Sawtooth Spire to endure steadfastly;

maybe @Stag? only if you want to/have time! otherwise all welcome. ♥

as the days wear on, praimfaya — though still unable to find a den that she is comfortable with and has taken to sleeping beneath the canopy of stars — so close and beautiful upon sawtooth — settles into a comfortable routine. she adjusts quicker than she thought and works now on carving out a niche for herself among faces both familiar and unfamiliar. she makes her patrols in the early morning and the late evening — sometimes midday — and she works to fill food caches otherwise. unlike her mother, whom was a homebody thru and thru, praimfaya does not feel the same need to lock herself away.

sleep is not gentle with her and she spends most of the night — despite the serene van gogh painting of starry night in the cloudless sky — tossing and turning; until tired of pretending to sleep she pushes herself to her paws with the hopes that a walk ...or patrol of the borders might help to tire her enough to sleep even a little.

Praimfaya was not the only soul to stir under the breathtaking canopy of navy sky distilled by twinkling silver stars; Stag too found sleep elusive, and paced along the narrow teeth of Sagtannet's perimeters. He was a homebody much like Blodreina, and so, stuck to paths well worn by his paws. On one such loop through the territory, he became aware of footsteps approaching.

Besides Mahler (and Wylla, who used to frequent the borders but now had her hands full with puppies), there were very few wolves in Sagtannet that Stag expected to see out on patrol. He felt his fur stick up and a little flash of fear crawl up his spine; who could be out in the dark, and what was their intention here?

Clearing his throat and feeling far more small than his mein suggested, Stag's voice cut through the dark: "Hey! Who goes there?"

it shouldn't surprise praimfaya that someone other than herself is out for a jaunt along the borders ...and yet, it does all the same. it was arrogant to think that she was the only sagtannet wolf awake at this hour and she feels only a slight rise of shame at herself as a voice calls out to her in the unstill shadows. she'd always thought of night as a time that had a life of its own and it is evidenced now in the soft sway of treelimbs and leaves, the shifting of shadows in the gentle breeze that — from her short time on sawtooth — never seems to truly relent.

she doesn't recognize the voice, but assumes that it is a fellow packmate all the same. i'm praimfaya, she calls back, frostbound gaze skimming for the figure of the other. i recently joined. she adds, figuring things would probably go smoother if dropped that ( rather important, probably ) tidbit of information.

Stag was two seconds away from calling for reinforcements; he did not want a repeat of the last time he was alone with a stranger. Feeling his fur prickle along his neck, he couldn't help the arch of his tail and the dark scowl that accompanied his features..

Until 'Praimfaya'. Why did that sound familiar? His gaze was flinty as he squinted, sizing up the 'stranger' with slow dawning realization that she was not a stranger at all. There was something about her that seemed familiar, but what? She was his age, which made him a bit flustered.

It had been months, and her puppy counterpart was only a ghost in his memories, but it was there all the same. "Weren't you in Diaspora..?"

a figure emerges from the shadows, pallid as she is. there is something about him that is familiar, despite the kinship of age. frostbound gaze studies him unabashedly and she ghosts forward a step, nodding in response to his question. sha. ...yes. she is quick to correct the slip of trigedasleng. teaching herself not to use it proves to be more difficult than she imagined and often she catches herself making the mistake. in her mind's eye, in brief flashes, she remembers him and crowing about his new name to her, proud as a peacock. stag? easier to remember than 'mahler' though perhaps she just remembered the boy — young man, she corrects herself, for he was no more a boy than she was a girl — before her better because of the closeness in age.

Stag turned his gaze, studying Praimfaya from one eye to the next.

She's grown. Her fur is lighter, and somehow, her gaze darker. Her body was filled out, sporting hard muscle and a series of scars down her shoulder. To Stag, she looks mature; hardened by years beyond her age. A far cry from the two babies they had been in Diaspora.

