Alpine Lake And then walk until our feet are torn

WC: 465
@Rosencrantz

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By the time Niamh reached the borders, the wind had already picked up, screaming inland from the coast and bringing with it a deep chill that sent the falling snow sideways. It was cold enough that the flakes were tiny, and more like stinging crystals of ice, and with the wind getting stronger and stronger throughout the day, tracking was made even more difficult. The blowing snow would quickly cover any tracks Niamh left behind, leaving her in despair- as it meant that it would be all the more difficult for her to find her brother’s footprints if he was close enough to leave any behind. Still, she had promised herself that while she would not undertake any journeys that took her longer than a day and a half (as she had already tracked around the pack a day in almost every direction, now) so she could only go so far, and had still found no sign of Ambrose.

She headed North, back to the scene of the crime- the blood-covered patch of ground that had been strewn with bits of black hair (Ambrose’s, no doubt) and tawny (those belonging to the cougar). She hated to see the clawmarks in the ground fade away, and to see that the blood that had been shed had now blended in completely with the dead leaves that had fallen in the ground both before and after the fight. To any passer-by, the area would have possibly been identified as a zone where a wolf had perhaps made a kill some time ago, but only if one were looking for the signs. Otherwise, a wolf wandering through without their nose to the ground wouldn’t have been able to pick anything up at all- as though it had never happened.

But for Niamh, the pain was still immensely fresh, and it grew with each day that she was forced to rein in her searches and keep herself from simply going out and looking for her brother for several days at a time. No- she had to remain bound to the pack...Though as a leader, she knew it was a responsibility she could not shirk. Her search, this time, led her just a bit further to the North from where Ambrose had been attacked on the Northern edge of the Grouse Thicket. She scaled the rocky slope until she came to a lake, a fresh blue in colour, that likely fed the rivers and streams that surrounded the plateau where she lived. The water was clear and fresh, so she stopped for a drink before she began to meander her way along the shore, nose down and searching for any signs that Ambrose had come this way, doing her best to ignore the whipping wind that slashed at her back.

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Harsh. That was how he would describe this land as while the falling ice stuck to his pelt and lashes. Long thick lashes kept the ice out of his eyes as he squinted just enough to keep them from injuring his eyes, but just open enough to see well in the wintery wonderland. Thankfully he was from the north, he was made for such harsh weather, born in it rather. Soon he would be three years old, no longer a whelp to the eyes of others.

Just as he had always seen himself to be.

Sticking to his alabaster armour, the ice froze almost immediately on the tips of his long fur while the depth of his pelt kept his skin warm and dry. He didn't look for much out here other than scouting, so the scuffle in the snow was left unseen - nor would he have cared enough to investigate unless it meant he had food in the long run.

As he approached the water's edge, he stood stoic for a moment. Observing the vast gathering of water before him. He has seen bigger in his time traveling, the Great Lakes from the north, the ocean was even bigger than they. The world was much bigger than he could ever see, ever know, and yet, he felt it. That alone excited him to know that there was so much out there to learn, more so than he would ever learn in his lifespan, but he will damn well try - and try to pass on his knowledge to the fledglings he would father some day to make them greater than he.

By his side the sight of a tall, slender individual caught his attention. She was slender, young, much younger than him. She kept her head down to shield herself from the lashing winds, unlike the icy giant who stood tall and used his natural defences to his advantage. As she drew closer, he spoke just loud enough for her to hear him over the winds but not much else. If these winds were much stronger, would you be able to push through as you are now? His booming voice was just enough to break the silence, the howl of the wind, but not harsh enough to be threatening. You must be stronger than you seem, I'm impressed.

thank you!
@Niamh

WC: 474

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Through barely-opened eyes, Niamh scanned the horizon, and at first, she’d missed the large, alabaster male by the lake’s edge, as he blended in with the surroundings fairly well, and her vision was obscured by the falling ice. She continued on, working her way around the lake, and didn’t stop even when she did spot him. Sure, he was an imposing figure- but that wasn’t enough to throw Niamh off her course. She wasn’t rattled whatsoever by his appearance as Niamh still believed herself to be invincible...Even though she had been defeated in combat before. While she was learning when to step down from an impossible fight- say, two against one- she still did not believe that there was a single soul out there that could kill her, or that would dare try to do so. She believed that even with her long, lanky legs, feminine figure and narrow build that she looked like a tank, and that the scars on her face were much more visible than they actually were.

