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Through the black forest, he went. His eyes flashed yellow-green in the dark. Thin clouds sailed across the stars, and a light rain bathed the mountain in a mantle of mist. His grey fur prickled with raindrops. The cool air tasted sweet, fresh, and alive with scents of other wolves: his pack mates; his new kith and kin. He perked his ears as he went, listening for them, but hearing only the delicate plink of rain on the shaggy canopy overhead.

Just as well. He would learn their names, their faces, in time.

Goldry padded on a narrow path where the thick detritus of pine needles and damp leaves silenced his steps. He followed it up and up in a switchback pattern until it leveled out and the forest around it thinned to nothing. It panned into a wide, flat ledge that overlooked a dark basin of trees. The path continued ascending the mountain along the far left side, but Goldry stopped following it.

The weak moonlight, half obscured by clouds, and the soft rain washed over him as he padded into the rocky clearing. A cold, brisk wind stole his breath away.

He strode to within a foot of the edge. His whole body tingled, and he felt almost weightless as he peered over it. His jaw clenched. But he smiled, too. He wanted to absorb that view below: the bristling forest and rocky crags inundated in dark shadows and pale mist; and above: the silver-slate mountain peak rearing up into a sea of rainclouds. The home of his new family – of Tonravik and Aguta; of Tartok – enraptured him.

Soon, he hoped, the wolves of Tartok would enrapture him too.

shoves my way iNTO YOUR THREAD HELLO ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

The granite gradients of their home were shrouded in night, illuminated by Luna's pallid boon. Where morning dared to light up the skies in the east, rainclouds roiled in the west. The clouds sapped the saturation. In turn, the reverberant colors below were dingily hollow. Once day reached their skies, it would be a long, bleak day. They would not feel the sun's warming touch. This was but a warning of what was to come: the purging of the weak, the renewal of life.
           Vehiron wanted nothing more than to curl up into the furthest reaches of his den and sleep. However, an energy rippled beneath his skin; electric, as it surged throughout him. It could not go ignored, so he uncoiled and stretched his tired limbs, coming to exit his hovel. What greeted him outside was a light drizzle...and a nippy breeze. Not his cup of tea. The cold always made his joints ache, especially when it rained.
           With an indignant snort, he traversed the mountain, doing nothing in particular other than familiarizing himself with the nooks, crannies, and possible shortcuts. He spotted nothing scurrying about beneath him, still resting for the day ahead. Vehiron tardily ascended the peak only to come across a gray outline standing atop one of Silvertip's many drop-offs. He could smell Tonravik upon him, so that alone put him at ease. He approached Goldry, his talons noisily clicking against the rock. Eerily enough, the sound seemed to carry, inhabiting the mountain's many vestibules.
           “Quite exhilarating, no?” Scratchy were his vocals, sleep evident on his countenance and stature. Just who was this man? Where did he stand in this merry band of misfits?

oh why HELLO (◕‿◕✿) [size=xx-small]also you should know i really like vehiron okay <3[/size]

The stranger's nails clicked against the rocks like the ticking hand of a clock, warning Goldry of his approach well ahead of time. He swept his ears back, listening, and his black nose ferreted out the stranger's potent scent amidst the many pungent odors on the damp air. As the yet unknown Tartok wolf sidled from the shadows, Goldry spied warily over his shoulder to see him: a sleek and swarthy man with burning blue eyes and fine white trim from chest to tail. He was lithe and elegant, with a sort of shaggy nape to soften his scarred face. He was handsome, yet Goldry felt oddly disquieted by him.

Goldry raised his tail at the other's approach, and kept his focus on him even as he glanced back at the misty wood below. He flexed his claws against the bare rock and rubbed his teeth together in silent contemplation. He was alert and fully prepared for trouble. Other males set him on edge.

“Yes,” he agreed, and, after a breath, turned to face Vehiron properly.

He saw, then, a familiar softness about the other's face and pose, as if he rejected sleep though it dogged his steps. Goldry knew that feeling well; it haunted him all the prior year during his travels. He gave his Tartok brother a little, empathetic smile, and though Goldry relaxed, his senses were still sharp and firmly fixed on his new companion. “Trouble sleeping?” he asked.