He was overcome with youthful excitement and a sense of temerity unusual for him; perhaps it was their kinship, or their similar age -- but for once, Stag did not feel so timid as just overwhelmed. "Pri?" He bit his lip, his tail falling to his side. First his mother, and now his childhood playmate? "Where have you been?"

pri.

the nickname, small and simple, feels like a small blossom of a flower bud in her chest. she can't remember how long it's been since she heard it.

she's been of a variation of worlida and wanheda for so long ( not that she could actually shed the latter, to do so would mean her death ) that she is reminded, starkly, of how little she knows of 'pri'. the girl beneath the commander of death. that was the point of coming here, wasn't it? she asks herself. to find who she really is?

yeah. she answers softly; averting her gaze. she does not forget that she abandoned them, ran away. she does not try to defend herself or justify herself. she lets the shame nibble at her ...as she feels it should. a lot of places, she replies with a casual shrug of her shoulders. roangeda, moonspear. crogeda. each helped shape her and yet ...she still feels herself drifting; lost in a sea of what she's supposed to be, who she wants to be.

Stag had no earthly idea of the places she'd been -- and truly, she had lived more lives in her short time on this earth than wolves ten times her age. Even if she had told him all that transpired, he still would not grasp the depth of the life she had lived. She was more than just Pri, though Stag had no idea of such; the fact she had earned more than her heritage was lost upon him.

He was naive, while she had lived and roamed the world. He had cloistered away, while she had climbed peaks he could only begin to fathom. He felt his guard slipping; she had been so many places while he had pathetically remained rooted. "Oh. What were they like?" He didn't want to admit he had done very little with his time since they had parted.

they were... words, though she knew many, failed her as she shifts thru trigedasleng and common alike. hard but worthy places. even if she was not worthy of them. in truth, she didn't really feel like she was worthy of mahler's forgiveness ...or anyone's, which was why she felt so determined to prove that she could plant roots and she could earn her place here among them once more. thinking of them makes her think of dacio and opalia, and she is flooded with more guilt. her ears flutter back against her skull for a few moments before she looks to stag again; reclaiming her courage.

you...uhm. look grown up. she comments, finding that though she means it as a compliment she stumbles awkwardly over it. she wasn't used to noticing others like ...that. handsome, i mean. her cheeks flush and she looks away, letting her breath out in a slow exhale.

i heard diaspora merged. very astute, captain obvious. was the adjustment hard? she inquires, curious and eager to change the subject off of her godawful attempts at flirting complimenting. praimfaya thinks of how rough the adjustment from roangeda to moonspear was, the feeling of loss and how she was going to cope with it and wonders if the merger was similar or ...easier.

[url=https://media3.giphy.com/media/VVh7txo37uooM/source.gif]stag rn

Worthy, but hard places. Stag wondered what that meant - he didn't lack the imagination to surmise that each place had come with difficulties, and that was likely why she was back at their doorstep.. Well, not back, since they were something else now.. but still, back where maybe she belonged.

Did she belong here? Stag selfishly hoped she did, but he realized that she was like the eagles that soared over Sagtannet. Many miles passed under their wings, and he saw them often enough, but they were destined to see many places while he was grounded here.

He blushed as she said he looked grown. He didn't feel  grown, and her compliment that he was handsome nearly had his composure unglued. "Thanks," he answered bashfully, his eyelids fluttering in self-consciousness; "You look grown too." He wanted to say pretty, but that did little to serve to paint the full picture. Praimfaya was more than pretty; she was strong, bold, confident. "You look incredibly strong." Like, she could kick his ass right then and there strong. "Did they teach you to fight?"