Which was why she was surprised that the white-furred male seemed to find nothing about her that was daunting whatsoever- and even made a comment that led her to believe that he’d looked her over once and had decided that she was hardly strong enough to stand up against the wind, let alone anything else in life. She came to a stop and lifted her head, standing tall against the gales of wind that pushed at her- but due to the rigidity of her frame, the conditioning of her muscles and the way the wind could easily curve around her narrow build, she was not at all moved by the high winds that played roughly with nothing but her fur. Her conviction alone was enough to keep her standing strong against the wind no matter how hard it tried to throw her off her feet. In front of this guy, who seemed to think that she’d simply blow away, she would be at loathe to seem weak, whatsoever.

She regarded him with a honeyed gaze that was steely and firm, and she held her ground for a moment as though to make the simple statement that she was nowhere near as fragile as she seemed. As per usual, Niamh believed that she looked a lot tougher than she actually did, as her build and her beautiful, golden colouration certainly didn’t do much to aid her in looking masculine and rugged. She was almost freakishly tall, sure- but that didn’t aid her in the weight department very much. She tilted her muzzle up at him in a gesture that was swift and somewhat indignant, but a smile played on her lips. ”I’m stronger’n you look.” She commented, turning the somewhat backhanded comment back on him to see how he handled it.

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She challenged his words. He stood stoic, unmoving and unfazed by her bravado. Words meant nothing to a battle born brute, show and tell was the true way of being deemed strong or weak. But there was one thing he didn't see, one thing that was blind to for the time being until proven - she was brave, stupidly so perhaps, but brave none the less. To travel the blinding snow and then speak to a stranger much larger than her, who was obviously at home in the wintery hell scape.

Is that so. He questioned, a verbal challenge with no tone. A blatant questioning with no sarcasm or emotion behind his voice other than a dull curiosity. For someone so slender, to think they could stand up against him - a brute bred and fed to bleed and fight; it was a joke. If she was capable, he was curious to test out her bravado, to prove him wrong and teach him a lesson. He stood his ground, unmoving, his broad skull only moving an inch closer, leaning over his own shoulders.

Cold liquid gold, glazed over with a shimmering light. In my family we prove our worth. Are you simply all talk or do you have some strength under those bones of yours. 

WC: 1039

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When the male replied to her, it wasn’t so much a question that faced her but a statement, but her features didn’t change. She meant what she’d said, even though it was possibly a stretch of the truth. In character, of course, she easily could have matched up to the burly brawn he clearly possessed; so there was a truth, at least in part, to her words. What he had meant, of course, was a challenge for her physical strength, which may or may not have matched up to his own. He definitely had the muscle mass to be a capable fighter, and the confidence of one who had seen a victorious end to a feud here and there. Niamh was young still, and inexperienced- improperly trained, and had learned more or less through sparring with her brother- the one she was now searching for. The ache in her heart made her want to throw all the chips on the table and gamble her life away simply because part of her was damaged...The part that had wandered away, blood-shod, had escaped her heart. Now she simply wanted something, anything, to take that sting away.

That being said, Niamh had begun to discover a new sort of logic which had been sent by some unforseen force to guide her and stop her from making foolish mistakes. Naturally, she could have thrown every inch of herself away in the last fight she’d been in, which had been against two other wolves. To be fair, she hadn’t begun the fight with two opponents- the second had arrived later on and had joined in unfairly. She still felt spiteful about the entire debacle, but swore her revenge on the ungrateful wench who had come too close to Niamh’s pack’s territory. In seeing that she was outmatched by the two females, she had withdrawn from the battle, and presently, she was using the same amount of judgement to decide whether there was any reason to battle this stranger. Sparring a friend or a family member was one thing- there was always the guarantee that they would abide by certain guidelines, or withdraw as soon as a worthy opponent was decided. A stranger, however, was a dangerous match. How could she ever trust the ivory male to stop at blood or domination?

