Big Salmon Lake [BWP P4 Prey Opportunity] katatonia

Phase 4 is live! NO large game at this point for all participating, save what is found in TN threads. Enjoy!

quake after quake ransacks the wilds, and the most recent quake was felt all along the great bear wilderness' ridge. along the lake the water had turned a dark and turbulent color, murkwater lapping insiduously at a fretful and worried shore.

the water, no more transluscent than the darkening skies overhead, lapped over the quake's most recent victim -- a bull moose felled in its prime. browsing for reeds along the stillwaters, the rumblings of the earth had opened up a pit by the lake's shallows, and water and moose flooded into the widening gorge. the ripwater, too forceful for even a moose to overcome, had served to entomb and drown the hapless creature.

and now, hours after its demise, the moose resurfaced along the bank -- sodden, yet fresh.

The male couldn't believe his eyes. That was still often the case these days, but he was learning to trust more and more that this was reality he was living in, and that his eyes were not deceiving him even if his memories were increasingly confused.

But no, this was real. There was a moose, whole and fresh, waiting to be eaten. Nightstar wasted no time, surging forward to begin frantically gnawing at a hind leg. He would surely be chased off soon. Except that he had a pack, now. Dare he risk calling for them, and alerting others of this good fortune?

No. For now, he continued to saw awayaway, hoping to secure a leg to bring back to the rest.

Though Sarah's meal had been fairly recent and she was suffering from mild gastric upsets due to the rotten state of it, she was not a wolf to miss upon an opportunity to eat more, if it presented itself to her. She arrived to the moose corpse only minutes after the first scavenger had begun it's feast. Without sparing it so much as a glance, she attacked the soft underside of the moose's neck. She tore, she ravaged and she swallowed without chewing every piece of skin, fat and meat she could get. Soon others would arrive to eat and so there was no time to waste.

cameo unless confronted/noticed! she's just poppin a squat lmao

Wraith;
this was the hunger of her frostback'd voyages, where hunger had become more than the dishevlement of her innards. The longer she huddled within the underbrush as ill-behaved imps do, the more of the same returned; coaxing her with unravelment of all the refinement she'd ever learnt; cinching the gut with paltry pleas.

He might have sworn at her indecision; he might have encouraged her with his menagerie of curses; his specter might have nipped at her nape, spitting to just eat, goddamn you! But to sup from the waters where he had been felled—

Severed as her soul now be, Andraste could not bring herself to disentomb; waters rushed that mortal, inked vessel away or no.

Halfsight is a brightburn through the brush as she observed all those who meant to partake; envied, myriad. Knew here, then, that what-ever — if ever — she would ingest must be stored within her, and brought back up for those of her Court.

She ruminates in her refusal.

Nightstar's head snapped up at the approach of another, the fur along his spine mantling like the wings of a blackbird. He glowered at her a moment, a growl of warning ripping past his bloodied fangs -- but he did not try to stop her from setting upon the moose.

His attentions were better focused severin the leg from the rest of the beast. He had reached hard tendon and gristle, and could see already that the task might well be beyond him. Heartrate increasing, he ripped more insistently at the flesh in desperate hope of getting something, anything to bring back to the family.

@Nightstar edited my post a bit, feel free to notice his obvious side-glances!

Having set himself due north from the meadow, he returned to the lake, and came upon a much different scene than the tranquility he had found a few nights ago. Chaotic. Voracious. Tantalizing. His nostrils flared, and caught the scent of moose and wolf; and he saw them, pieced like a patchwork between the trees.

He prowled, and watched, and at first he stayed put, right where he was - safe, and concealed. And hungry. Hungry.

Branches cracked, and paws met loamy shore. He charged toward the gathered troupe, a low growl in his throat to warn them not to get in his way, and he plunged at the moose with jaws agape, ready to tear and pull and eat, and ready to fight, if anyone tried to stop him.

Yet he found his eyes drawn toward the man pulling at the elk's hind leg, a prize for the taking - for more than one - for family, his family, his mother and siblings, how well that leg would feed them all --

The leg was almost free; he saw it severing from the vicinity he fed, and his skin crawled. Almost.

