Redhawk Caldera on the bones of my enemies

There was something empty about standing on the edge of the pit that was Redhawk Caldera. He should have felt victorious but there was nothing there. Charon worried that he had not seen some of his wolves around for a bit. Maybe they were just out looking for Revui, but what if more would leave? Especially with the pup season coming up and in combination with Amekaze's lacklustre interest in furthering their legacy Charon wondered what the year would bring them. He was not getting any younger either and he needed this. Maybe he needed it too much, but it was a hard thing to admit to even himself, so he would not let it ever shimmer through.

And then there were his children, all independent but none of them seeming all too interested in finding relations. Hydra would be a worthy successor when their time came to step down from their positions as King and Queen of the mountain, but she, too, had no mate to speak of. And wolves that had left never returned. It made Charon angry to think that they would hate him so that they would never return to him, not even to let him know how they were doing, not even to apologise for the way or moment they'd left in. Nothing. They just didn't give any fucks.

It lead him back to Dhole. A breeze of wind made the fur along his back and neck dance as he stood on the edge of the Caldera she had once been part of. The one she'd left to join his pack when they were both still young. Dhole was a lot like Potema in some ways, except that whatever they had shared, whatever deep friendship had been possible, it had been shattered like glass. It was many years ago that they had parted. What would she think of him now? Did she still hate him for not understanding? Did she feel sorry at all for leaving in the way that she had? Had she ever found Flóki, out there..?

He sat down on the cold ground as he watched the frozen lake in the Caldera's midst, a soft, low, thoughtful hum rumbling in his throat as he reminisced and wished deeply to find such friendships in his life again.

thought this might be interesting lol sorry charon

Moonspear's alpha would not discover such a friendship on this day.

When the fog dragged a rake of smoky tendrils over the caldera did the reaper rise, svelte steel merging from the shadows of which he was born - soldier to the night, king of the dead; bare trees would rattle at his approach like the pallid bones of skeletons, dancing to the whispers of the wind. His gait was steady but silent, as though he were walking on nothing but frozen clouds... 

Only slowing when ivory melted into his vision, torn by the bitter trace of scars. The Svartell did not recognise him at first, but when the echos of memories tipped into his mind he let the scene embrace him, sharp whipping of the wind as his backdrop. Charon. Aries was not the fool he had once been, so young and vexatious, but he did not regret his actions - he never regretted what he'd done, when it came to his past or the crimson he'd spilled from another's heart.

Whether the mist would speak of his presence was up to fate alone.

thanks for joining :D definitely a blast from the past, even though Charon doesn't remember :')

Although the King held memories of Olive and Dakarai and their family, he didn't remember much specifically. Even if he would've been able to remember anything, then it was unlikely that he'd remember the small child when he laid eyes on the greyscale adult. A flash on his left side at first as he looked around, and only when he tilted his head did his good eye find the other's form. Scars littered his form but Charon knew better than anyone that that did not make you a warrior or a vicious man necessarily.

His tail twitched in anticipation which of those the man was. For some reason his first association when he picked up his scent was Potema. His heart skipped a beat. Was she still somewhere? He could not quite place why the scents reminded him so much of his dear friend. He waited, watching to see if the other would approach or stay at a distance and go his own way. Maybe he would get his answers, then.

<3

In terms of size, Aries far outmatched the young, insolent boy he'd once been; constructed of lean muscle, guarded with carved flesh into scars, incisors of pointed bone sharpened like daggers to line his jaw - he was scarcely disgruntled to find no recognition lingering in the pale alpha's watching stare. Made everything all the more fun, when his identity was masked: it didn't matter that Charon had little recollection of the chaotic moons that they'd slept in the same domain, because the reaper remembered. That was all he required.

"Charon," he greeted, in a gruff voice that gave no hints behind; the deepest grumble of thunder, with the rough, jagged spears of a rasp. The soldier of the damned, the one who killed for pleasure or to earn his keep, and left the carcasses to rot in a plague of misery. Not an honourable man, but he'd never claimed to be. The Svartell waded closer through the mist, but left a space between them - he was not so foolish to expect an immediately peaceful welcome, but plenty of his past appeared to be catching up to him, appearing before his eyes in a mirror of his memories; soon enough, he'd encounter his half-brother.

Luckily for Charon, Aries had a reason to maintain conversation; infrequently would he approach another without malicious intent, but he had questions, and perhaps the moonspearian could provide him with the answers he sought. But first... to build up feigned trust, or perhaps an instinctual trepidation - no doubt the scarred guardian would question how the king of death knew anything about him or his home. Always secretive, the most favourable way of being. "How is Moonspear faring?"

He was surprised when he was greeted by name, not sure who he was facing still. He contemplated asking, but before it became too awkward to ask, Charon found himself somewhere stuck between not caring enough and feeling akward that he didn't know the name of the wolf who clearly remembered him well. Anyway, it didn't matter much. He would figure it out later, or not, if it ended up not mattering.

This wolf clearly knew of his pack, too. Charon said, It's well enough. He tried to figure out who he was facing still, though his face in combination with scents that reminded him oddly of Potema did not ring a bell. Maybe it was that asshole brother of hers..? Clearly not the one facing him, but perhaps something to do with her. Seemingly out of the blue he asked: Do you know where Potema is? There was a spark of hope in his voice, although it was clear he did not really expect this wolf to know it. But maybe...