Dragoncrest Cliffs We can bow 'cause our music's warmer than blood

The swing of a long tail was the only movement at the calm lake's edge that misty morning. Its surface was frozen over now from several nights of cold weather, but the ice was fragile, incapable of holding any wolf's weight. That was the advantage of living on the coast; when it snowed, it snowed heavily, but the weather warmed it away within days. When it dipped below freezing and the water froze, it was never solid. The environment was too temperate to allow winter to truly become a burden, as it did to inland wolves. It was the perfect place for Ephraim, who had inherited a coastal wolf's thin, coarse fur.

He watched shadows below the ice with cautious champagne eyes and a grimace on his face, twitching his tail to and fro even as light snow fell around and on him. He still wasn't sleeping well, and echoes of voices kept rising from his memories of the fight. He'd dissociated. Their faces had melted off and he'd been unable to recognize anyone. That was why... well, he didn't want to think about it. But the more time passed between then and now, the more clarity came as he replayed the events over and over.

Keep him. There was a warped voice in his head saying that, indiscernible as masculine or feminine, so he didn't know who had said it or to whom they referred. He often isolated himself like this to try to puzzle it out, but the most he could guess was that the voice meant Eurycrates. Of course they could keep him. They'd destroyed him.

@Vercingetorix

He was up early today, lusting after his woman (women?) here and the others he'd found along the way. Breeding season was in full swing and boy howdy, was he digging it. Like a rutting deer, or a freshman boy stumbling unknowingly into a sorority party. Well. . .maybe not so unknowingly.

But all thoughts of carnal abandon left him as he spotted Ephraim sitting alone by the lake, looking contemplative. He gave his friend a chuff of greeting as he padded over, sitting down alongside him with a silent smile. The two sat quietly for a couple of moments before he finally spoke, glancing over at the coywolf.

You doing okay? Verx asked, worry palpable in his voice. He didn't know that the young man didn't know about Caiaphas. It all made sense--the resemblance between the two, the boy's unfamiliarity with Trigedasleng, and so on. Blackhead's acidic remark just tied it all together.

What did he care, though? Ephraim was too forthright to be a spy, and even if he was, he would have turned on them in the battle. Blood had never really mattered to Vercingetorix; the most important bonds were formed in action, not in things out of your control. So what if Ephraim was the "child of the enemy"? Frankly, he just felt sorry that the kid had to live knowing his mother was like that.

(Okay, Caiaphas was pretty cool. But rivalry was rivalry, so Verx would stay stubbornly opposed to the woman until tensions eased, if they ever would.)

Vercingetorix's arrival elicited only the sideways tilt of Ephraim's snout at first; he was feeling melancholy and wasn't sure he could entertain the suave Cheka's normal attitude today. The black-haired wolf settled nearby and they lapsed into silence just long enough for Ephraim to let his thoughts drift once more, and then finally his superior spoke. It wasn't what he expected. He'd taken note of the smells permeating Drageda recently and noted that Vercingetorix's was heavily mixed among them. Though they stirred strange feelings in him, he wasn't compelled by them, but he knew that his companion was playing some part in what was going on. He just didn't know exactly how it worked.

Yeah, he said unconvincingly, then sighed and admitted, no, not really. Having trouble sleeping. There were a million questions he wanted to ask about the fight and war in general, chief among them being why they were sitting around not doing anything and letting their enemies recover, but what he chose to ask was, it gets better, right? As he spoke, he turned his head so his champagne eyes searched the other man's face imploringly. He trusted Vercingetorix and would believe whatever he said, but it was clear he hoped the answer was yes.

It had to get better, he was sure it had to. Otherwise how could wolves like Antumbra and Dio and Verx himself keep their heads in battle? He couldn't be doomed to dissociation every time he fought for Drageda. That couldn't be his fate.

They still were on very different pages. He assumed Ephraim spoke of Blackhead's revelation, not the situation in general. Having no experience with this sort of thing, he paused for a long moment, thinking. Rare was the occasion when Verx chose words carefully, but he thought this conversation merited some foresight.

Yeah, he said cryptically in answer, looking over at the young Skayona. It has to. You can't dwell on it. You won't survive. Time. You need time, bro.