Tossing her in here among this. <3

With large prey all but non-existent, the Nightwalkers were living off of what they could. They had lowered their sites to smaller animals and scavenging. Tzila guarded what she found possessively, intent on sharing with no one. It was the survival of the fittest in this pack, and surviving was what she excelled at. She would play dirty if she had to.

Taking great lengths to seek out more prey, Tzila traveled further from the Haunted Wood than usual. As much as she disliked being away from her dark, foreboding home, such strides were necessary to ensure not only her well being, but that of the Nightwalkers as well. She would welcome any who chose to tag along, but if they got in her way, they would earn a taste of her wrath. A scent in the air and a group of wolves by a riverbed caught her eye. They were gathered around a massive, freshly deceased moose, likely a victim of the earthquakes. She cared not of how it died. This was too good a chance to pass up. Flagging her tail dominantly over the curve of her hips, she charged towards the group, barreling her way past anyone in her line of fire. With a gurgling snarl and brandished teeth, she ripped into the chest of the fallen animal, to access the heart, one of the choicest cuts of meat.

Further and further Black Hat lurked from the Haunt, driven by hunger. They'd felled a bison, but the pack had many hungry mouths to feed, and the season was growing colder by the day. It would not last forever. Fortunately, he needn't travel too far to find something of worth. And what more, nature had already done the deed for him. The body was still fresh, concealed in the lake 'till now. But he wasn't the first to arrive, and he would not be the last, either.

Stiffly, he approached, hackles raised and a rumble sounding from deep in his belly. He recognized one of the other scavengers as the woman he met in the Caldera not long ago. He'd rather not tear her asunder, but even she wouldn't be safe from his teeth if she tried anything against him. Black Hat eyed every foreign body here warily. They tolerated each other for now, but how many could rock the boat before it toppled? Taking a page out of the dark man's book, he began to tug at a leg in hopes of severing it. Though soaked through, a moose was a moose; this would be no easy feat. Perhaps Tzila would chip in. Unlike the rest here, he had the advantage of another on his side.

Sapphire; shrouded;
and then there were three, come to feast with the other gluttonous giants.

So much so that she could not, would not strive to charge them on her own.

The stricken perched the riddled chin upon pale paws, watching the incremental and insatiable chaos unveil in the miserly act before her. Perhaps it would be best — linger and loiter, 'til the coyotes came. Make swift work of them, as she had once so become known to, and grind what bone of moose was left into a meal. And if the vultures dare arrive before they, then she would pluck their plumage and devour them, too; nevermind how rotted within they may be.

It might be all that would serve those at her Weald well.

Shorn features went taut, however, as she took notice of the way those gathered set themselves upon the fallen quarry: quartering, it seems, in some manner. She had never come to know that there was such a way of storage — not even when she had been unstruck.

Still she waits, half-shadowed; previous fidgeting now melded to frugal patience. Waiting ... waiting ... waiting with ruined crown furrowed for any smidgen of opportunity
before she foolishly, feverishly created one for herself.

It had been @Dragomir who had seen it all unfold from above, first; a summoning howl brought her to him, firstly, and the duo watched the scene unfold from above. It was absolute, utter chaos; where had all the moose come from? She, Dirge, and Arcturus had all explored the Wilds with no luck for her sister andprey, yet this day they stampeded in droves like she had never seen before. She knew they would not be the only interested party, but they might have been the first among the scene with their vantage point...

But it was not to be today. The moment they had observed together was the moment she had decided he must come; it was time to see the sort of wolves Aurewen-now-Andraste, alongside the mercenary, had made. When interest was presented, Hydra thoughtfully accepted. She gathered several of Moonspear with her in addition, namely @Dirge, @Arcturus, and @Jarilo (leaving others behind to watch after the children)—and at the pace Dragomir set, they were off. 

It was slow-going, but none of Moonspear rushed him. Hydra scoured the surroundings to catch a whiff of any stray or errant moose; the commotion had gone, and she wondered how many prey had died with it. It did not make sense to Hydra to move any quicker in any case; they needed to be aware in case another disaster struck. As it was, all seemed stable and still for now. There was nothing else left behind except for what they would come to find at the Lake. 