YOU LIKE MY BBY??? omhwioenefc thanks~! <33 Goldry's a precious babe yeh. I hope these two become best buds. [size=-5]& go check out my gift thread pls <3[/size]

One gleaming gold eye examined him, tension sneaking into the stranger's body. Vehiron could see the taut skin of the male's hackles, twitching as a sign of mistrust. He did nothing to subjugate Goldry's uncertainty, even as he raised his tail like a flag. If it was a implied objection of some sort, Vehiron paid it no mind. Now was not the time to fuss over ranks. Now was the time for introduction, for forming connections. This branch of Tartok was but a riffraff gathering because no one knew each other. They were lacking unity. Vehiron knew of a surefire way to break the ice, but one-on-one meetings were nice, too. At least he could focus his attention on one wolf, and not a dozen.
           When Goldry turned to face him, he wasn't quite expecting the softness in his eyes – like he related to his sleeplessness. The infinitesimal smile that tugged at his lips drove home this fact. “Yeah. Cold, showery days make my joints ache.” He was so insouciant in this reveal, he secretly hoped Goldry would see this as a sign of trust. He did not expect the man to gush about every misfortune in his life, no. Heavens no! Just contributing to the conversation would be enough.
           “And to just get it out of the way: I go by Vehiron.” A name that meant nothing in these lands, he begrudgingly noted. Perhaps someday...

yes I do a lot :3 and thank you kindly, you are awesome <333

“Hm?” For a heartbeat, Goldry hesitated. His brow quirked and his eyes narrowed by a hair. The black Tartok had hardly responded to his posturing, but he couldn't understand why not. Pack mates fought for rank, and with it, brotherhood. Comradeship was to be earned. Wolf tested wolf to learn, to grow, and to accommodate for each other's flaws. To settle disputes before they became an issue. So then, why did this one reject his silent proposition out of hand, neither rising to the challenge nor submitting to it? Was he not accustomed to this way of life? Did he have an ulterior motive? Or was it something else? Yet, as suspicion surged through him, a tentative sense of warmth accompanied it. His little smile grew. “Vehiron,” he repeated. “I'm Goldry, son of Valko.” He lowered his tail inch by inch until it loosely brushed against his hocks. He remembered, only a second later, how Aguta had responded to this introduction: son of; and that Vehiron had neglected to give a patronymic. Apparently the custom didn't exist in this land. He would have to keep that in mind, but for now, he continued with only a moment's pause, revealing not a whisker of emotion for his blunder. “So, achy joints, huh?” Goldry said sympathetically. He wagged his tail once, twice, and his eyes glinted with amusement. Vehiron spoke so cavalierly about his predicament, there didn't seem to be any harm approaching the topic with levity. “Wish I could help, but I'm no healer,” he said. “I'm sure standing in the rain isn't doing you any good, though.” Goldry grinned.

Table by Noire

In his youth, Vehiron was far more ascendant, rising to each and every challenge thrown his way. He was quite accomplished, at the age of three years. By then, he had many children and a reputable rank within his band. He was infamous back home. Most notably for philandering...and murdering; dark deeds that still haunt him at night. But despite the fact that he was an educated hit man, it was his high-and-mighty attitude that got him into the most trouble. In other words, it pissed off a lot of his alleged 'friends.' He was ousted from his position of power and threatened with the slaughter of his brood. Because of this, he had been a man of many enemies, and very little friends. Perhaps that is why he did not respond to Goldry's posturing, for fear of history repeating itself...Though he led a different life now, the fright would always be there.
           And, well...he was in no condition to brawl, nor was this the best place. Vehiron would wait until the rainclouds went away to take up Goldry's implied challenge. Chatting up pack mates would not harm anyone, either. There were some things better spoken than through action.
           Goldry's patronym raised some questions. Was this Valko of importance? Is that why he introduced himself in such a way? Vehiron could not comprehend the meaning behind this. For all his intellectual prowess, he wasn't all that sharp when it came to different customs. He knew they existed, but this one was new.
           “Yeah, you're probably right,” he sighed, his gaze fixed on something past Goldry. “Can't sleep. Maybe it's because this division of Tartok is still so new? Makes me...antsy.” The truth, in all its dull glory. Vehiron shook his head, not knowing what to think of it. “Speaking of Tartok –” His azure-plum eyes zeroed in on Goldry's face, a keen interest lying in the depths of his stare. “– what compelled you to join? If you don't mind me asking, that is.”