Unknowingly, he had perhaps supplied an adequate answer to Ephraim's real question. Still, it felt inadequate to him, and he eyed his friend with a little bit of trepidation, hoping that would suffice--for now. He was no counselor, that was for damn sure.

Time. She was the great healer with the ability to patch all hurts, but not with any speed. Ephraim sighed quietly into his ankles, turning his vision back to the frozen lake as he contemplated Vercingetorix's advice. It first seemed ludicrous to him that dwelling on a fight would cause him to be unable to survive, but he supposed it made sense. He wouldn't be struggling to sleep if he wasn't so busy thinking about everything that happened, and the less he slept, the harder it was to function. Day by day he was growing less and less comfortable in his own skin, and all without knowing that his enemies were his kin.

But what if it happens again? he asked in a quavering tone as he peered back at Vercingetorix. What if another pack attacks us and I lose my shit like that again and attack someone else? Like you, or Tux, or Heda? By now it might have been becoming more clear that they were speaking of different things entirely, but Verx's advice was perfectly in line with Ephraim's questions thus far. He was therefore oblivious to it.

Okay, now this was weird. It was clear that he wasn't speaking of Caiaphas but. . . Wait, what the fuck?

Did something happen? Vercingetorix asked, concern clear in his voice and over his face, as well. Who did you attack? So wrapped up he'd been in protecting Heda from Blackhead's onslaught that he hadn't had time to notice much else. Whatever Ephraim had done, he had no knowledge of it.

But how bad could it be? Friendly fire incidents happened all the time. Wolves (young ones, in particular) lost their shit in battle. It was all about recovering from mistakes made and rigorous training for the next challenge.

Oh. He didn't know. Ephraim's heart slowly sank as Vercingetorix gave voice to his confusion, and then clattered roughly into the bottom of his breast when the Cheka asked the million dollar question. Who did you attack? There was the simple answer ("I attacked Easy"), the not-so-simple answer ("but I didn't mean to") and the complicated answer ("I thought she was someone else"), and none of them convincingly modified the simple answer into something favourable in a soldier's eyes.

So for a time Ephraim kept his lips tightly pursed and willed the burn of shame to leave his eyes lest it turn outright to tears. He wouldn't blame the Cheka for turning him away from the pack for this. It was within his right to do so in order to enforce the safety of their clan. In the heat of the battle, he hadn't stopped to think that his superiors might have been too busy to witness what he'd done, and since then, Ephraim had simply assumed they knew.

But he let the cat out of the bag, so now he had to fess up. Easy. It was an accident, he breathed, his voice higher and tighter than he would like it to be, I couldn't recognize anyone anymore and I thought she was an enemy and I just went for her. He drooped his tail down between his legs and turned his face away, unwilling to see the disappointment he thought was inevitable in Vercingetorix's eyes.

Easy? Given that Blackbear had given him, well, that name, he obviously wouldn't be familiar with her true moniker. He stared at Ephraim, even more puzzled. I don't know who that is, he said. One of the younger crew? A new recruit? He thought he was familiar with everyone here by now. Guess not.

He shook his head, casting it off for now. Whatever. Whoever it was. . .bro, it happens, Verx insisted, his tone grave (for once). It sucks, yeah, but when you get into that kind of fighting, mistakes are made. Sometimes it ends up being worse. You can't. . . Look, it was your first battle, right?

Without waiting for a response, he continued. It takes discipline and training to be able to focus that energy on the enemy, he stressed. Even then, someone fucks up. Ephraim, that battle was gnarly. It was unexpected, it was dark, there was a lot of shit going on. If I hadn't been near Heda the whole time, I might have done the same thing.

Point is, don't beat yourself up about it, he said. Apologize for it and move on. It gets better. You'll get better, too.

As it turns out, the writer of this post had assumed that Easy went by Easy now that her account was back to Easy. In reality Ephraim probably wouldn't know her name is Easy and would know her as Blackbear like everyone else, I think? Anyway, let's pretend he somehow knows both and with a start, he replied, Blackbear, I think? before turning his eyes downward. His ears remained focused on Vercingetorix throughout the Cheka's reassurance. It made him feel a little better inside, but that didn't show on his face.