She slowed before they entered the scene, her attention shifting; this was where they had found their father. Would it be too much for them, to enter this scene? Hydra had not thought of it, and truth be told the threads of that thought were faster still to leave when she caught a whiff of meat and blood. Her body snaps to attention, and she gestures to her mate to have the back of Dragomir in case any sought to exploit the presence of a child. Here was an event he could learn from; here she would educate. The scent of @Andraste came to her, then, and whether it was old or new she could not say... and so she forewarned: Aurewen may be here. If you do not think you can bear this, Dirge will return you home. I will not force you into something you are not ready for, Hydra hummed, but if you feel you are ready, you must answer to me. Know your limits; it is not weakness to need help. Watch, for now. Her ears pricked at this, waiting for indication that this was understood before her gaze shifted to Dirge that asked he watch the cubs back in this. To stay with them, and protect them, throughout what she knew she would instigate. Who knew what would be felt here? By either party? Well, the woman could at the very least rest easy in knowing her children would now be fed, if the father of their children had not made it to her to tell her where they had decided to settle. Fed and protected both. 

And then, she entered the scene. 

Unlike Tzila, she did not charge for the animal; she watched as others attempted to draw and quarter the thing, likely to bring their choice of meat to home. Hers was a far more tactical approach, but then she had age and experience both to aid her. Hydra, from here, detected the scent of the Nightwalkers; her would-be allies. Time to test the merit of that, and see if they would answer to the command of their Queen upon the mountains. Hydra moved with all the preternatural grace attributed to one, though each step possessed a measure of strength ready to be unleashed. Hydra's own hierarchal position among any here was above the rest, and her posture revealed the gist of that; even the hardiest of wolves might wither a moment to see the command she exuded, effortless and instinctual—unquestionable authority. Her gaze turned to Andraste for a moment, waiting for recognition from her, so she herself would know what next to do—chase her, or permit her? Would her response be due to fear, or true acceptance of her place here as Queen? Would she bite the hand that had already fed her? 

Hydra would kill her first, do to her as the others did to the moose that lay strewn before them—she was so tired of betrayal that the next to do so she would certainly kill! 

Her gaze turned away from her back toward the rest, one ear cupped toward her, the other back toward  where Dirge and Dragomir had both been before rotating toward the group ahead. 

My children will not starve. My pack will not starve. 

The sound that came from her was feral in nature, assessing the best point in which to join when the scent of Nightwalkers came to her. Not just them, though, but Easthollow; two allies! Fortune favored her, she felt. There were two strangers to her here; the Blackfeather Wolf, and the wolf of the Hollow. Sarah's scent was vaguely familiar in that it carried a hint of her brother upon her (though she had yet to recognize it for that), and Hydra fixed her gaze upon the woman, deciding as she tore into the beast she and that other stranger were unwelcome here. It was not for her scent, but for her lack of a place in this Wilderness—

Her Wilderness.

She moved forward with a confident gait, lingering nearest to @Black Hat and @Tzila, circling as to be near to Merrit, too, so that he might get a whiff of her; he might know her by sight, given she was the mirror image of her twin, who she sought among the fray. Not seeing her yet, though hoping she was somewhere near Hydra rumbled to her known allies loud enough for them to hear: fight for this meat so that we might have all of it, not be left only with scraps, came her decree, gaze panning toward Merrit. Today, he had the benefit of fighting with them; for that, he would be rewarded a leg and not chased from it. Her gaze turned toward Black Hat, a feral gleam in her eye as she introduced herself lowly from behind, I am the Queen of Moonspear, and it would please me greatly to fight with you this day, she finished in a low drawl. 

With a commanding flick of her ear that Arcturus (and Jarilo) would recognize as go, Hydra's hindquarters coiled as she lunged toward the nearest wolf to her—the unfortunate Nightstar, who was so (but moments ago) engrossed in his limb. Throat draped over muzzle, she aimed for a hindleg of his own, attempting to whip her own body out of reach and stabilize her weight as best she could, flattening her ears and setting her defenses as she grimly stared past narrowed eyes. He had done well in putting his energies to his task; she would see to it that either she or her allies would benefit from that, and them alone, with a wrinkled muzzle. She let Sarah be, for now—supposing that the Nightwalkers would handle her, or that she might flee, or perhaps Arcturus might try his hand with that. Merrit, nearest to her, she hoped would help in some capacity with this one before her. It was unlikely that she smelled of the Hollow, for Hydra to heed her secondly (though her peripheral attention was upon her, and she heeded the movements within her near surroundings with due diligence); the shred of respect that she had for Terance revealed in that moment alone, though, if she recognized the hint of a scent at all, may have come into play for her actions otherwise. 