He pressed forward only slightly, and issued a challenge, one that a slightly younger Niamh might have leapt at without even answering. Now, though, she knew better than to simply throw herself at him. Instead, she regarded him levelly, as though she didn’t think anything of his physical strength, or that he was a worthy opponent. His claim led her to believe that spars were common in his family, and that also led her to come to the conclusion that he was well trained. Still, she couldn’t simply back down from a challenge completely, even though now was not the time for her to fight. Was her hind leg even completely healed from where Rosalyn had bit her, or would it crumple under the stress of a fight? It carried her well enough even on uneven ground and against the coursing winds, but she wasn’t so sure that she was at full strength, even though she appeared to be. She heard Colt’s voice in her head, warning her against picking a fight with a stranger- especially one who appeared as menacing as this one, though there was a calm about him that she admired. To be reckless and savage in a fight was an asset to some- but this male clearly had a good head on his shoulders...And it was that quality that made Niamh not particularly want to fight him- instead, she found herself desiring him, and wanting him to follow her back to the pack. With the other wolves gathering to the South in two new groups, the Redhawks would need to strengthen their numbers and the amount of capable fighters within the pack. Without Caiaphas, they were short one warrior...But this male would make a suitable addition, if he would allow himself to be charmed.

”I don’t deny your strength,” She commented mildly, ”And I do enjoy a good spar...But I would prefer to avoid jeopardizing either of us in a foolish and pointless show of physical strength; we don’t know each other, you and I,” She said. ”How am I to trust that what should merely be a show of strength won’t turn into a fight to the death?” She asked. Who was talking, just then? Niamh didn’t usually speak in such a dignified manner...Perhaps she’d begun to mature, finally. ”I have a pack to lead, and don’t intend to be in anything less than perfect form should I encounter a real threat,” She said, almost playfully. Of course, he could threaten her in earnest any moment- but she didn’t get that sort of a vibe from him. She sensed a sort of nobility about him; the sort that gave him a bit of arrogance, but not the sort that would act in a way that might seem crooked or unjust. Even fallen knights still often lived a life that was guided by the laws of chivalry.
”I’m Niamh Blackthorn, of the Redhawks,” She said, moving forward and dipping her muzzle to him in a form of greeting, though her crown and pol remained high. For her, the advent of a spar had been more or less forgotten, in lieu of the prospect of possibly convincing him to join her pack. Such a strong creature would truly be an asset, and for some reason, she found herself feeling as though they might get along- as long as he didn’t insist that they fight. She hoped, instead, that he would introduce himself, and that they might get better acquainted. She knew already that she wanted him- he was strong and fit, and had a good sense of humour about him….And an excellent ego, as well. As long as it could be kept in check, he would make an ideal recruit, and Niamh would see that any new recruits who worked hard were properly rewarded.

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With a challenge hanging in the air, the man could feel his heart beat stronger. Not faster. A heady, drumming in his chest, preparing for the young damsel to utilize that temper of hers to either show him that she was much stronger than she looked - something that was so rare, that he had barely ever seen. Stock, musculature, thick bones and a jaw for crunching flesh and bone, a weight heavy enough to crush and suffocate your opponent, that is what made a warrior. But he was always open to be proven wrong. 

His eyes were focused on the woman entirely. The snow and ice completely ignored as the fire ignited within him. Woman, young, old, children or spartans - if they desired to show their strength who was he to deny them that opportunity?

At the slightest hint of an acceptance to his challenge he was ready to begin, but he waited... studying her movement, watching as the cogs churned within her own head as she thought of something while he waited for a response. Either physical or verbal. His mind was silent. Focused. A snake ready to strike if the prey got too close.

Then finally her own words split the air. Her tone changed as she seemed to take on a whole new approach. He remained silent to her question. If she were to ask such a thing she was clearly unaware that a death by battle by any means was noble and worthy of praise. Whether the world knew about it or just the one opponent. It was noble to fight until a dying breath. Rosencrantz Mortensen. He spoke with a foreign tongue, not of one he knew how to speak, but simply that of which his parents had spoken of him to.  

Luckily for you my thirst for blood is less than others. If what you say if true, whats to protect you if I decide a fight is imminent. Your previous words alone were enough to spark the idea of a fight. Clearly you have much to learn if this pack of yours absolutely needs you to lead them. The level tone continued, no words fluttered or faltered and nor did his stance. His eyes alone beckoned her to continue, she had his interest for now depending on what was to come next.

