly, set like a jeweller's prized sapphires on a dark sheet of flawless velvet. But as bright as his eyes were, they were calm; stark, but steady. The fact that he didn't get ruffled or shy away when Bruges had approached was another good sign; this guy didn't feel threatened, which was excellent. That was one of the last things that Bruges wanted.

He smiled and shook his head when he was asked why he had killed it. ”I ambushed it, so I didn't have much time to get a good look at anything but its dark rear end,” He admitted. How was he to know, after all, that the fox had the same chest marking as he? He would have eaten it, likely, had Wintersband not arrived and startled him- though the coincidental similarities still would have concerned him a bit. Ambrose would have undoubtedly laughed at him, had he been caught shying away from eating his fox doppelganger, but luckily, Ambrose wasn't there. His brother would take any opportunity to belittle him, just as he would do the same to his younger brother. ”I'm not a terribly superstitious wolf, but...To eat one's own lookalike seems a little...Dark,” He continued with a chuckle. He wanted the dark male to feel at ease taking the fox from him, and to convince him that Bruges really didn't want it. He shrugged one silky, soft shoulder. ”I can catch something else later,” He said casually...After all, he wanted to seem capable, which he knew he was- so the fact that he was simply stating the truth gave weight to his words.

There was a tangible darkness to the way Wintersbane spoke about his pack...So he assumed immediately that strangers were not treated kindly if they strayed too close to the borders. Niamh had insisted that her packmates would treat strangers the same way- either attacking them or chasing them away- but Colt had demonstrated otherwise by greeting him casually and allowing him to stay quite near the borders without question. Then again, Colt was an exception, given the fact that he'd been pursuing Niamh at the time, and he probably just wanted to make a good impression. It didn't seem to matter, in the end...They were mates now, and Niamh hadn't even consulted him on the matter. He was lightly offended- but he'd prove to her that he was worth something, and that he cared about her. This was his chance now, as long as he had met the right wolf, and come to the right place. He had a feeling- a small, nagging feeling- that he'd struck gold. And given how charismatic and charming this fellow was, Bruges couldn't help but feel like it wouldn't be too hard to get in his good graces. He'd already offered him a tribute, of course, and he didn't seem to be put off by the way Bruges admired him. Perhaps there was a bit of mutual attraction- but he didn't want to test those water yet, lest he should put the man off by an advance that was unwelcome- as tempting as it was.

When Wintersbane gave him another chance to rescind his offering, he tilted his head to the side and bowed it slightly. ”All yours,” He drawled, almost affectionately. ”Though, I might have something else to add in, as a tribute,” He said, his voice softening slightly. He would have continued, but his attention was drawn past his handsome counterpart and to a female who came to his side. He felt a bit of dismay, and wondered if his chances of charming the male were gone...The two obviously knew each other, though he couldn't exactly tell how intimate they were. The female- thin, pale, and with a tiredness on her features which spoke of stress, though the gaze he gave her was warm and non-judgemental. Bruges had become very adept at hiding his thoughts behind his handsome, welcoming features. He dipped his head, greeting her as one would a higher ranked wolf, his tail swinging softly between his hocks. ”Well hello,” He greeted, his tone still eversweet. His gaze wandered back to the male, whom he offered a somewhat rogueish grin. ”You're sure I'm not too close to your pack's boundaries?” He teased lightly, even though this was exactly what he hoped for, as long as these were the wolves he'd been searching for.