But her love for her own family would surpass that tenfold, and her passion for what she would see come to pass fueled her further. Any not allied to her would regret it—any who were would know precisely what to do next to make that so! 

Vague about who from MSP is joining unless otherwise specified. Consent to PP MSP participants up to this point given! Vague about decisions made and alladat~ If any PP'd want me to edit, lmk! Rushed through this to get a post in :) TLDR; Journey here with MSP woofs, Hydra rallies her Known Allies to protecccc the carcass and goes to attack Nightstar to get him to flee, aiming for a hind-leg <____>

It was lucky that they had even happened upon such a thing, at least as far as he was concerned. By the time they had come to the scene there was a congregation gathering, and it was only then that he felt the cruel, knife-like twist of hunger in the pit of his belly. The lake was just as much of a grisly scene then as it was now.

Thin ribbons of sunlight streams where the clouds would allow, the wintry chill in the air crisp and damp. The autumnal backdrop with clinging frost and snow only served to make the ground seem that much more hallowed as Hydra spoke to Dragomir. He was fine with lingering back or leaving, but his gaze stayed sharp and true to the scene ahead of them. There was no doubt that Hydra and her brothers would handle their own, if and when things took a turn for the worse.

He licked at his lips, the movements of the unfamiliar wolves almost as enticing as the promise of a good meal for their lot. It was an easy feat to break his attention on them to favor Hydra, then the following forms of Jarilo and Arcturus as they moved and shifted the withering weeds. He moved too, but never far enough to let his charge fall behind; it was a steady, calculated pace, and it spoke of the defense he had at ready should they too turn into easy targets. He knew bloodshed would be hard to avoid here—if they were hungry, then so were the guests to their part and parcel of the wilderness.

Halting some distance out still, he provided a natural buffer and did not hear the low words spoken from his equal; his gaze fell upon Dragomir briefly to get a read on the boy instead. "We'll get the lion's share today," he provided, as though somehow that could be reassuring when faced with the reality of what a grim place the lake was. "But if you want to go, just say the word." He wouldn't fault him for not wanting to stay, for not wanting to witness the inevitable.

Cameo.

There were many reasons not to venture too far north; many dangers for the ghost, but he was hungry. The lack of sustenance in the Wilds was not specific to the region but radiated outward from it, as did the rumbling of the earth and the many ensuing disasters. It was not safe anywhere, and so he would take his chances—drifting closer to where he knew a lake to be, eager for a drink or a piece of fish if any still survived within its depths. Yet when the boy came in to view of the lake he saw many bodies—dark shapes, some large, some borderline familiar—and he stopped, stiff-legged and apprehensive. As hungry as he was, Mou was not yet desperate enough to come between a horde of starving beasts and their prize—and it was with this thought in mind that he pulled away, loping silently back the way he'd come with the idle hope he would not be spotted. The wolves appeared to be focused (hyper-vigilant) on the booming voice of a woman, and beyond that the meat-smell which had helped draw himself out of hiding. Away he went, though—swift, silent, desperately in need of something for his empty belly, knowing he would not find that here.

Once Dragomir shared what he saw with Hydra and other members of the pack had assembled, Moonspear's forces headed down the mountain toward the lake. The closer they got, the more the boy withdrew into his own mind and allowed the wild to take him over. Hunger drove him to volunteer to accompany the pack down, but it felt morally wrong to feed from the same lake where Vercingetorix had fallen. He forced it down, narrowing his eyes and maintaining a determined limp down to Big Salmon Lake and the wolves collected there. By the time they arrived he'd managed to distance himself from his grief enough to feel no guilt in the pinching of his belly. That would come later.

Hydra picked up the scent of his mother before Dragomir did, but that didn't mean he didn't smell her too. He stiffened, torn momentarily between turning around and pressing on. In the end he chose to stay in spite of the clenching of his heart. She made her choice. She would pay the price for that choice if she attempted to reach him now. I'm fine, he insisted, but he was unable to hide the edge of a tormented growl in his voice. It would be no secret to the Moonspear wolves by now how he felt about his mother, and whether he was ready or not, he wouldn't admit to any sort of weakness among them.

