Whitefish River but the boy survived his refusal to believe...

@Wintersbane

 

the boy had decided that it would have been best for him to return to the plateau to tell kavik and liri that he had found his way safely to his homeland, and that they had already started a war. it had been fear of disappointment that had kept him away for so long. he worried that the dark man and his pale mate would find illidan's actions unforgivable and turn him away. there had been a time when he had been treated like a son to the pair, but he knew that things could not remain the same for very long.

when the savage had reached the edges of the plateau, he had noted the paleness of their scents. the edges of the terrain had not been marked in a considerable amount of time. he knitted his brows over his gaze in worry and peered into the stretch of earth. for a long while, the boy sat like a gargoyle on the outside of the plateau and waited for a sign that he was simply out of his mind – they were still there and they were all safe. instead, he was met with the cold whip of winter wind and the silence of what had been abandoned.

it took several hours before he had turned away from his former home and followed the chilling breeze that came off of the creek. his dark skull was held low to the earth and his eyes scanned his front, hoping that he would see the familiar dark shape of kavik, or the pale figure of liri. the further he trekked, the less he believed that he would ever see them again. when the bitterness of that realization had settled in the pit of his stomach, the savage young man drew his head back and called into the frigid expanse – a lonesome and haunting howl.

though wintersbane had set out of blackfeather woods on another one of his recruitment drives, adding the lookout for the missing boy lucas into his itinerary he feels something heavy in the pit of his stomach. he worries for the fate of the dark woods. their numbers are thinning terribly and though he tries not to skirt the line of pessimist he's always been a realist. things did not look very strong for them, and then there was the added complication of brewing war from two different packs despite that mou-screech-titmouse had long since slunk off with his tail between his legs. coward. did it surprise wintersbane? not really. he created all this fucking mess for them and when the pressure was applied too hard to him his scent gradually faded as if he were never there at all. maegi too.

out from under the protection of the dark woods wintersbane would have no problem ripping into him should they ever cross paths again. not that their lack of numbers was all the pale pair's fault.

the closer that wintersbane travelled towards blacktail deer plateau — despite being determined to skirt their territory like he always does when he ventures this way — he becomes increasingly aware that their scent had begun to fade. so the dark woods wasn't the only one suffering from low numbers it seemed. wintersbane isn't sure if that comforts him or not. not truly because if they continue on this path then they will no doubt end up like their northern neighbors.

...though their dispersal meant no competition for food sources now. which was, perhaps, one of the silver linings to be found.

a forlorn howl rose through the frigid air, giving pause to the dark brother's steps. his chin lifts heavenward and his ears swivel, alert, atop his head to deduce the caller's location. wintersbane alters his course to intercept paths with the ...child. not a young-young child but a child nevertheless. at first glimpse he thinks that maybe he's happened to run into the fire kissed girl's missing brother but a second assessment tells wintersbane that he doesn't match the girl's description of lucas. the boy looks familiar — like a woman that 'bane met once, briefly.

a low chuff leaves the tundrian's lips to announce his presence as his pace slows to a stop a few feet away.

the chuff pulled his attention quickly, and the young man cupped his ears and turned his crown around to face the figure that had appeared. the man was a stranger to him – it was not the figure of kavik or liri but colored as though he could have been part of both of them. in spite of his physical appearance, the stranger was someone that was not familiar to the young wildling. he did not even believe that he had seen the male at their borders when he had called the plateau his home.
 
with a furrowed brow and narrow yellow eyes, illidan peered back at the man and allowed for his tail to waver just slightly between his hocks. distrust was evident on the young man’s features, as he was truly in no condition to get into a scuffle with a stranger so far from his home. he’d already suffered the events of the war on the cliffs; he didn’t need a looming beast in the woods to cause him further strife.
 
so, the boy positioned himself in a means of protecting the tender portions of his body. he did not make his movements obvious. illidan was simply showing that he wanted to make sure he was protected. then, he canted his head ever so slightly to the left and latched his sights with the other male. “you smell of pack,” he remarked carefully, noting the softer tones that were latched to the brute’s coat. there was a chance that he had seen where kavik and liri went.
 