Regarding the adjustment... Stag's face fell a moment, but then lifted. "It was different, but that's life. We're better now, I think."

that gif is cute!

she watches as he looks away at her compliment and feels heat flush in her cheeks — glad as she so oft is, that her fur hides the flush of pink that makes its home there. bold as she was, she wasn't sure what to make out of ...well, everything. the sudden desire to tell him he was handsome was the truth as she saw it: and she'd never been one to hold back her thoughts; far too used to speaking her mind. she wonders how it might get her into trouble in the future for she has to remind herself that while the crokru wolves might see her as their commander she is low ( moderately? ) ranked here. it was a constant conflict of identities and she feels them press upon her chest like two always warring factions.

i don't know about incredibly strong, she makes a soft of coughing noise that morphs into a humbled laugh, feeling her cheeks flush again. but i can hold my own in a fight, yes. her left shoulder twitches then, as if to remind her of the barbaric conclave she participated in ( willingly ) to formally carry the wanheda title. i've ...made a lot of mistakes. she admits then, feeling their deaths upon each scar.

stag's use of the word 'we' doesn't go unnoticed to praimfaya. do you feel better for it? she inquires softly.

They shared a moment that to Stag, was sweet: as one of the strange outliers of the pack, he was neither old enough to be comfortable among the adults, nor was he young enough to excuse hanging out with Sagtannet's newest batch of youths. That middle ground was surprisingly lonely -- something he had sensed but not totally been aware of until Praimfaya was before him.

His tail wagged amicably as Praimfaya laughed. "Can you teach me?" He had very little knowledge of fighting, and from the looks of it, Praimfaya had much hard-won experience. Stag's expression fell as Praimfaya mentioned mistakes: how? They were so young -- he had many regrets, but he didn't think of them as mistakes. "I feel fine for it. What do you mean by mistakes?"

yes, of course. praimfaya responds eagerly. maybe a bit too eagerly; she offers him a sheepish expression then hoping that she didn't come on too strong. not only would teaching stag to fight would give her an excuse to spend more time with him ( heh ), being his seda would help give her purpose, help prove herself to mahler ( whom she made some big promises to given her track record ), and would surely help to hone her own abilities as well as his own. a win, win as far as she cared to see it.

when he inquires for elaboration on her 'mistakes', praimfaya hesitates unsure of how much of herself she wants to put on display for him. they were cubhood playmates, friends maybe even, but she was not the same ...and though she's never been ashamed of being wanheda she certainly feels regret for what she's done to become her; the killmarks serve as a daily reminder, a hope of repentance. blodreina had never prepared her for the conclave ...though as to the specific reasons why praimfaya could no longer ask her.

just...things i've done. things that children her age should never have to do. some choices i've made. she offers vague responses instead. all i can do is move forward though, right? she says this cheerfully, with an errant roll of her shoulders. so! she lets out a breath. when do you want to start our lessons?

Stag did not think Praimfaya too eager; he had held his breath in the interim, afraid for whatever reason she might shoot him down. Instead, she responded with enthusiasm; it caused a warm smile to bloom across the yearling's face in response.

So it was decided. Stag also did not want to put too much on display - mostly, his own ineptitude. What would she think if she learned he couldn't even fight off a horsefly? He listened with a tilted ear, accepting the answer despite its vagueness. It was fine -- he understood that there were reasons to keep something close to your chest, and he wasn't the type to push. "That's fair. Forward is the only way... forward." He laughed nervously, feeling horribly lame -- why had he just said that?! Quick to try to gloss over that, he cleared his throat and took a gulp as if diving into a very cold pool. No time like the present. "Now?"

right! she piques with a sage nod of her head, giving a soft trill of a laugh, though not — she certainly hopes at least! — in a way that was mocking or making fun. it makes sense to her even if he laughs nervously at his own words. stag suggests the present and praimfaya confirms with another firm nod. ok, she agrees, trying to gather her thoughts and figure out where to start their lesson. she gives pause only to survey the shadowy slope and valley beneath them; habitual. the drop still make her nervous, makes her stomach swoop out from beneath her. she tells herself she will have to master that fear at some point.

let's move away from the borders, she suggests with a gesture of her muzzle. surely there's a good place to conduct our lessons nearby. someplace without a treacherous fall, preferably. while we look for a place you can tell me what you know already or what you think needs work. like blocking, countering, attacking ...and we'll go from there.

She probably thought he was stupid now. Stag blushed under his slate fur, looking away as Praimfaya's soft laugh filled the glade. Eager to move past, he only nodded at her suggestion to move past the borders.