Watch, for now, Hydra bid him before she stiffened her stance and strode forward. Dragomir slunk along behind, remaining close to Dirge and watching as the Moonspear alpha commanded the scene and then surged into action. Dragomir wasn't sure if he was meant to dive into the fray as well, and hung back uncertainly at Dirge's flank, awaiting a cue. When the lead male addressed him, Dragomir flattened his ears and said, make her leave. Don't let her have any of it. The man would know to whom Dragomir referred. It broke his heart to request this, for he loved his mother, but her actions spoke for themselves. He wouldn't tolerate her taking anything else from him.

Leaving the cubs by the den with the remainder of the Moonspear wolves, Lyra followed her sister's lead and raced to join the scene unfolding by the lake. It was a harrowing time; the earth had decided to rip itself apart and scatter (and kill, it seemed) the herds just as the coldest season was setting in. The cubs were also growing rapidly and needed more food by the day, and their numbers had just grown by two more youths. Lyra trusted her sister to lead the pack through this winter unscathed, but any chance they could take to bolster their caches, they would.

As Moonspear's war party charged forth to claim what was theirs, Lyra remained a few paces behind them, surveying those who had been brought out of the shadows by the smell of fresh meat. Two who were tearing into a leg and the chest of the moose respectively were from the Nightwalkers, an allied pack, and they earned only a cursory glance before the Ostrega focused on the three other, unfamiliar wolves. They all seemed somewhat content so far to divide the meal between them, but she was certain their band's arrival would bring the bubbling tension to a boil.

As the rest took stock of the situation, Lyra lurked in the background, circling behind them like a shark. A silver figure in the far distance caught her attention momentarily, and Lyra's ears thrust forward, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. Like a shy ghost, he disappeared just as fast as he appeared, but she was certain of what - of who - she had seen. Prowling just out of reach, like always. Her gaze lingered on where the man had faded into the trees, before Hydra's voice rang out, and she turned to see her wordless command. Like a bullet, she immediately shot out from behind the group, past Dirge and Drago and heading towards the same pitch-furred male her mirror image sought. As she dove for one of his hind legs, Lyra veered her course and aimed to get a hold of the other, a snarl peeling from her throat.

Tumult reigned supreme in these Wilds with a still-lasting grip--the shockwaves now extending well beyond just the literal shifting of the earth and its features too, and in far too many ways, he had watched it unfold for himself. Worry had first been a mere reflex, startled into him by observing nature recoil worse at a time when everything began to withdraw for the deepening frosts and longer nights anyway, but now without herds to track in earnest or to any real success, he was feeling his days impacted more than the last. 

While they ranged out together towards what should prove a worthwhile venture, the dark Moonspearian stayed keen near the middlegrounds of their assembly. After the rockslide in Silverlight and all the worsening quakes, he had kept close to home lately, but this cause should warrant it if they could secure the prize for themselves. By the stride, he soon knew to be prepared; they were getting close, and already, other wolves had found out about this moose too but he certainly intended to help make their mountain's showing here noteworthy.

Time, and distance closing brought the shift in him. Sharper, present, poised, and at Hydra's command down to its unspoken details.. he found he was right to want to go as he counted wolves. As he skimmed a scrutinizing eye over the area on the last of his approach, this was more sorts than he had anticipated, and his nose worked over even more than what was immediately obvious. He found himself prickling when he finished on those who rallied the moose's flesh already, enough so to ridge his furs and put a little edge to the glance that followed the dark queen.. though he was able to move past it emboldened, and knowingly. He saw for himself, and felt it too.

Understanding better by the moment, he was there to support his sister's words, and slid closer in her wake to help drive home the point--with subtle confidence imbued into his steps, even curling a small arc into his tail-tip to help welcome the suggestion of a fight. When he did not exactly know where to draw all of the lines of allies and enemies (thanks to his relative inexperience with them personally), he simply followed Hydra's lead and did his best to read the signs of who respected her and who did not. Once her and a sister went for one wolf at the carcass who didn't smell like the rest, he immediately followed up, all too ready with a protectively fierce snap of his teeth for anyone else who still intended to interfere with them still.

really vague at his aim but feel free @ anyone who'd wanna

it was not in arcturus’ nature to dive head first into conflict. the entire march from the grim mouth of the spear to the darkened waters of the lake, arcturus’ tactical mind was reeling.