All that showed there was remorse. How do you know I'll get better? he asked. It was a stupid question and he knew it the second it left his lips, but it was out there now. What if he was destined to be one of Drageda's worst fighters? It seemed plausible. After all, he was one of the smallest of their number. Size meant little, as any seasoned warrior would know, but Ephraim wasn't tried in battle enough to realize that his size could be an advantage against larger, slower opponents, even with the Cheka's tricks from their training.

Switching gears, the little coywolf let a dark frown descend over his features as he asked, why are we just letting them sit down there and recover? It was a question he'd wanted to ask for days after the fighting, but only now did it burst free of his restraint.

Oh, he shot back, the name thus clarified. Though. . .Easy? What the fuck? You talk to her about it? Blackbear's pretty chill; she probably understands. But maybe not. Dunno--Verx was questioning his entire knowledge of the girl, now that a second moniker had been revealed.

Vercingetorix shrugged. As long as you don't sit on your ass and do nothing for the rest of your life, you'll get better, he said simply. Takes practice. All you can do is improve from here; you're a smart dude, you learn from your mistakes.

And as for that second question. . . Well, he was wondering much the same. He had half a mind to storm down to Rusalka right now and wreak some havoc. Costs and benefits, I guess, he answered. Is it really worth it, the extra slice of land, if we lose soldiers in the process? Sure, if they come here, we have the home advantage. But Blackhead knows that sound pretty well; we go down there and we're headed into an ambush.

Verx scoffed. I wanna fuck 'em up, too, he muttered. Then he glanced at Ephraim. But the taste of blood ain't worth losing your friends over something stupid.

It's not even about the land, Ephraim sulked, frowning at his paws. Sure, he and Tux had wanted to claim Ankyra Sound ever since realizing it was Ephraim's birthplace, but that wasn't why he wanted to take care of the wolves squatting there. It was something else entirely. Even without knowing at that moment that they were his family but would kill him in an instant for nothing, he wanted them gone. The constant threat of another invasion had him strung out, and played a large part in why he struggled to sleep at night.

Vercingetorix wanted to kill them too, and his logic was sound, but it didn't reach through Ephraim's haze of anger. We're just letting them recover so they can come do it again! he growled at the ground. They weren't going to stop. Didn't anyone but him see that? We're making ourselves look pathetic and weak by doing nothing! We're showing them they can push us around and we won't retaliate! When had they become so afraid to act?

Or had they always been, and he'd simply been unable to see it through his childish eyes?

Oh, he understood just fine. He, too, burned with the desire to pillage and burn, to set the sound ablaze and turn the shore crimson. And if he were as young and angry as Ephraim, he would do it without hesitation.

But that fire of youth had faded, if only slightly, with the seasons. He was approaching his fourth year, a child no longer. Despite his enduring playfulness, his jocularity, he still had learned some things along the way.

It's a suicide mission, Vercingetorix said, shaking his head. We either go to their turf and get our asses handed to us, or we find a way to bring them here again--and what would you propose we do, there? Kidnap someone else? One of the kids? If you thought they were angry before, you bet your ass they'd be at our throats. We wouldn't escape without someone dying.

He stared over at Ephraim, his face grave. We wait. We grow strong, and we lay low. Doing nothing isn't weakness, it's smart. It took me a long time to learn that, and I still have trouble, honestly. But retaliation is what they want, and I'll be damned if we give them what they fucking want. Fuck that noise.

Yeah, now it is! he exploded, rounding on the Cheka with the fury of a scorned child who knew nothing but his own wants. After all, that's all he was: a child. They could all pretend all they wanted that they were adults, but Drageda's youngest were still untried and had much to learn before they could understand. It wasn't like Ephraim to lose his temper, but that was what stuffing everything down inside did to a person.

We beat the snot out of them! We could have gone down there and ended it and there was nothing they could have done to stop us! We were stronger! Scuffing a paw angrily on the ground, he kicked a pebble into the shallows. But we left them alone to recover and now there would be losses! Whether they came here or we went there, we would suffer for sitting on our asses. Don't you see how stupid that is? How could the man not? It seemed so obvious to Ephraim, who knew little of strategy and war, but thought he knew a lot.

That was the trouble with youth: their ignorance made them believe they were smart enough to argue these sorts of things.

