Firestone Hot Springs the tidal wave breaks

@Essie

Mountains are conquered, yet the dark red male circles back to where he once was, only northbound now.

His wanderings aimless, simply attempting to get distance between what haunts him in the south. By now, he could, in theory, count himself safe.

Yet he feels a set of eyes upon his back. The motion dismissed previously as merely paranoia, but it does not go away. Each step taken ruffles his fur further.

You are not fooling anyone, he hisses under his breath, snapping his head over his shoulder with teeth on full display. Show yourself!

Dated for the next big storm, true date TBA

The storm has destroyed her sense of direction, and yet again Saoirse is hopelessly lost. She isn't getting any better at navigating these new lands on her own, no matter how many times she and Shige split apart and come together. She's gone farther, this time—a mistake. Yet, perhaps a fortuitous one, for with the rain obscuring sight, sound, and scent, Essie has managed to relax. She isn't used to the weather by any means, but there is something soothing in it.

She thought she'd seen Shige moving through the brush ahead of her, and so she'd picked up her pace, trying to find the other wolf's form once again through curtains of water. She heard the voice, but it was quiet enough she didn't recognize the words even as she finally caught sight of the other. Dark fur had her sighing in relief, throwing herself out of cover and starting toward her companion at a trot—only to catch sight of piercing red eyes, her breath catching in her throat as she scrambled to a stop.

Oh god, they'd been found. She turned tail immediately to run.

Rain soaks bone-deep. The drops heavy enough they feel as if they might bruise skin.

It used to be celebratory; children dancing in the open, enjoying the feeling of cold and their thirst quenched after long periods without. Alas, he feels bitter.

Glaring through the curtains of water swaying in the harsh winds, the figure is easy enough to spot. Her light coat, soaked through though it may be, stands out akin to a becon of light in the dark. His address has her turning. The glimmer of recognition upon her face drives him mad.

They found him. This woman no ordinary local, but a spy for the empire that tore his home asunder.

All at once, he whips around, paws slipping through slick terrain as he storms after her. Jaws agape, snapping at air in his attempts to catch. Typically he would not be so foolish to fight another when he is on his own, but he cannot have her warn the others. Where there is one, there are many.

Of course, he chases her. She can't even be sure she's leading him away from Shige, and already she can feel him bearing down on her. Essie grit her teeth as she dodged between trees, not daring to glance back at his snapping jaws. If she can just lose him in the brush and the rain, she might get away.

That's when she feels teeth close around her tail, in the same moment her paws slip against a wet rock and she goes tumbling. Her yelp is frightened and furious. Saoirse twisted around to face him again, ignoring the pain of the bite in favor of lunging forward with a snarl.

She isn't going to let him take them. If Essie has to fight, if she has to die to make sure Shige lives, then she's damn well going to. With that thought in mind, she ducked low and threw herself at the male.

He feels as mad as the old man who's name he stole. Manic. Each stride brings him closer. Fear and rage leading the male onwards, dodging through trees and blinking blazing red eyes free of water. His jaws continue to snap, a thunderclap behind the traitorous woman who flees to spread information of his whereabouts.

Perhaps it is foolish, for she could be leading him to them. But he cannot risk it, cannot allow her another breath.

Fangs finally grasp what he seeks, grasping around her tail as the spy tumbles forward. The momentum enough that his hold is brief, though he does try to inflict any damage that could be done.

»You have destroyed my home! How much more must you take from me to be satisfied?!« The splotched male screams in his mother tongue, having not spoken even a whisper of the language since he entered these lands before.

Yet, she twists to face him, to charge at him and take him on face-to-face. Not a simple spy then. An assassin. Mercer will not bow down.

He charges forward, attempting to slam his chest to hers in a flurry of rain, teeth and blood. Her jaws slide across his cheek, slicing through fur and skin.

He doesn't release his mouthful when she falls, and so she feels sharp teeth dragging, breaking along the length of her tail until she is free. The pain is unbearable—she was rarely injured, before. It only highlights how hard she must fight.

He screams at her, and the words are unintelligable. She can't tell if it's another language or just the rain, or even the ringing in her ears, but she ignores it all. Saoirse cannot lose—she must not lose. For once, she can stand and protect Shige, rather than allowing it to be the other way around for their whole lives. They can be equals.