around the moose a collection of wolves assembled — he measured each with the swift junction of a wolf capable of reading well his peers. some were enemies — some allies — but his gaze rested the longest on andraste.

here his posture hardened. what she had done — willingly too — insulted the very core of his being. family first, always. she was no better than the rest of the wolves arcturus had struck from his life, revui among them.

his gums pulled back, pearly fangs revealed. dragomir’s quiet voice sounded besides him — and arcturus needed little more reason to show andraste door. leave. he commanded darkly of both her and the grizzle-pelted hollow wolf (sarah). they would find no handouts here.

mama out before all hell breaks loose! urghh this whole thread raises my bloodpressure & tugs at my heartstrings, but if anyone participating in here wants a followup thread just lmk/tag me <3

Yes.

Lune-lopers have billowed down from on high; its lady as impressive as ever; and queenbrother as just imposing; shrouding before her, just as nightly.

And she, slung into mud; would-be scavenger, never solider. There is no indignation to meet the glint of her sudden oppressor; no quiver of quailing, either. The stricken might have risen to @Hydra's call, to he before her in myriad manner;
yet even wrath of the blood had been exhumed from her very essence of all she had once been and become and all that was left was ... another. 

Her; not her.
The fragments of Aurëwen whisper that she should have never left the riverlands; that she should have forsaken her despondency for their dependency as she ought; that she should have remained with they who had thought her strangeling. But none here understood the hollow beckoning within her very figure that coaxed her ever towards her Court; not upon the Moonspire, and not here. Raw; she has long since assumed that they would never, no matter how even she herself had tried with the mountain's reigning valkyrie.

Yes, she loved the children of her past living still;
and it was all the more reason, the sensibility to turn from this churning chaos and follow suit of the shy ghost she'd sighted earlier. Before she eased lenient halfsight upon @Arcturus and meant to turn from him, she looked to the son that had flourished; a soft sigh sifting, cradled by sharp shoulders—
( notmothernevermother )
—and awayed from here before any might see the wistful glimmer therein upon dark lashes,
​( bloodmotheralwaysmother )
faraway, forsaken, forbidden.

@Dragomir. @Isi;
hers; not hers.
​( forevertheirs )

A whole crew of wolves rolled up to the party, and Black Hat was prepared to bolt on the spot... except they did not toss themselves into the fray right away. No, one of the identical dark women — the one who stood poised, clearly the ringleader — stepped forth with all the regality (and snobbishness) of a queen. Confirming his presumption, she proclaimed herself as just that. Typical. He loathed being talked down to, especially because the wolves here had the fortune to be blissfully unaware of just who he was. The only part that really mattered to him was the word "Moonspear", which he recognized as that of their ally. At least she wasn't commanding them like her pawns while she sat by idly. That earned her one brownie point.

Black Hat's scowl melted, giving way to a sinister grin that spread across the entirety of his face. Now she was talking! Whipping his head around to the frayed wraith, he was ready to lay into her when she turned tail and ran. Pity, but there were others to have fun with. Turning his attention to the familiar grayscale woman, he leapt over the carcass with a coarse snarl, strands of drool coating his yellowed teeth. He had no friends, only allies, followers, and enemies. He'd go right for her throat and tear it to shreds if able, showing no mercy in true Black Hat fashion. If she died, that meant more meat for him.

Everyone was out to do some scouting - and so was he. Searching the wilderness for any signs of a pack that they should chase out. As the rumblings of the earth grew more fierce, the prey more scarce, Vengeance was not about to share any more than he was before when he and Hydra had that agreement back when the alliance first began. 

The rumbling grew violent, thrashing around the blood born king and in a fit of frustration at the constant quaking the man growled and snarled at the nothing around him while he fought for his footing, tail lashing behind him in a desperate attempt to keep the beast on his feet. Once the earth had settled and he checked his surroundings to make sure everything was stable - tall ears flickered at the sound of a howl rang out, summoning his presence to whatever may be happening in his woods.

Quickly he carried himself toward the sound, the sight of a fallen beast along with a gathering of wolves among each other around it. Within the assembly, Black Hat and Tzila who ventured off on their own, and Hydra who was the only familiar face among the rest. 