His steps were slow as they walked. He didn't love the spotlight on him, but if he was to learn, he had to endure it. And be honest. He didn't know a single thing about fighting.

Fun fact: Stag had lived to be exactly One Year Of Age without ever having fought. The last time he had been aggressive, he'd cracked his dome on a tree. He knew nothing, Stag Snow.

"Umm.." He shifted uncomfortably, eyes averted. How could the son of Stigmata be such a meekling milksop? "I don't know anything about any of that stuff." He admitted, quick to insert: "I just haven't had the chance. I do a lot of patrolling, and some baby sitting.. and.. No one ever spars with me here."

oh, praimfaya responds, embarrassed of her question, to his admittance, contemplating his words. she always ran with the general assumption that everyone knew how to fight. she feels bad that she assumed that he did when it is clear to her that assuming it was largely unfair of her. that's ok! she speaks quickly, hoping to reassure. we all have to start somewhere. meant as a token of wisdom and assurance. whether it succeeds in its mission or not was another story all together.

they'd led very different lives and for a moment, praimfaya is almost jealous of him ...but it vanishes as quickly as it rises. she couldn't imagine being anything other than she was. even if that made her barbaric.

well now you do have someone to spar with, she counters with a smile shot in his direction as they come upon a fairly even clearing with relatively flat grass. this looks like a good spot. she declares inspecting it in a quick circle before turning to face stag once more. we'll start with the basics. think of it like play fighting with your siblings ...or me. remember when we play fought as cubs? her tail wags behind her invitingly and she dips into a play bow. just ...trust your instincts. your move.

The closer they got to their sparring area, the more Stag was convinced this was a terrible idea. What if he was clumsy? What if he did something stupid? What if Praimfaya thought he was softer than a soggy mushroom?

Trepidation shivered up his spine, but he ignored it -- trying to remain relentlessly optimistic despite the fact he had all the makings of bad example, not a model student. "Okay." He had been mostly silent while they walked, frantically flipping through his mental library for any tidbits Mahler or his mother had ever told him. Fuck. He remembered nothing.

He turned around and squared up, his feet all in the wrong place, his stance totally antithetical to 'prepared for anything'. Praimfaya dipped into a graceful bow, and all Stag could do was smile grotesquely before he executed a sloppy, inefficent swipe of his forepaw that would be fantastically easy to counter.

don't stress about it, praimfaya tries to encourage as his silence stretches during their short trip for a more suitable sparring place. no one's great at it at first and truthfully, even i make mistakes. she tries to lighten up, worrying that she's being too serious, that she's the cause of his prolonged silence. frostbound gaze studies his stance, endeared to the fact that he's trying but unsure how to tell him that he's putting too much thought into it and trying too hard. unlike her mother, praimfaya doesn't quite have the heart to be blunt and correcting ...and maybe, she worries, that will not make her an efficient teacher.

stag swipes at her with his forepaw and she twists, lurching her scarred shoulder forward with the hopes of using his momentum against him to counter the attack. try again, she encourages with a smile. loosen up a bit and if it helps, don't be afraid of hurting me. i promise i can take it. she was made of tougher stuff than that and she knew well enough that wounds would heal. it was a hazard of the mercenary line of trade.

Oh, he's gonna stress about it.

Stag smiled at Praimfaya's encouragement, but really, he felt like he was just about to dance across fire to impress someone: what if he fell and got horribly scalded?

The likelihood of him even accomplishing anything scrape free was very slim.

So he dove, and Pri artfully hedged her shoulder towards him, forcing him back in a terrific counter that had his mouth agape. He steadied his clowny feet and looked at Pri in awe; was it that easy?

He cleared his throat; somehow, her encouragement that he shouldn't be afraid of hurting her made his legs wobbly. He didn't even think he was capable of hurting her, but what if he did? He would feel awful. He'd feel like the ugliest, smallest snail alive.