At the first outburst, Vercingetorix rose to his feet, looming over the coywolf with a glint in his eye. He let him have his little tantrum, but then his lips peeled back from his teeth, and he fixed his bi-colored glare on Ephraim as he responded. Enough, he growled, his voice brooking no opposition. I'm not gonna sit and listen to a lecture on battle tactics from you. You asked me why, and I told you why. Now it's your turn to listen. Absorb the shit I say. Not try and argue it back to me.

For all his independence in other areas, when it came to the way of the warrior, Verx was rigid, steadfast to what he had learned. Anything contradicting his lessons was swept away without care. Even if Ephraim had a point--and he, in some sense, did--he wouldn't have cared to listen. And certainly not when delivered in that tone.

They came because we had one of theirs prisoner, he said, cooling down by a few degrees. They were well within their rights to strike. And then we killed another, and took the girl for a while as well. Going down there--Ephraim, we had already earned their hatred. Going down there and ending it wouldn't have worked. Not on their home turf. Not when they were so angry. Even if we wiped out their entire crew, we would have lost lives on our side.

That's not worth it, bro, Verx stressed, staring down at the boy, trying to make him see. Losing Blixen, Dio, Heda. . .all to prove a point? To wipe out an enemy? That's not worth it, to me. He sighed, turning away and sitting down again. His gaze raked the water as he continued. They come again, and we'll fight back. They do something fucked up, and we'll fight back. But an uneasy peace is better than no peace at all.

He went too far. As Vercingetorix drew himself to his full height and bore down on him, Ephraim turned back his ears and rounded his back, looking down and away from the higher ranked male. Being dominated did nothing to change his opinion, but now he kept his jaws clamped tight together all through Verx's lecture. Even after, Ephraim let the Cheka's words lapse into silence, refusing for a long time to respond. He didn't know what to say. He'd never seen such stubborn refusal to act in his life. Vercingetorix even justified Rusalka's actions, as if there hadn't been sound reason behind everything his own pack did. That prisoner? A natrona. That guy they killed? A trespasser.

Trigeda wouldn't stand for this, he wanted to protest. Instead all he said was, maybe that's good enough for you. He didn't need to say it out loud, but it was clear from his tone and his resentful expression that it wasn't good enough for him. They differed in that way. Ephraim didn't want to see anyone he cared about hurt, but the coywolf already understood that sometimes, sacrifices were necessary to ensure success. He would sooner take a risk than spend every day tense and wary, waiting for the next incursion. No doubt it was because the stress of waiting for the next strike was eating away at him in ways it didn't seem to be doing to Verx.

Can I go? he asked, intending to do exactly that whether the Cheka denied him or not.

Yeah, me and a whole host of other people, kid. But it did no good to argue. Seriously, what good would it do? Maybe a while ago, he would have gotten kicks from yelling at a kid. Now, he was getting way too old for this shit.

Ephraim asked his permission to leave--well, at least in words, if not in intent--which amused him, though he didn't let it show. He shrugged, affecting dispassion. You do you, bro, Verx replied, glancing over to the coywolf. And then he turned, staring, hoping he would meet his eyes before he went.

Hey, Ephraim, he said, his voice serious again. About the thing with Blackb--uh, Easy, he amended, shaking his head. It's okay. Everything, really. It's all gonna be okay. War fucks you up for a little while and then you heal over.

He didn't know why he said it. Maybe just to not let his friend leave on such a sour note. But he felt he had to. He already felt sorta bad for getting all douchey just a moment before, though Ephraim totally had it coming. And even when the boy left, Vercingetorix watched him go, his chest tight. All this, even before he learned Aure was pregnant with his kids.

Man, he was gonna be a shitty father, wasn't he?

You do you was as good as anything. Ephraim took it for permission and turned around, prepared to head off and stew in his sullenness a little while before letting it go and returning to patrol, but Vercingetorix stopped him. He swung his head back to look over his shoulder at the cheka, and immediately felt guilty for being sulky when the man reassured him. He was right, of course. All things passed and this would, too, or at least he hoped so.

Thanks, Verx, he said, more quietly and gratefully than anything else he'd said, before he headed off. He didn't feel much better but there was some hope there—hope that would soon be dashed, but hope nonetheless.