WC: 810

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There was an accent to the way he spoke his name that reminded Niamh of a wolf she had met once before; and her eyes shone perhaps for a moment with the light of faint recognition. This wolf too- his accent reminded her of another, whose name she could no longer remember, one she had met shortly after she had joined the Redhawks. He was perhaps the first wolf she’d found herself attracted to- but had been too young to realize it. He had spoken to her of the lights that danced in the Northern skies at night, and had called them by a name that had come from another tongue he spoke. She couldn’t be absolutely sure that Rosencrantz’s accent was exactly the same as the Northerner she’d met, but he had entranced her in a way that Rosencrantz now did. There had been such an allure to the quiet confidence the man had had, and the way he spoke about his homelands...Now, she found herself wondering if, perhaps, this man had come from that part of the world as well.

He seemed to look down upon her, then, when he told her that he was slightly less bloodthirsty than those who had once surrounded him. She found herself wondering then, where exactly he had come from- what it had been like for him growing up, and how many others had fallen before him and those he had stood alongside. He was clearly a seasoned warrior, one who had fought several battles- either that, or everything he was saying a bluff and he was simply using his powerful size to back words which were completely fabricated. He did not seem satisfied with her decline, but it didn’t seduce her or anger her. Niamh was calm, just as she had been when she had spoken earlier, even though she had spoken with confidence. She was arrogant, of course, but she had a lot to be proud of, at the same time.

”I am fortunate, then,” She agreed, though not whole-heartedly, as she did believe that if necessary, she could hold her own in a fight against him. She was grateful that he wasn’t some hot-headed male who would fight simply because there was another wolf to fight who claimed to be as strong- if not more strong than them. Clearly, if it came to a game of brute strength, he would win- but Niamh was quick on her feet, and hard to nab- so that had to count for something, surely. She might even fare better in the disgusting weather- there was no telling whose favour it would land in. ”And what’s to protect me? These,” She said, baring her teeth only in show, whilst no malice shone in her honest, honey gaze. Her voice was light and even, and she closed her lips gently, though they remained soft, and curved slightly in the form of a smile. She drew slightly closer to him, her posture softening considerably, and behind her, her golden tail began to sway gently from one ankle to the next. This was a language that Niamh was only beginning to learn how to speak- but it seemed to come to her naturally, as she had finally reached maturity. ”And they don’t need me to lead them. They chose me.” She said, so that he would know that there were other wolves in the pack capable of leading- but she had been especially selected.

Her eyes combed over his frame again, and she drew herself into a seated position. ”But I’m more interested about you,” She admitted. ”You’re...Well, interesting is an understatement,” She supplied as an answer. She wanted him to talk about herself so she might have a better way of gauging who he really was, if he posed a threat, and if he would actually be useful for her pack. ”Where are you from, Rosencrantz?” She asked, hoping that she had pronounced his name correctly. She wanted to steer him away from pointing out her weaknesses, and learn about what it was that made him so strong. How had he trained? How long had he trained? And had every member of his pack been the same way- and if not, what had they done to convince those reluctant to follow orders to submit to the same training? She could only assume he’d come from somewhere that the law was rigid...In order to create wolves as keen and willing to fight as him. While she wasn’t sure such an ethic would ever suit all the wolves of the Redhawks, she also couldn’t help but wonder if having just a little bit of that experience wouldn’t help strengthen those who were actually interested in being a mercenary, as Niamh was.

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Even though her teeth shone with a friendly flash, a playful display of weaponry - ears flattened for a moment as he too gave a display of his own pearly whites. His was less friendly, no smile on his lips or in his eyes. A soulless warning. Despite the lack of friendliess in his smile, his too lacked any conviction in following through with a threat. No malice was given or verbal cue, just silence. His vicious smile lingered just a little longer than hers until it too faded, his ears soon to follow to relax upon his crown but they didn't stand tall and alert anymore. 

Lazily they turned to the horizon, one slowly scanning while the other would pick up just enough of what she was saying to keep a conversation going. This was going on longer than he had thought it would.