And so, Stag tried again -- this time he went to do what he had done before, only at the last moment he tried to change his trajectory just enough so that his shoulder would be there to meet any counter and hopefully brush through: because if you don't at first succeed, try the exact same method as before, amirite?

though praimfaya isn't sure how encouraging she's actually being despite her very best attempts, stag doesn't give her the impression of being too dejected as she counters. she readies herself as he takes aim ...frostbound gaze watching his progression as he lurches towards her in what she suspects is a repeat of the same move as before. his feign on her last minute is unexpected and his forepaw makes contact with her shoulder. she lets out a small noise and recoils, attempting to recollect herself quick enough to try to attack with a snap of her teeth aimed at his own shoulder, closer as he was now.

SUCCESS!!!

Oh, FRICK --- Stag was overtaken by his own momentum, and sailed right into Praimfaya's jaws.

He had no time to gloat, no time to crow -- her teeth raked his shoulder and he wheeled back, wincing. He had always thought biting was a close-range attack, and that if you got close enough for teeth, well, it was your own damn fault. And here he was, getting bit down on like a Big Mac..

He inched backwards, a slight squint to his features as he tried to ignore the sharpness of the sting. It was a good lesson -- to not let yourself be the victim of your own momentum.

Now, Stag readied himself -- but this time, he did nothing but wait for Praimfaya to come to him.

praimfaya's teeth made contact and as he inches back so too does she. a moment to breathe. a moment to collect herself and consider her next move. a move that he, by the lack of his next attack, is clearly letting to her. her move. she considers her next move for a few more heartbeats, made rapid by the adrenaline pulsing through her veins; the excitement of a spar, as if they were playing chess. she prowls forward, frostbound gaze locked, lunging before attempting to feign and catch her shoulder into his ribcage if he doesn't perdict her move and move out of her reach. it's a dirty move, admittedly, but effective; a move that blodreina enjoyed using.

Her move.

Stag was confident if he just stood still and watched her -- like, really watched her -- he would know exactly what she was planning.

Only to find out, it is not so easy to read the minds of your opponents. Stag was bound by that frosty stare, almost to the point of being rooted -- he reacted too slowly to her sudden advancement. Sluggishly. He thought she was going that way and he grinned - AHA - VICTORY!!

Except suddenly he was bowled aside by a hard shoulder. "Ooof," Came the report of Stag's exhaled breath, his sides heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Dirty -- but very clever; it made Stag look at Praimfaya just a little differently; a little more warily.. as if she were indeed the animal in the corner, one to look upon but never get too close..

He realized belatedly she was expecting him to move. He lunged uncoordinatedly into action, this time trawling into a clambering canter. Rather than veer, or go for finesse, Stag did the equivalent of a run-and-jump launch -- his arms outstretched to try to grapple her, while instinct told him to drive his teeth towards her scruff.

according to blodreina that particular move — shoulder to ribcage — had won her the spar against the then heda and the title she coveted and bore with great pride until her dying breath: wanlida. it makes perfect sense to praimfaya that it had became her mother's favorite sparring move ...effective even though it probably made her predictable. she is exhilarated by the spar — breathless laugh escaping her lips, though it is tempered by stag's oof as her shoulder to ribcage makes contact. her frostbound gaze softens as she studies him, worried for a second she had accidentally hurt him. this was a lesson and a judgement of his instincts, to see what she had to work with ( if after that dirty move he still wanted to be taught by her, that is ).

he bounces back though, soothing the worst of her worries. her tail sweeps low, front legs lowering and quivering with anticipation as he rushes at her and lunges. outstretched, seeking to grasp her. she takes the defensive, knowing she will not be able to dodge; instead meeting him head on. though his lunge was uncoordinated, she rises at last second and stag meets her as she thinks he intends. the momentum of his body weight colliding into her's sends her sprawling; landing without a modicum of grace into the dirt and grass. she lets out a low grunt as his teeth grasp ahold of her scruff.

here, upon the ground, scruff in stag's jaws, praimfaya is vulnerable. though it wasn't impossible to gain the upper paw from here, it would be hard and she is breathless. good! she crows in breathless praise and laughter. very good, stag. her tail thumps heavy against the ground.

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