Goldry nodded. He felt it too – restlessness. That gnawing sensation in his stomach and that jittery electricity pumping through his body with each solid heartbeat. His legs fidgeted when he tried to sleep. His thoughts roved about or lurked in silence as his senses alerted him to everything around him. He could have forced himself to settle down, but he saw no harm in allowing his body to exhaust itself of its nerves. Which was why, like Vehiron, he stood on this slate-gray, windswept ledge in a cold and humid mist in the dead of night. Vehiron posed a question that caught him off-guard. Goldry canted his head as he met Vehiron's stare. His deep blue eyes hungered for a satisfying answer; the truth, or something better, but nothing as simple as “winter is coming.” Goldry's yellow eyes met them, wavering not, but probing the windows of Vehiron's soul in return. And what he thought he saw within made Goldry grin with the smallest, most microscopic twitch of the lips that it was almost invisible. Goldry let the silence stretch between them a little longer before he blinked. “Well, winter –” he paused, seemed to reconsider, then frowned slightly. He glanced back down at the basin of black trees, which looked like nothing so much as decayed teeth in the mouth of the mountain. “No. The truth is, I don't know much about Tartok. You say this is a division – that only confirms my belief this pack is a branch in a great tree. And although it's new, Tonravik seems like a leader who can make this branch grow strong. “But that's not why I joined. Not for power or glory.” He glanced at Vehiron, then, with a somewhat heavy expression. He let a breath of silence pass. “I don't care to be part of the Tartok tree,” he said. Goldry felt a jolt of adrenaline surge through him. What was he saying? What would Vehiron think? What if someone overheard him? Especially Aguta and Tonravik? It was the truth; it had always been the truth even when he joined, but it was lunacy to say something so bold to another member of Tartok. Or was it? He sighed and flashed Vehiron a grin. “I joined because I want to do good,” he said. “Well no, I came to this land in search of peace. I joined Tartok on a whim, because it reminded me of my home. But now I think I can do a lot of good here...” he trailed off. “Idealistic, I know...” he said quietly. “What about you, Vehiron? Why did you join?”

Table by Noire

He hid nothing from Goldry, allowing this son of Valko to look into him without any indicant of vexation. While others would have seen this as a mark of rebelliousness, Vehiron could not be classified as the “others” – those whom swayed beneath their inherent aptitude. He possessed thought and emotion – the likes of which seem lost to Siku and Tonravik. But more significantly, he was genuine, unshrinking to lay bare his faults. If someone wanted to take advantage of these faults, then so be it. I am not afraid.
           Something made Goldry backtrack, letting the humdrum alibi of winter's approach trail off into silence. This alone caused unfeigned solemnity to show through his worn out mug. However, such expression was quickly snuffed out by the words that followed. Goldry joined Tartok because he wanted to do good.What constituted as good, though? Was this desire to do good from some moral standing? It was commendable enough to have a goal, but would this goal be enough to tie him to Tartok indefinitely? How would Tonravik react to this proclamation? He did not know...but she would not be hearing this from his lips.
           “I see.” A neutral acknowledgment, along with a neutral stare. Vehiron was neither with or against Goldry's reasoning. He was set in his ways, weathered by time and circumstance. It was not his place to speak out against Goldry, for the future was unpremeditated. Who knew what Goldry's time within the Tartok ranks would be like – if it would change him for better, or for worse. Vehiron would eagerly await that day where he was not so ambivalent in his ideals. However, he was no less a wolf in Vehiron's eyes, for he has been in a similar position one too many times, which brought him to the likes of Tartok.
           “I joined Tartok because no place suits me better – mentally, physically, or emotionally.” Vehiron got a little closer to the edge upon which his pack mate stood, looking down at the misted underworld. It was evident that the cogs in his brain were in motion by the silence that suddenly slipped between them. Abruptly – as if to reassure him – a breeze combed through his fur, growing in strength every couple of seconds. The mountains many caverns seemed alive with the wind, it's hollowness echoing loudly within his ears. The random zephyr died down. It was then Vehiron turned to Goldry, inquisitive and open. “And...I really want to prove myself.” To who, to what? He expected these questions, and he was more than willing to share...