It only took a moment for him to close the distance and make his entrance. Powerful strides of rippling muscle, his expression less than joyful as the previous rocking had already choked all glee from his core (or whatever may be dormant if existent in this boy). Standing between the bull and the others who do not carry Moonspear or Nightwalker scent, he was an obelisk, waiting for any brave or stupid soul to come near and attempt to snag something from their meal. Hackles raised, tail lashing behind him, he was a massive ball of madness just aching to unload.

To whomever who dared step near the fallen creature, they would be met with a gust of fang from the avid man.

Chaos was on the brink of erupting. The tension that brewed in the air could be cut with a knife. Amidst it all, Tzila held her own, being the tenacious, aggressive individual that she was. Greedily, she tore the heart muscle from its casing and is she did, vital arteries and veins severed, squirting a fresh fountain of blood streaking down the bridge of her muzzle. Freshly painted and glistening, she looked up as more wolves arrived. One dark figure in particular and her band of followers forced her attention. Her experienced eye was instantly drawn to the confident way in which Hydra carried herself, coming to stand nearest the two Nightwalkers. Had she been from anywhere else than Moonspear, the shadow keeper would have attacked on sight. But it was her unmistakable scent, the scent of allies, that earned this formidable woman a glance of respect.

To her declaration, Tzila only replied simply in a low voice. "In honor of our alliance...with pleasure." She drawled in a forboding growl. Hydra may be a Queen, but of Moonspear. Not of Nightwalkers. Like Black Hat, Tzila despised being given orders and was more inclined to rebel than obey. But in this case, it was the way in which Hydra's request was delivered that made the difference. Not seconds after the signal was given and the words from her lips, did Tzila act. Dark ears pricked forward aggressively as she turned to face the Creek wolf, Sarah. Quivering lips pulled back to unsheathe her dagger like weapons, while taking a single menacing step forward, to place a paw dominantly over the ribcage of the moose. Then, like a loaded spring, she lunged with a snarl akin to thunder, webbings of saliva clinging to her teeth. She glided alongside Black Hat, aiming to use the full weight of her body to bowl the female over. While her partner tried to go for the throat, she would target her soft belly if she didn't keep her footing. 

And know indeed did Dirge to whom Dragomir referred. He knew a thing or two of what it was to be abandoned, though not by a mother. She was but a glimmer of white against a paling, colored backdrop and as though on cue with the boy's words he saw Arcturus rise to the challenge of warding her off. A quiet moment passed where Lyra streaked by them as an emboldened wraith; the tension hit a fevered pitch and descended into movement on all sides before he saw the pale sylph disappear through the weeds and fade entirely. She was wise to do so, though cruel in the manner she had fled motherhood, he did not wish for her children to see another parent have flesh rendered from bone.

They firmly had the upper hand now, if not by sheer number alone.

A solitary note left him after, no more than a puff from his lips—it is done.

"You needn't trouble yourself with her now," he said to the boy, "but watch—see how we work and provide for our own and know that you and your sister will not go hungry." A small comfort, perhaps—he hoped it to be a balm to soothe a burn rather than a panacea. They had been through enough and be it paternal inclination or not, it struck home in ways he could not describe, and did not venture to investigate.

breaking the loose order here—dirge isn't really apart of the conflict so ignore me squeaking in another post between shifts at work

Soon the little assembly of wolves were joined by a large group, led by a dark-pelted female, who introduced herself as the queen of Moonspear. For a split of a second the name had sparked Sarah's interest, because they were allies and old friends of Terance. But this soon gave way to an instinctual dislike towards their leader. Call it hate from the first sight. 

And her instinct did not lie. The woman was not here to talk highly and mightily, she was here to act. It was hard to follow, who belonged to whom, all Sarah knew that she was a target just the same way the two poor bastards, who had positioned themselves by the hind end of the animals. They were promptly being taken care off and - surprise, surprise - she had her share coming for her too. 

The handsome-face, who had been polite enough to tell her to leave before going for any action, would have been pleasure to deal with. Gladly would have her fangs and claws left some painful reminders of, why a random stranger should not be attacked. Instead she had only so much time act upon the two others, who bolted at her from two sides. She froze, as if there was a moment, when she was not sure, what to do.

And then The Beast raised it's ugly head, broke the rusty chains that had kept it in place and roared.