“there was a group at the plateau. looks like they’re gone now, but did your group happen to take in any stragglers?”

there is evident distrust in the boy's features — maybe less of a boy and more of a teenager ( ages were muddled and a bit hard for wintersbane to discern on features alone ) but the tundrian does not take offense to it. they are strangers and though most tend to trust easier than he'd naturally expect them to distrust isn't something he sees as a bad thing. it's necessary to survival — and that was something that wintersbane knows well. the dark brother keeps his stance neutral — they're on neutral territory and the young man before him is in no danger from the tundrian.

the remark is a bit cryptic at first but wintersbane gives a sage nod of his head despite the yes, and? flick of his ear. he waits and soon a question — no doubt what the cryptic remark was building up to — follows. the amused snort that leaves the tundrian is involuntary. he's not intentionally being mocking ...in fact he finds the idea that any of blacktail deer plateau would seek blackfeather woods for sanctuary genuinely amusing. but the lack of name attached to the vague 'pack' lets wintersbane knows that the boy isn't aware of which blackfeather woods ...and if he is he doesn't recognize it by smell alone.

not that i'm aware of, he tells the young man truthfully. i seriously doubt they'd have sought sanctuary with my pack. we've got ...quite the reputation. he explains vaguely. if rumors are still spreading about them the puzzle pieces might click into place but wintersbane isn't sure if the dark woods is regarded as the 'big bad' they once were; telling children to watch out for a threat that is no longer really much of a threat strikes wintersbane as a bit pointless. or, he adds after his moment of rumination. we had one, once upon a time.

there was a great wave of disappointment that washed over the young ghost at the response he’d received. illidan could not help but to feel the twinge of regret for having left the plateau in the first place. they’d always talked about finding his blood family again, but he had spent so much of his childhood with kavik and liri that it hadn’t felt right to simply walk away from them the moment caiaphas had appeared. hadn’t he chastised grezig for having done the same thing? he’d told her that it was a disgrace to simply turn her back on all that had been given to her.
 
life was a series of closing doors, though.
 
when the stoic stranger mentioned that his pack had something of an ill reputation, illidan cupped his ears forward and canted his head to the side curiously. he hadn’t heard of any packs in the wilds that had garnered that kind of a reputation for themselves, so he almost found it funny. instead of snorting at the words, the young ghost drew his tongue along his dark lips and frowned thoughtfully.
 
“reputation for what?”

reputation for what?

if there was ever proof that blackfeather woods was a weakening echo of what it once was it was that question right there. the words 'you're too young to remember' dangle at the edges of wintersbane's lips but in the end he sighs and laughs. because it does seem ridiculous. sure, there were some older wolves that remember enough about blackfeather woods to stay well away from them and turn their head in the opposite direction or act hostile when it's brought up in conversation...but history is fickle. it chooses who is remembered and who is forgotten.

eh, don't worry about it. it's not even all that relevant anymore and you're far too young to remember when the words blackfeather woods sparked fear in any wolf of these wilds that heard it. even as wintersbane tells it ...it just sounds like a story. like a legend that's long since passed. but no. we haven't taken on any new wolves. sorry, kid. the tundrian says and means it. haven't had any new members in a very long time but it wasn't for the tundrian's lack of trying. the coast and rising sun valley seem to be pretty heavily populated these days, wintersbane offers, not wanting the young man to feel completely dejected. maybe they disbanded and went to one of those areas.

then why bring it up? illidan wanted to ask the stranger. it wasn’t that he didn’t understand what was being said, just that he wasn’t sure why it was mentioned if it held no relevance in the current time frame. no, he’d never heard of the reputation of a pack called blackfeather woods. hell, he hadn’t even heard of the pack itself. maybe he was too young, but he was close to his first year of life and that was more than enough time to hear tales of some eerie pack that lived in the wilderness.
 
instead of snarking the stranger, the young ghost nodded his head lightly. the dark male seemed as though he was being as polite as he could. there was no reason for illidan to back talk the stranger or worsen the injuries that he had already sustained to his frame. of course, he wanted to find where kavik and liri had wandered off to. there was a small voice in the back of his head that reminded him there was a chance that they had disappeared from the wilds altogether.
 