The murderous scum meets her charge head on, slamming into her even as her teeth cut across his cheek, enough to draw blood before his momentum carried her back, sending her rolling. She tried to latch on and drag him with her, knowing her stance was poor, her body unused to fighting. In contrast, she knows this male is far more experienced.

Her father would have sent nothing less. If she can get him on the ground, however...all wolves are equal when they're pinned.

Their bodies collide. Heavy impact causing the wench to roll, yet she is smart in her tactics and hides the weakness in her stance. Latching upon the side of his neck, Mercer is unable to stop gravity and her weight from pulling him down.

Snarl wrinkling his muzzle, sharp teeth continue their attempts to deal damage. He aims for her paws, for her chest, for any part that ends up within his reach. Instead of resisting, he falls purposefully in hopes it will end up stunning his opponent instead.

Her tactic works, and for a few moments she couldn't be more thrilled. She feels like she's winning.  Then his weight comes down, and his teeth snap—capturing a paw as she futilely tries to shove his head away, leaving deep puncture wounds; burying teeth in her chest and nearly taking a chunk of fur back with him while she cries out in pain. It is the weight of him dropping onto her that is the worst, though, nearly crushing her before she starts kicking with her back legs, aiming to take advantage of her position to hit him where he's most vulnerable.

She might have the leverage she needs to throw him off of her, if she tries; so that's what she does, teeth flashing as she trades blows, trying to catch his face, his chest, his throat. Anything that might make him loosen a little and allow her to heave and push.

Immobilizing the front leg makes it so she can no longer flee. A vulnerable spot the dark male has always taken to when possible. Stun the senses of the opponent, and they cannot do anything against the relentless attacks. From there he gets a mouthful of fur, ripped from her chest in a thick clump that has the texture of moss.

Tangled together, he goes for the throat first, yet is met instead with teeth sinking into the upper front of his left shoulder. The pain is enough to make him pause for a second, and it is all she needs to send a kick to his gut. Jaws parting as air is forced from his lungs. Her teeth clip into his chin, just inches away from beginning of his throat. Mercer collapses onto his side, tumbling and struggling to capture breaths.

Is this how he dies?

Pathetic, isn't it?

He ran all the way here, paws bleeding from how endless his journey was. Only for them to find him. And to die to a girl who can barely fight well.

He wants to laugh.

So he does. Painfully so.

He snaps out, attempting to cling to whatever piece of the woman he can, and he swings his weight, using the last of his strength to hold on and shred.

She will limp for days, and that's with only one injury. Her chest is already covered in blood, her tail is throbbing, and even if a miracle happens and she walks away from this, the inexperienced princess is worried she will die. For one, brief moment, she is vindicated and disgusted both. This is what she wanted to escape from, and she was right to ignore her parents' platitudes.

Worse, she had come from these monsters.

When she lunges for his throat, she is almost lucky—but only almost. Fortunately, her kick lands, and in moments he is off her. She struggled to get to her feet and take the high ground before he recovers, and has only just managed when he starts laughing.

What the hell. It was all she had time to think before his teeth sink into her shoulder and they're rolling again. She tried to return the favor, wrenching her weight to keep them moving until she can somehow, hopefully, end up on top.

It's a shock when the ground gives way beneath them, and they plunge into fire.

Pain consumes him. Each roll widening wounds haphazardly placed upon his upper body. The both of them thrashed around like rag-dolls, neither able to control the direction in which they rolled.

Fire takes them next. Earth disappearing to give way to liquid, Mercer thought they were to burn alive. He expects flames to be disintegrating their fur, turning flesh into ash. Alas, there is water. He releases her out of shock. Aching limbs flail, splashing as he emerges from the water's hold. His jaws gasp desperately for air.

Blood pours from all their wounds, turning the water colors fit for a murder scene. Soaked, injured and sore, Mercer barely clings to consciousness.

Saoirse has never been this hot in her life. The burning water sets each of her wounds screaming, and she recoils from the male seemingly in the same moment he releases her. She was busy thrashing her way to the surface, gasping in air against the rotten scent in her nostrils. The feeling of drowning is prevalent, but she has the sense of mind to flail back toward the shore.