As per agreement with players of Tzila and Black Hat - the ensuing fight will be played out in a separate thread. Please, do not target Sarah in the meanwhile without discussing it with me first.

I can't help the cameo, he will be remaining behind the rest of the Nightwalkers though not really fighting yet. I dont wanna add more chaos in here.

There was so little food lately, he hadnt found a good meal in longer than he could ever have remembered going hungry before. It was his stomach's persistent snarling that had him paying more attention to the scent of the adults, for it was them who brought food back and them who he would try to snag some from. When he noticed that Tzila and Blackhat went away, followed by Vengeance he followed behind though stayed in the distance so he wouldn't be noticed. It was the stench of meat, the sounds of snarling and tearing, that drew him toward the fray where he watched everyone tug and rush to get their own taste of food. It was disgusting and evoked a sort of pity that as Vengeance snarled and blocked the stranger's approach, was quickly stifled and replaced by scorn. As the Nightwalkers banded together to drive off a few stragglers he inched closer, knowing he would do no good and for once remaining far enough out of it that he wouldn't ruin the chances. It was his stance that showed the side he took, lips curled over small needlepoint fangs and tail curved over his spine as he hung behind his pack trying to Mirror Vengeance in expression and posture. He eyed the carcass ravenously, hunger growing until spittle hung from his jaws and his vocal chords straining as a particularly nasty snarl roared from his maw, giving support to his packmates.

The tide shifted with the arrival of Moonspear; Merrit recognized the name, and his ears crawled forward. Hadn't mother spoken of these wolves in favourable light, as their allies? He had never encountered this kingdom before -- and what power they possessed. Merrit felt his heart in his throat, and a simultaenous thrill of heat through his sternum.

He tracked the Queen's calculated circle around him. She prowled like a beast from the nether; glided with an uncanny ease. And though he did not know her, he marvelled -- Easthollow had these for an ally? He admired mother, yet he found he feared this Queen. When their gazes touched, he sensed a recognition, a rally -- and when the Raven blinked his understanding, his attention shifted to the wolf at the moose's leg --

Every muscle taut and strand of fur on end, he was ready when the Queen flicked her order, and he sprung a fraction behind the wraith. And in the moment, he forgot his honour, his respect for all life, thought little of this wolf they sought to overpower. He forgot himself --

-- and yet there was a thin line of disgust, of shame that bubbled somewhere in the recess of his heart -- for surely this man had a family, and if not a family, then simply his life to feed -- but Merrit deafed himself when he folded his ears and opened his jaws to snap at the air in front of Nightstar. He was alone, but Merrit was among the many, he was on the winning side. He had to be -- but he felt so wrong.

Powerplay consent given by Mixed! Nightstar out.

 

Wolves often mistook Hydra for a monster. She would never correct them, not any more—

She was the monster that was needed for the survival of her pack, her children. Hydra had not come to kill this man, and did not even hope to—she came to protect this meat, to take ownership over what belonged to the Wilderness. Any others not of them could die, for all she cared... but to expend energy where she did not need to? For what? This was a battle none against her could hope to win. The numbers were more than a show of force, but a tactic to also get those wise enough to want to live gone.

And it worked; the instant the other saw the tides change, he abandoned his leg and worked ripped something with far more give and fled the scene. Hydra was game to give chase, though not for long; she was followed by Lyra and Merrit both, and followed only long enough to deliver one hard bite to the others hind (not to bleed or maul or rend flesh from him) that served as a sharp warning of what he would be met with should he turn around. 

Hydra turned back to Merrit with a gleam in her eye, grinning wolfishly with their victory, tail swaying behind her as she looked to him. What is the name of my comrade? She inquired companionably, worlds different than she was but moments ago; he was friend, after all, not foe. She had heard two Nightwalkers join the fray against the other, though she did not yet know if the stranger, Sarah, had fled too; to stay and fight was utterly pointless against so great a number. It could easily be a fatal error. Hydra herself had no idea that Sarah was from the Hollow—given she had both never met her, and Hydra had not rounded around her to catch any telling scents as she had with Merrit. 

I thank you for fighting with us; my children are growing still. Is the food scarce where you have come from...? She inquired, ears swiveling. That would explain strangers lurking; Moonspear and the Nightwalkers could now be aware of why, at least.