“thanks for the help,” the young ghost offered to the brooding stranger. he turned as though he was looking to leave but stopped in his tracks to turn back and fix his sights on the blue-eyed male. “you look like you’ve seen some fights in your day… you got any tips?” illidan then ventured on an assumption. if he was going to trek out in the middle of nowhere, he wanted to make it worth his while. if he was wrong, well, there was nothing that could be done about that.

it would seem that with everything, while blackfeather woods surely did still have a reputation it was only among the older generation and though that hatred might run generations deep it obviously wasn't enough to be spread across the entirety of the wilds. it was almost disappointing ...would've been, perhaps, if it didn't confirm what wintersbane already inherently knew: blackfeather woods was a rapidly fading echo. a sour memory and a mark upon the wilds that most wolves ( the ones that know about them ) would not likely be very upset to see fade away completely. when a pack hinders on it's reputation ...well that was only good for so long, especially when it wasn't a good reputation.

the tundrian offers a slight shrug of his shoulders at the 'thanks' the boy offers him. he didn't really deserve it — it's not like he's been overly helpful to the boy's plight. sorry i wasn't more helpful. in these words there is sincerity. surely, wintersbane imagined, know that a pack of wolves you cared for was gone with no idea where they were now had to be hard. the next inquiry comes as a bit of a surprise but a smile slowly begins to spread across wintersbane's lips.

seen a few, picked my fair share of them, he was nothing short of a gremlin as a cub and he's surprised that the adults who's care he shuffled between hadn't offed him in his sleep. you wanna spar? or d'you just want me to list out the advice i have? wintersbane inquires, letting it be known that he's, personally, open to either option.

there was an apology from the large male. illidan thought this to be a little odd; there was nothing that he could have done to know better where the plateau settlers had gone. while frustrated, even the young ghost could not blame him for his lack of knowledge. it seemed to be that it was just a common occurrence in the grand scheme of things. disappointment was everywhere; the sooner he was able to understand and accept this, the better off he'd be. so he simply shrugged a shoulder at the apology and offered a patient and forgiving bob of his head.

then, the large male asked whether illidan would prefer verbal coaching, or if he would have rather taken part in a spar. there was an eager light that shone in his eye at the prospect of such a thing, but he glanced toward the large gash on his shoulder and knew that it wasn't a great idea. if he pulled something out of place or tore himself open again, it was likely that he wouldn't make it home.

“i'm pretty scuffed up from the fight we had back home, but if you'll offer some words of wisdom this time... i'll do my best to spar you if we meet again?” illidan offered with a ghostly smile.

wintersbane notes the large gash on the boy's shoulder — attention drawn to it when the young man spares it a glimpse — and expects verbal coaching as the answer mere seconds before illidan gives it. that gash wouldn't have stopped a younger ( and much more stupid ) wintersbane but he hadn't been anywhere near as conscious about his own mortality when he'd been illidan's age. recklessness was how he'd coped with all the trauma he'd endured ...coupled as it was with forced amnesia. the family before everything else. he'd done it to protect them and they'd all left ...and the only family that he knew of that still lived in the wilds wasn't even family to him anymore. it was better that way. mallaidh and him would never get along so long as all they wanted to do is see how deeply they could cut one another.

pretty deep, evidently.

