Raven's Watch from the ashes

All welcome! Light rain, 7°C, afternoon. Maksim's two injuries are still healing and he has a visible limp.

Maksim was purposefully keeping some distance from Kintla Flatlands. Following on from his run in with the wolves of Kaistleoki, the large tundra wolf had hung around the lower slopes if the mountain which overlooked their river-based territory. He felt safer with them down there and him skulking the cliffs higher up, able to look down on their activity from above live a raven circling overhead. 

Recently though, Maksim had abandoned his protected perch in the mountains in search of water. He found a large lake, with a river running off it, tucked away on the opposite side of Sunspire's ridge, where he now nestled himself. Slowly he stalked along the edge of the river, a slight limp in his hind legs where they had grown stiff from the hot swelling above his tail. Whilst not infected, thanks to Reiko, his injuries slowed him down. They also made it uncomfortable for him to preen himself, with the twisting and turning pulling at the freshly formed scabs in his thick fur coat.

Stopping to linger at the water's edge now, upon a flattened boulder, Maksim tested the strength of the river's current with his paw. Around him, light rain began to fall and shadowy ravens flocked over to watch him with interest, attracted by his blood stained coat and hungry-looking state, they cawed to eachother, curious to see if he would take a violent tumble into the cold frothing water.

Vlad had mixed up right and left somewhere near Blackbeak Bluff. His sense of time and smell seized the opportunity to mess with him by switching off, and all of a sudden he was standing near a river he had never seen before, miles from his intended destination. Not ideal.

Even less ideal was the presence of another wolf. The scent of dry blood was heavy upon him, and Vlad - with no way of knowing it was from Maksim's own wounds - was seized by full Grandpa Paranoia™. The world was full of baby-eaters, pup-pulverizers, and wolves that said "let me curate this space" unironically at the start of meetings - and it was up to Vlad to banish these demons. He was a grendpa now.

"'ey!" he barked, waving his whiskery snout in Maksim's direction from a distance that was safe for them both. "Vat ees blood? Ees from bebe?" Of course it was.

Around him the ravens cawed in disappointment as Maksim simply stepped down into the knee-high water, without a dramatic tumble. He was careful in his movements, moving slowly against the swift river current so's not to slip or trip on the uneven rocks beneath. The cold water licked hungrily at his bloodied fur, slowly stripping his pale fur clean of the dried blood that clung around his two large bite-wounds.

A bark caused Maksim's attention to snap away from his own distorted reflection, as his eyes settled on an old greying male who was watching from the river bank. The tundra wolf frowned at the sudden accusation hurled at him, with something not too disimilar from his own father's tongue. "No, it's mine." Maksim quickly corrected him, coiling his neck around slowly to poke at the large crusted wound above his tail as proof. "I got into a scuffle a few days ago, haven't had a chance to clean myself up until now." He added, the frown still plastered on his features in light of the recent accusation.

"No, it's mine."

Bald-faced lies and treachery! Vlad's whiskery top lip twitched over his teeth. He assessed his own readiness for a fight - a beetle grub breakfast for strength and buckets of denial and adrenaline for any old man aches that might get in the way of victory. In other words: good to GO. But instead of showing teeth as was customary before engaging in a fight to the death, Maksim showed ..butt. 

"Bleurgh," Vlad gagged, recoiling. No self-respecting cub-crusher - or standard issue wolf, for that matter! - used its ass as a primary weapon. Perhaps Maksim had some kind of species dysmorphia. "Vai you ees fight beckvurd?" The old Russian grumbled. What a freakin' plum.

The old male did not seem to believe him. Maksim did not miss the glimmer of fangs which flashed from behind his long greying whiskers. So, with not much else to do, the tundra male done all that he could think of to prove his innocence and showed the old wolf the healing bite-sized chunk missing above his tail. 

The accusor was not impressed, recoiling in disgust. Maksim's ears fell back against his head awkwardly. "Yeah, I'm not a fan of it either." He retorted, especially with the blood-poultice stink that wafted up from it. On more than one occasion he had curled up to sleep and almost gagged from the smell of it. Hence the bath he was trying to take now. 

The injury to his rump seemed to confuse the old wolf. "I was trying to avoid a fight actually, but I got outnumbered and ended up getting pinned down by two wolves." Maksim explained, turning his face away now to avoid the mocking-look that was sure to be on the old wolf's face. He lowered his head and dipped it into the water, feeling a bit of relief with the cold water washing over his neck wound.

The younger wolf was rightly embarrassed. The sight of him! And the smell! Vlad sat down with a grunt and scooted forward a couple of inches, squinting hard at Maksim's injuries from a safe, nose-sparing distance.

Vlad was no stranger to scrapes. Despite every single story he had told Rosalyn, he had in fact not lived the life of a celebrated and well-respected counselor, mentor, and Casanova. For better or for worse, the old Russian knew how to dress a wound.

"Vlad meck helping wulf," he announced after a moment of silence. "Eef," Of course there was an 'eef' , "You coming Roos-elk-arr ven ess again smelling gud. Ees gudd deal. Menny hendsome wulf." Ever the recruiter.