By necessity she winds up shoving the male that way, too, but she doesn't care. Her wounds are ripped open, and she can barely drag herself out of the pool. She shivered in the open air, at the cold water pouring over her. Essie doesn't know how she was still moving; her tremors were just getting worse, but she hadn't yet collapsed.

A glance back showed her opponent barely awake, nearly dipping beneath the surface again. There was a part of her that hissed, good. She wants to walk away and let him drown.

Saoirse suspects that was her father talking.

Instead, she turned, as best she could; grateful he was at least still close to the edge, she reached for his scruff, used every ounce of strength she had left to drag him out. Her mouth felt full of liquid when she dropped him, but whether it was her blood or his, she couldn't be sure.

There, She panted, finally wavering and letting her legs collapse underneath her. Saoirse didn't even try to avoid falling on top of him, though her sense of the world was fading so quickly she couldn't be sure whether she had or not. Now even if you kill me, you have to go back and tell my father I'm nothing like him.

She was better than what she'd come from.

Moments pass where Mercer is gone.

By the time he comes to, he is in the air. Water gushes from his open mouth, and a whine of agony follows soon after. Choking and coughing, his body has given up on him. He cannot fault it. Maybe he, too, has given up. It would be simpler to do so. After all, he has nothing now.

He flops on the ground close to the water's edge, uncertain how he got there in the first place. Unfocused red eyes flicker upwards, catching the cream woman who he not only fault but whom seemed to have saved his sorry ass from an early grave.

You speak nonsense, spy, he spits the word as if it burns as much as the springs had. Your people destroyed my home. There is no where to go back to.

There is a horrible ringing in her ears, the world is spinning and dark and she cannot feel the rain—but that doesn't stop her from hearing his words. Every wound on her body throbs with each heartbeat; she feels sick, can smell nothing but blood and rotten water, and something like horror and elation creeps up her throat.

Cedar Pike...was destroyed? She disregarded the comment of spy, its context irrelevant to her, hearing only what she wanted to hear. If her home has been destroyed...her family is dead.

There is only one left who would hunt her.

Pelting down upon them in endless waves, the rain remains unrelenting. No mercy shown to either of them, and Mercer wishes he had the strength to struggle to his feet. All he can do is lay there, breathe and pretend he is not dying.

Cedar Pike is spoken, and it is then that he is hit with denial. For certainly this must be a jest! And this joke is not funny.

You can not fool me with made-up places! He refuses to swallow the possibility that she speaks the truth, and they both lay worn and bleeding for no reason other than a misunderstanding.

Blacklight fell because of your lot.

Saoirse thinks she might cry. She thinks she might laugh until she blacks out. This whole situation is horribly, horrifically stupid, only made more so when he continues. There is so much bitterness in the air between them, and she can't believe this stroke of misfortune has led them to direct it toward each other.

Blacklight. The name is entirely unfamiliar, and though that wouldn't normally matter—her father was a warmonger, she could surely lay the blame of countless fallen packs at his feet—she cannot help her suspicion.

...Were they north of here? Because there is a chance. There is a chance she will at least die for an overdue apology, but something tells her this is all much dumber than that.

He refuses to admit he is wrong. North of here? How much longer did she wish to play games? They are both going to die, either from their wounds, infection or the cold that seeps into their bones as the storm rages on.

You and I both know it is in the south. Stop this foolishness. Had he the energy, he would flick his ears back, but all he can manage is a pathetic attempt at a snarl. His left foreleg twitches, almost violently so.

She cannot even see him, can barely hear him. The shock of the rain works to drown the world, and she is quickly losing her grasp on the feeling of the earth beneath her. She doesn't even hear his actual words, in the end; the tone sounds like a denial, like continued anger, and that is all the confirmation her addled mind needs.

Everything hurts so badly, but she laughs anyway. It's a weak, broken noise, and her chest shudders as though she were sobbing as well, but most of all it is hysterical, uncontrollable, and growing louder the longer she cannot stop herself.

I'm so sorry, Shige, She thinks, and the laughter goes on, and on, and on, until everything stops.