Unlike her, he was alone. To sit here in the presence of a pack wolf who kept a conversationg oing was enough to cause a prick of suspicion. He had to stay on a mild alert, at least enough to listen to any footsteps at a distance. Call him crazy or cynical, but it was a safe habit to have when you didn't have anyone to call for back up if things get unsavory if she wasn't alone.

While she seated to get more comfortable, the snowy obilisk remained standing. The fur no longer swaying in the winds, frozen in an icy cape over his body. Pointing in random directions and shining in the dim light that shone through the clouds. It created a further barrier from him and the falling snow, a harder shell to penetrate to his skin as it clung to itself more so on his guard hairs than seeping down to chill his core.

She asked him where he was from. An innocent question with which he replied promptly enough. A place more north from here. Where winters last well into spring and the snow towers over the tallest buck. A pause. For a second he was taken back to home, the snow at this time of the year would start up again. Falling thick and blanketing the ground such as this storm, but it was calmer. The winds were less, the ice only stuck around when rain would visit them at an innoportune time in the winter, giving the lands a slick coat that made even hunting a pain in the ass. 

What do you have that they need. He'd probe his own question in the meantime. A leader to him was wise, strong, had seen many battles and was able to tactfully bring the majority of the warriors home. Someone who throught about the fauna and decided when it was time to breed, and when it was time to focus on training instead.  One that would make the hard decision to put down a pup that looked small and fragile because they would not last long as opposed to wasting food on something that would only slow them down. What could she possibly have that a pack would need.

WC: 826

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When he spoke and referred to the North, she opened her mouth slightly and nodded, smiling. So he was from the land the other man had been from, and she did her best to recall his name...He had had a sister, too, whom she had met, who had also been able to describe where they had come from with flawless effort. She had to distract herself momentarily, from searching for his name, in order to find it- and as soon as she did, it came to her tongue. Kodlak. He had told her about the snowy North, and how beautiful it was, and had enchanted her with simple, spoken word. It was only now that she was older that she realized that she had admired him so much, and had wondered where things might have gone had the handsome northerner stuck around. He’d been just as wild as his name, and he spoke a different language as well.

”I’ve met wolves from the North before; they called themselves the Jorrvaskr; one, his name was Kodlak, and he told he of the lights that dance in the night sky,” She said, and searched his face for any signs of recognition. ”He called me ‘shield maiden,’” She confessed, smiling despite herself. How charming he had been, and kind. This wolf, Rosencrantz, bore himself in much the same way- but was perhaps colder to the touch than Kodlak had been. He’d been more respectful of Niamh’s rank, and had generally been softer toward her than Rosencrantz was being at all. It felt, to her, like he was still challenging her strength at every step, but she wasn’t easily ruffled by his comments.

He asked what they saw in her and she smiled faintly. Previously, she might have simply shrugged and made some comment about how she didn’t know why they’d chosen her or what they saw in her. Her best friend was the one who’d recommended her for the rank, and now her best friend had a mostly bum hind leg, so it was only natural that Niamh be chosen. Of course, she couldn’t just say that, and she wanted to keep up the guise that the Redhawks were a stronger pack than what he seemed to expect, and that there was indeed more to her than what met the eye. In truth, the Redhawks were a dysfunctional band of wolves, but at least they loved each other, and seemed to somehow keep the group together by mostly being related to one another. But that wasn’t exactly the best pack description.

He didn’t relax, as she had. Then again, Niamh had a home to return to, where she could retreat underground in her den and clean the ice and snow from her pelt and warm herself back up in no time. This fellow had nothing, and she felt slightly selfish, keeping him out and standing in the storm the way she was. It didn’t appear as though there was much for shelter nearby- not at the apex of the little incline and along the edges of an alpine lake. Perhaps if they had chosen to rove away from the lake and down the side of the incline in the lee of the storm they might have found somewhere for shelter...But Niamh was busy pretending that she didn’t mind the harrowing onset of sleet a bit...And was actually doing fairly well at it. Aside from having to squint, and occasionally lick the moisture that dripped along her cheeks and lips away, the storm didn’t seem to have much effect on her.