Goldry leaned back as a cold breeze slipped its fingers through his coat and tousled his fur. Below him, the sluggish mist slithered along the wind current while rain clouds sailed across the wan moon. The mountain niches, cracks, and caves groaned, and the susurrus of the trees sounded like whispering ghosts. Vehiron padded closer to the edge, and his clicking claws echoed dully off the rocks. Goldry smiled. In virtually any other circumstance, he would have bared his teeth, growled, and bristled from nape to tail if forced to share such close proximity to an acquaintance, a stranger, a man; but Vehiron had responded well – better than he predicted: answering neutrally without apathy – so Goldry let him approach without reprisal. The agouti wolf remained fluid and relaxed. His eyes softened. His smile remained. What he thought he saw in Vehiron was this: honesty and honor – enough for Goldry to assume Vehiron wasn't a telltale – combined with a rational emotionalism distinct from the raw instinct he saw in Tonravik. Goldry thought this meant Vehiron was his own person rather than an archetypical soldier loyal only to the word of his general. In other words, he was someone Goldry could trust in more ways than one. Or so he hoped. Time would tell, of course. He could be completely mistaken, and he knew he would soon learn if that was the case. For now, all Goldry could do was accept Vehiron's open-faced camaraderie while, with careful, measured words, he tested the possibility of trusting him. “Oh?” he said as he leaned back against the breeze. He realized Vehiron seemed keen to fit in; and although Goldry wished to speculate on this, he knew he couldn't reasonably understand why without learning more about him. Vehiron didn't strike him as one who'd seek solidarity in someone else's pack out of insecurity, so there must be a good reason. Vehiron's second statement, spoken as the breeze lulled and silence engulfed the mountainside, piqued Goldry's interest even further and gave him the opportunity to attain the insight he was looking for. His ears perked. “Prove yourself?” he repeated. “How? To whom?” Goldry shook his head. “Ack. Sorry. You don't have to answer that.”

Table by Noire

this post is all over the place forgive me

The allowance to come closer – it was a pennant of trust. The proximity between them was only allowed by Goldry's say-so. Should his company have voiced dissatisfaction, Vehiron would have respected that. He had not, so the taupe warrior gave Goldry a gentle wag of his tail, solidifying their camaraderie. It was new, but it was there. Question was, would it last?
           “No, you're fine,” he said in passing, shaking his cranium. At least Goldry was not being blatantly impetuous in his prying. The man waited to ask the questions when they mattered most. Not that Vehiron was excessively tight-lipped. He just did not respond well to force regarding the machinations of his mind (or his past).
           “How? By settling down and startin' a family. To whom?” A darkness befell him, whittling away at his bearing and mood. It was not depression that made his throat constrict, but concern. “To myself.” He looked away from Goldry, glaring out at the failing light of day. He had a lot on his plate, and he was positive it was going to hunt him down until he was dead and rotted.
            “Goldry, I –” His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat. “I've got an – an inglorious past.” It was here where he meagerly locked his eyes back onto Goldry's face. “I did many things I'm not proud of, but I did most of it for a reason. My actions were justified.”
           It was all a ploy though, wasn't it? A ploy? No...no! There was a kernel of truth in there somewhere. He bled, he killed, for that truth! A truth that's done you no favors. Aside from planting a giant bulls eye on his back? Yeah, no favors. He sighed loudly, some of the tension leaving his body.
           “No amount of “I'm sorry” could forgive what I've done, so...I'm trying to move on.” No redemption. “Live a good life. Work on the good things I want in my life.
            “Sorry for gushin', by the way. I'm an ass for dumpin' all that on you...” He did a one eighty and jestingly said, “Your turn.” Well, that was one way to lighten the mood.