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the stranger explains that he ambushed it and all he'd seen was it's dark rear end. it wasn't particularly funny but there's a soft snicker that is brief lived as it escapes the tundrian. as for the likeness, though wintersbane couldn't possibly know what he'd do if he hunted something with the same pelage coloration and patterns of his own he assumes he would go about his business unperturbed and eat it anyway. food is food. maybe. wintersbane offers offhandedly with a loft shrug of his shoulders. they exchange a few more quips and then another tribute is offered in a soft voice that piques the tundrian's curiosity; he preens beneath these offerings. is this what it feels like to be a god? the tundrian cannot help but wonder; to be offered things so freely in exchange for favor. it's a dangerous and powerful feeling and he swears he hears a low, delighted laugh at his contemplations: the tone of a siren's call that could split the earth in two with it's fury if caught in a bad mood.

mephala.

most days the night mother is silent and the dread father has yet to speak to him in a tongue he understands; but this does not mean that wintersbane does not constantly feel sithis' presence. he feels them both.

before wintersbane can inquire as to what else can be offered as tribute the sound of approaching footfalls draws his attention and he tucks the offer away for another time. he is not important enough for his opinion to mean anything ...but for the time being the man before them doesn't know that; and wintersbane is a vain beast to his very core. relmyna appears and wintersbane studies her, noticing her thinning appearance. it sparks a painful worry in his chest that gnaws like a demon threatening to split it's way through his chest but he does not capitalize upon it. not here. not now.

listener, wintersbane breathes her name in greeting with unbridled reverence. thinning and tired or not, the dark priestess is still beautiful and powerful and wintersbane is still inevitably drawn to her like a helpless moth to flame.

his attention divides then, lingering a bit longer than it should have upon relmyna before it shifts back to the male, whom is offering him a roguish grin before teasing an older topic of their conversation. the twitch of wintersbane's lips is sardonic and wicked all at one. as i said before, the tundrian draws in a deep breath. if you were, my teeth would be at your throat. there'd have been no conversation. wintersbane does not hide behind false bravado. he would kill to protect those which have become precious to him in these woods. and it was true that last time they spoke of this, wintersbane hadn't been so direct but it'd been implied all the same.

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480 words

the lovely boy's mistake was addressing relmyna as if she were no more than a doe-eyed girl. coupled with the disrespect she felt at the actions taken by mou and maegi, the woman's soul churned cold within her. i will provide, and this time it was sithis who whispered, his voice sibilant in her awareness. if he had come forth to replace the mother's softer tones — yes
i will provide
she was wary of the man, mistrustful; all the same did relmyna curve her scarred lips in a welcoming bow. wintersbane spoke gently, but the listener heard the threat there: not a creature to be trusted. and she did not like the way the stranger questioned the northerner. he had spoken, and it was with a finality she supported.
what is your name? relmyna asked of the handsome newcomer, her mouthings deliberate and well-formed, that the other might read the message upon her lips. and why had he come; why was he so close to blackfeather? not close enough to warrant the crush of the gamma's jaws, but too close to a land recently assailed by redhawks.
i will make provision
a pause — relmyna's mind worked along the memoried contours of the darkwood, and she attempted to recall where she had placed a certain object.

WC: 609

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Bruges was treading on thin ice with these two, he could feel it. The way Wintersbane warned him about the pack, and how they would defend the borders told him enough; that he’d come to a place that would kill another wolf for a simple error they had made. Already he had begun to suspect that he had indeed come to the right place, and that he would find Ceara after all. He began to wonder if it was even worth it- if Ceara was even worth it. But he reminded himself that he wasn’t finding her for her sake- he was going to try and find her in order to redeem himself in Niamh’s eyes. And though generally, his littermate was the only one who could manipulate him into doing stupid things, Niamh had succeeded this time around in making him yearn to please another member of his family. He felt he owed this to her- and possibly owed this to Ambrose too...He owed both of them an apology for his behavior. He wasn’t even sure if Niamh knew that he’d been trying to goad his brother into stealing Niamh’s rank just for fun...He would have to change his attitude regarding those two now that they were adults. He couldn’t play cruel mind games with them anymore and simply expect them to forgive him every time he broke their hearts.