”The general gamut that leaders need to have,” She responded simply. She wasn’t going to go through every quality that she had, after all, but was content to inform him that she did have basically the whole package without a moment’s hesitation. If he chose to believe otherwise, then it was nothing off her plate- she was simply doing her job, and was out searching for her brother, regardless. By this point, there was no way she’d find him in this storm, and had at least come to the area to see if she could find nothing other than a body. It was another place for her to check off her list, in the very least, so she could tell herself that even if Ambrose had travelled this way- at least he hadn’t died here.

”Why is such a capable wolf as yourself out on their own?” She asked. Surely there had to be some reason that the wolves who had trained him and turned him into such a machine had forsaken him- or that he had forsaken them. Was he seeking to start his own empire in a different region? Had he performed some treacherous act that had resulted in his banishment? She figured he might not tell her the truth- but it was still worth asking.

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She spoke of another wolf she met from the North. At first he was interested, thinking that maybe she had met Guildenstern, this one and only brother. The grey beast that headed out of home just as Rosencrantz had for similar reasons. They decided to part ways for the time being, spread and conquer, but if they'd find one another again in their wandering, that they would stay together and continue from then on as a duo.

A part of him wished Guildenstern would appear sooner rather than later, but to think that maybe he had already found a partner and spreading their genes in another part of the world was good enough to keep his heart pleased without the grey brother of his. Still, a capable warrior to come to when needed, a hunting partner to keep their bellies filled with larger prey. It was a pleasant dream to keep Rosencrantz's mood as positive as it could.

Even Rosencrantz was wise to know that he couldn't take on a pack on his own, and even one more made life much more easier. I'm not familiar with them. The North was as vast as anything, he was certain the South was just as big and that he had much to discover. So the chances of him knowing of another pack just because they were "north" was slim.

Clearly he has a special bond with you. He pointed out as the female smiled. He himself has never felt what she currently was or had. He had one mission in life and it was not to be charmed. Perhaps it was due to his upbringing. Father and mother mated simply because they were the strongest of the pack, it was quite possible he had younger brothers and sisters now that he may never meet, but it was nothing about "love". Genetics meant everything. To better the next generation, bigger, stronger, smarter. That was their goal.

A slight narrowing of his eyes showed the mild displeasure in her answer. It was vague, and he disliked how vague she was being with him. But there was nothing more he could do about it other than pushing the enveloppe. Every pack have different requirements for a leader. I guarantee yours differs from mine. Was all he had to say in the matter. Some packs preffered intelligence, strength, family and or loyalty. Some were a group of misfits who just leaned on the eldest as a makeshift parent figure. But it was clear she was hiding something from him.

My brother and I both left to expand our gene pool. Find new homes before ours became a cesspool  of inbreeding. There was no need to hide his reasonings for leaving home. It didn't shame him and he knew he was always welcome back if necessary. But he himself was determined to expand his future's genetics, a healthy brood with fresh genes to continue. Many of the younglings have done so as of late.

WC: 628

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Niamh didn’t exactly expect that Rosencrantz would recognize the name she’d given him- but she couldn’t help but ask. She, like many others, thought that the North was so sparsely populated that those who lived there likely knew each other, and probably bought into a few other stereotypes about Canadians without really knowing the truth. The roleplayer understands- she gets it all the time. Nevertheless, she wasn’t surprised that Rosencrantz didn’t know Kodlak, his family or his kind- but he did seem to appreciate the reference she’d made to the Northern lights- or perhaps he simply liked that she and Kodlak had had something a little bit special. They hadn’t known each other long- and had only really spent time together two or three times, but she had found his company so easy and pleasant...While Rosencrantz here was more stiff and particular in nature.

He seemed dissatisfied with her answer and she wondered why he wouldn’t simply take the answer she gave him and be happy. He was a bit of a mope, wasn’t he? He seemed to want more from her than she was willing to give without more prompting, and he pointed out that different packs needed different things from their leaders. She supposed that that was true- but she still believed that she possessed enough leadership qualities to be a fit beta for her pack. His bleak response to most of her points was really beginning to wear on, the same way the ice pellets were beginning to collect on one side of her body and cling there, weighing her down. She wished he would crack a smile at some point, or just...Relax and lay off the need for particular information. She was beginning to think that he was used to getting exactly what he wanted, but unfortunately, that wasn’t going to work for Niamh. She didn’t want to give him too much information, nor did she feel that he’d represented himself well when they’d first met. He’d seemed charming, and friendly….Now he was just being a wet sock.