I thought it was fine! no need to apologize! ^^
[size=xx-small]actually, I feel like I've been writing you into a corner, and if that's the case, 1,000 apologies![/size]

There – a wag of his tail, a shake of his head – Goldry saw it again: that eagerness for kinship coloring Vehiron's words and actions. He didn't think it was just an act; or, if it was, it was too obvious, too benign. His behavior was so abstract and friendly, but so reluctant that it felt genuine. Goldry wanted to trust that proverbial olive branch, yet he felt a sting of suspicion again. Was Vehiron really prepared to share something close to his heart with him, an almost perfect stranger? And simply because he'd asked? Did his potential friendship really mean that much? He wanted to know; he wanted that insight. To get it, he decided to play it out. He couldn't put up walls just yet. Goldry curved his ears back and grinned. He nodded as Vehiron dismissed his apology, and he stepped back a little from the edge so they could both share the space. His eyes softened as Vehiron expressed his wish to start a family, then they grew softer still as Vehiron paused on the precipice of an answer to his second question: prove himself to whom? A dark and gloomy look fell over the black wolf. He looked crestfallen and suddenly very alone. Goldry said nothing, but he felt almost sorry to see Vehiron like that. When his voice broke, Goldry glanced away, frowning. An inglorious past? Goldry looked back a half-second after Vehiron did. He looked back and saw some sort of desperate, dispirited expression. Vehiron had a face of longing. One that hungered for the forgiveness it knew it could not have. Goldry's frown deepened, whether out of pity or distrust, he himself didn't know. But when Vehiron sighed, Goldry knew the moment had passed and he needn't decide why his own heart felt heavy. He looked away, flicking his ears and grinning again as Vehiron admitted his reason for living was in the hope of doing good. Goldry thought it paralleled his own sentiments almost poetically. “You don't have to apologize, you know,” he said after a brief pause, ignoring, for the moment, how Vehiron had tried to pass him the figurative torch. Vehiron seemed to have a lot he wished to apologize for; Goldry, however, let his words hang on the cold air without elaborating. “I'm afraid my past isn't glorious at all, one way or the other.” He cracked a smile. “I left my pack to start a family, but my homeland just isn't a safe place. Someone told me it was peaceful once, before they started hunting us – humans, I mean...” Goldry glanced up at the indistinct and hazy moon. “But, that time has long since gone.” He watched his breath curl away in the mist, then he looked back at Vehiron with his agouti face untroubled. “So I came here. Searching for that peace.”

Table by Noire

Write me into a corner...? I'm down with that; I love reading your posts. 83 The thread might be coming to a close, though...Unless Goldry wants to speak about something, of course.

No trust could be gained without trust in turn. It was as simple as that. Vehiron could understand Goldry's diffidence, but he must face everyone with hesitancy. It was an unfortunate venue of life, one in which he was well versed in. Honestly, his haste to make brand-new allies stemmed from the loss of his old cronies. Their treachery left him with nihility. That nothingness gaped and pulsed like an abscessed wound, and that wound birthed a seedling. It was a seedling of dubiety betwixt the two of them, but it was those assholes doing, not Goldry's. Trust is like a mirror. Once its broken, the cracks are still visible. Vehiron was trying to mend those cracks by meeting other wolves, but it was...difficult. Harder than he was letting on.
           Goldry's emotions brewed artlessly, and that's what drew Vehiron in. The man did not keep down his feelings in order to seem distant, or to put up a facade that would only push him (and others) away. Even when he saw an inkling of pity (or was it suspicion?), Vehiron did not take it personally because this was thin ice they were treading on here. Why would he blow up in Goldry's face about conveying an emotion that was genuine? He would much rather see commiseration than impassivity, or worse yet: no emotion at all.
           “Yeah, I know,” he abjectly whispered with a tiny grin. “Bad habit.”
           He was not expecting Goldry to take up the torch. Surprise colored his features, but he listened to what the man had to say without interruption. Vehiron would have respected his reticence, but he went on about how he broke off from his pack in order to start his own family, only to relocate because his native land was no place for growing minors. Humans plagued his homeland...or maybe they were gone now? Nevertheless, it was reason enough to get the hell out of dodge. Nothing good ever came of humans.
            “Then may your future be filled with repose.” Had he an ale, he would have lifted it to toast. Instead, he would have to settle with a sharp nod of his head. Silence settled between them as if a storm had passed. Vehiron made no attempt to converse further, complacent to watch the sun ascending in the east with his pack mate.