The dark male spoke a name to the petite female, and once again his eyes were drawn to her. She was quiet and ghost-like, a spectre at the side of the dark male, but there was something fixated about her gaze that unsettled him slightly. She seemed to see past him, or through him- rather than looking directly at him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be in this situation, as something gave him the feeling that he’d possibly become potential prey- but then again, he had to stop himself from over-reacting. They were just wolves, and he was in the neutral territory, and had no alliances with any packs that they would know of. He couldn’t tell if they were suspicious of him belonging to the Redhawks- but he could tell that they were a bit skeptical of him. How would this all play out, he wondered? Would it be in vain? There was still a remarkably large chance that these weren’t even Blackfeather wolves to begin with. But he would attempt to join them in earnest, whether or not they were. He could always leave when he wanted, and he was fast enough that if he left without warning, they wouldn’t possibly be able to take him down.

Finally, the female with the sunken eyes spoke, and he bowed his head respectfully to her. ”My name is Bruges DeMonte,” He said, leaving out the hyphenated portion of his name as he found it might sound a bit too proper and ridiculous, matching a bit too well with his gentleman-like nature. ”I have been wandering for some time now, and with the advent of winter, have been searching for a pack...Would you mind telling me a bit about yours?” He asked politely, still aware of the fact that he might not have come to the right place- and of the fact that they might simply lie and tell him it wasn’t Blackfeather. There was no way to tell- it was simply a gamble, but it was the first pack he’d come across in his travels, so it was worth a try. Worse come to worse, it was one more pack to strike off the map in his search for Blackfeather.

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there is silence; a stretch of it that feels as if it lasts forever to the tundrian before it is broken by relmyna whom asks for a name. for a brief moment, wintersbane's gaze roams, fixating upon her to assess her body language and try to discern how she feels about the stranger that he has come across before it locks back upon the man whom introduces himself.

bruges demonte.

if the sirename is supposed to mean anything to wintersbane, it does not. he seems proud enough of his family to include it, nevertheless. he, himself has no real sirename now. part of him wishes to covet ansbjørn as he once had but his children will know their grandmother through her legacy. he has one that he gave himself but has never felt the need to actually use it.

wintersbane's attention snaps back to the man as he speaks more, asking politely to hear a bit about their pack. the tundrian regards him with clinical and cool curiosity; there was no beating around the bush, was there? this type of straight-forwardness was one that wintersbane appreciated, however. he didn't enjoy dancing around in circles playing wordsmith as the true topic at hand was avoided. he remains silent, however; relmyna is the leader here. this is her domain.

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217 words

demonte. 
vuk demonte had once existed. she had loved terich-mir and with him had raised her son seff, by the nameless ridge wolf. but she was dead these years past, and in her place, only relmyna, without a surname, half-attached to that of the meloniis only by way of her daughters. perhaps at one time the winning flash of the other's voice might have sparked awareness, but for now the silver glint of recollection was lost in the seafoam eyes.
bruges, she repeated. blackfeather is a group tightly bound by blood and by legacy. we keep to ourselves; outsiders are unwelcome. if you join us, i will ask that you keep to the forest and the surrounding lands, save when you are sent on excursions. it was not a speech she would have given another joiner, and wintersbane would notice this; no, relmyna remained unnerved by her singular feeling about this fellow. and in return, you will be taught the secrets that bind us and keep us.
i will provide
the wood is not far from here, and i have cached kills, enough for a wanderer. now a slow, gentle smile; she seemed to bloom at the prospect of bruges joining blackfeather, new blood to infuse their ranks.

wc:417

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Surprisingly, it is not Wintersbane who tells him about the pack, but the white female. He defers to her, leading Bruges to lead that perhaps the pack is led by her, so he scolds himself slightly for having assumed she was a follower of his. Women were getting more and more power these days, it seemed, feeling more entitled than ever before. He would have to shift his tactics if he wished to stay alive, now.

The information he is given seemed to conflict with what he believes in...A tight-knit pack was not a bad thing, but if he was not to go anywhere unless allowed, he felt that his mission would be fruitless. He could very well bring war back to the Redhawks if he was to join Blackfeather and then abandon them. Naturally, they had no way to trace him back to the Redhawks, but surely enough they would assume...He felt disappointment seep through his veins as he weighed his options, and felt his ever-smiling lips draw into a thin line. Once she has finished speaking, he smiles once more, and out of respect, he bowed his head once to Wintersbane, and once to Relmyna as well.