sounds like a good deal, wintersbane agrees. it would be hard to offer advice when he has no idea what level of skill illidan's at with his training. so instead he wracks his brain for things he wished that a more experienced warrior'd told him when he was younger. maybe you've already been told this before and maybe you've already figured it out for yourself but not every fight's going to be the same and you'll have to adjust your strategy and tactics to counter your opponent. sometimes, you'll get lucky and aggressive and bully attacks are all it will take, he thinks of his last fight with malliadh. his sister wouldn't cow before him but his fighting style that day'd been determined largely by the emotional turmoil she'd caused. telling him that he'd killed lotte had brought forth a rage and hatred towards her that wintersbane had never known he'd been capable of feeling. those hadn't been his ex-sister's words verbatim ...but they may as well've been. his attacks had been unceasingly aggressive that day with the single intention of wanting to hurt her. to make her feel the physical representation of how she'd made him feel inside. an eye for a mother fuckin' eye. thinking about it causes those feelings to stir beneath his skin where they'd lain dormant and while not forgotten about out of reach of the surface. a muscle in his shoulder twitches and he quickly shifts gears in his mind, eager to move onto the second half of his point.

other times you have to be calculating and hit where you know it's going to hurt. wear them down. going for the legs is an effective way of getting an opponent down and closer to victory but it can become predictable, advice that he'd also meant for himself because lately without much practice to keep his skills sharp wintersbane felt that he'd become predictable with his moves. the ribcage is a very sensitive area. also good for getting your opponent down on the ground. it was a dirty move if because it could crack or break ribs ...but wintersbane wasn't above fighting dirty. life wasn't fair so why should fights be?

there was a chance that illidan shared more with the looming brute in front of him than he had initially expected. their meeting was something that would later inspire the young ghost to overcome the restrictions that were set on his body. whether they realized it or not, the words of advice that were offered to the savage young wildling would later help to craft him into a beast more like his father than any to exist before him. until that moment, the dark-hooded young man listened intently to the things that were offered to him. his sharp yellow gaze was trained on the features of the blue-eyed warrior. his ears were cupped to collect every last word that would fall from the man’s dark lips.
 
the man spoke of strategy and planning. he explained that each fight would be different from the last. this was something that should have been expected but had not been something the boy had really thought about in his time sparring along the beachfront. he could understand how that was true, though. he did not think that any of the wolves he’d done combat with were similar to each other in how they fought. in a way, this gave illidan hope that he could find his own means of excelling in battle. he wanted to ask further follow-up questions, but the man had already moved on.
 
the second bit of advice that was offered was to provide a tip where he could aim his attacks. this was something that illidan had already discovered some of. he had found his headbutt tactic to work incredibly well when he could land it. the dark-hooded young man had thought that being unpredictable was a smart thing to adopt when fighting. if they did not know where he would strike, they would struggle to guard themselves against him. being offered the pressure points of the legs and the ribs only increased his rapidly spinning mind.
 
“thank you for the advice. i hope i will get to show you how it has benefitted me some day,” the young ghost remarked to him with a low bow and a careful glance.

the hooded boy listened, quietly but presumably attentively to the advice that the tundrian had to offer him. when he is finished speaking, wintersbane watches the little bow and the glance the boy offers him. i do too. listen, i should probably get going, he doesn't mean to be rude by looking to end their conversation so soon but it's true. he doesn't like to linger in one place for too long while recruiting aside from when it's necessary to rest. but don't be afraid to seek me out when you're better and ready to spar. i'll be around. meant this general area which in a week or two's time won't be true. he'll make the ultimate decision to strike out on his own, but he doesn't know that yet. even if i'm not, he adds, thinking that the hooded boy might try to look for him on one of his recruitment drives which often took him far away from the dark woods for days at a time. my name's wintersbane. if you ask around i'm sure someone could send you in my direction. that was a small benefit to most of the wolves he spoke to rejecting his recruitment attempts: he met a lot of strangers — although he did not always part from them with his name.

and then wintersbane departs from the area, following the wind of the river where it takes him, leaving the boy with his shared wisdom and to his own devices.