”Likely true.” She said. ”We’re a family pack,” She said, finally parting with a small piece of information before she added another fact onto that one. ”...Technically I married into it only recently. But not everyone needs to either be born into the pack or marry into it in order to rise in the ranks.” She said, chuckling softly. Naturally, she didn’t want him to think that she’d gotten her rank because she’d married someone high in the ranks...Instead, that was the exact opposite of what had happened...And her mate had even been kicked out and then re-invited to join the pack during her lifetime there. But she wasn’t going to go on and on about her marriage to Colt- though there were plenty of interesting things to say. Rosencrantz probably wasn’t interested in hearing about it, unless there was some blood and gore involved.

Apparently he and several others from his pack had spread out to go and populate the world. ”Like dandelion seeds,” She said with a slight smile. She didn’t want to insinuate that he and his packmates were weeds- but it was the only flower that Niamh could think of that had seeds that travelled in such a way. It probably sounded better in her head than it did out loud. ”Guess you come from a family pack too,” She said. ”Do you have any siblings that came this way too?” She asked, so that she would know to keep an eye out for them if they happened in that direction...Both to send them toward Rosencrantz, and to prepare herself for more Northern warriors.

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The longer this conversation continued, the less he learned and the more he felt his time was being wasted. Rose wasn't much for patience and even less so to have pointless conversations with a stranger that will get him nowhere closer than any goal, or give him a new goal.

He had learned nothing from her pack, or of her. It was a whelp chasing its tail. And he was beginning to bore, and get annoyed with this whole ordeal. Slowly a frown grew on his face, increasingly more obvious as time ticked on since the beginning of this conversation. At this point he could feel his face begin to feel tense despite how hard he tried to remain calm and neutral.

"You catch more flies with honey than with shit." He taught himself, that staying calm and talking things through often got you rather far with some individuals - while some held the right to violence in order to speak. The way she described things were like that of a child, but this was something he wasn't able to relate to. He had seen much in his traveled, learned, and had gotten so accustomed to things as growing up that they lost their "magic", or did they ever have any magic to him?

Anything he had gotten her to say were things that individuals would normally say about their packs. Which packs weren't family orientated. One thing did have him mentally rolling his eyes. To marry is to gain a rank, even the opportunity to do so. It was enough to have his ancestors roll over in the dirt at the thought. No. "Dandelion seeds" was enough to almost make him laugh. They were more like a disease than a weed, spreading and evolving with each generation.

And that was it. He was tired of answering questions and barely getting enough back to keep his interest. None of this interests me. Farewell. And finally he turned to continue in his direction as before. Long strides easily cutting through the winds and falling snow, still unphased by such stinging weather. Niamh Blackthorn, of the Redhawks. At least he would remember one thing for future use.

sorry! i just couldn't keep him around without him getting more and more impatient, but feel free to have her trudge along and see how far she can test him! but he's done, mentally xD

WC: 233

All good- she'll just go back home. Thanks for the thread! <3

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Niamh snorted when the male up front told her he wasn’t interested, and took his leave. She held her breath for a few moments until the large, galacial creature had stalked off, until she couldn’t hold her breath any longer- and finally released a tonne of tension in the form of raucous laughter. Her laughter wouldn’t likely carry over the wind, and she’d waited long enough that he’d also likely been far away that he wouldn’t hear. But if he did turn his head to look back, he would’ve seen Niamh stand up, shaking her head and smiling wickedly before she shook the ice out of her pelt, and began to meander back in the direction of her homelands.

She was glad that she’d stuck around to see who he really was before she’d put in an earnest effort to recruit him- he wouldn’t have done well in the pack at all. It was a learning situation for her, and she knew that right away. You simply couldn’t judge someone by the first impression that they gave. He’d started off as a guy- a strong, capable, potential pack mate with a decent sense of humour- and had ended up being a stuck-up man who had a better-than-thou attitude that had no place in her pack. She walked back to the plateau going over the story again in her mind, occasionally chuckling to herself.

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