”If that is the case, I must respectfully decline your gracious offer,” He said, and chuckled slightly to himself. ”I’ve never been good at keeping these dandy-long-legs from wandering, and I would hate to betray your trust.” He said. He decided that he didn’t want to know their secrets, and that he wanted to get away from them...To find some other way to prove himself to his sister. Whatever he’d set out to do here, he left it now, and stepped back. Still, politely, he motioned to the kill, and nodded. ”But the gift is yours...I will respectfully mind your lands, now that I know where they are,” He said, and he meant it. He didn’t want to rush off- but at the same time, he couldn’t stay near them any longer. He wanted nothing more than to have dashed away already, but instead he kept himself still for a few moments longer. ”Peace, to you and yours,” He said quietly, dipping his head once more. He turned and trotted away, but as soon as he was out of sight he broke into a mad dash, harried forward by something he couldn’t quite identify- not until he was far out of sight.

He was a coward.

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the joining speech that relmyna gives to bruges is not one he's heard before. some of it is true, certainly. they are not keen on outsiders but the bit about not leaving the dark woods strikes him as unusual. the tundrian is keeps his expression stalwart, as if this is usual protocol speech. he picks up on the listener's distrust and settles his glacial gaze upon the male, studious. wintersbane watches at the male's lips drawn into a thin line and then masks it with a smile, noting the bow of his head first to him — surely it should have been to relmyna first, wintersbane thinks, who is clearly the higher ranked wolf — and then to the listener.

interesting, wintersbane thinks, how suddenly the tides have changed. suspicion arises in the warrior's broad chest and he shifts his weight. perhaps it is nothing, plenty of potential joiners had been uninterested, after all. and perhaps if this had taken place before the whole mess mou-screech had brought to them he wouldn't have given it a second thought. but he's been on edge ever since the woman's arrival, more so after her escape. wintersbane lifts his chin, silvery-blue mane puffing with the motion of his chest as he listens to the male's polite decline. his gaze does not move to the gift even as they are told they could keep it. it remains level, weighing upon bruges like osiris watches the scales: the feather of truth against the heart on the opposing side.

the male disappears into the foliage across from the pair in a trot and wintersbane turns to relmyna. should i follow him? he asks her, while the scent trail is still fresh.

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285 words

her words met their end in their swift deterrence of the man, who declined quickly any offer she had made. the listener looked upon him implacably as he spun gilded words, backpedalled, and soon departed their company. for a long moment, she gazed after the would-be blackfeather, ruined lips curving as she turned to greet wintersbane's inquiry with a warm look.
there is no need. i did not trust him, and if he returns, he will be a sacrifice.
perhaps a crueler expression than he had seen thus far graced her features, but soon ebbed for her usual countenance. she turned back toward the wood, glancing to him to see if he would accompany her.

when the listener looks to him it is with warmth, and the words she mouths to him dissuade the tundrian's itch to follow after bruges. she confirms what he'd suspected: that she doesn't trust him and states, simply with an expression that could be called cruel that if he were to return he'd become a sacrifice. wintersbane's gaze lowers to the 'gift' left and gives a contemplative cant of his head, wondering if there was prophecy yet to be fulfilled or if bruges, by sheer luck of changing his mind, altered it and narrowly escaped his a fate all too similar to the fox. only time would tell, wintersbane thinks.

as the listener turns back towards their home and looks to him, he gives a small nod to confirm that he'll accompany her and pauses only to scoop up the tribute. the would-be prophecy. clutching the gift betwixt his jaws wintersbane steps to relmyna's side and accompanies her. when the pair part ways he, after some consideration, tosses it to the ravens watching as they descend upon it like winged titans with insatiable hunger.

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184 words