Bearclaw Valley And I'll be in Scotland afore ye

The lopsided standoff at the border had given him plenty to think about. For one, his physical ability. Would he be able to hold his own in a fight? In stature, he fit right in among the wolves, but most of them outweighed him, some by a great deal. And while a trained warrior would be able to work with that kind of weaknesses, Fraser didn't have the slightest clue how he could compensate for his gaunt frame.

He pondered this on his jaunt around the perimeter today, something he'd started to engage in most days. It was a cool morning but the sun was out and felt lovely on his back; more and more flowers were blooming with the passing of time. His paws slipped through the dew-covered grass, gathering moisture. He flopped over and rolled briefly, refreshing himself.

When he rose to his paws, Fraser was covered in bits of fresh vegetation, mud and detritus, and his pelt was wet. He was a far cry (at least in appearance) from the well-groomed, blue-blooded naive creature that had entered this valley unknown to the dangers that resided here.

here was the pretty boy that had caught merrick's eye.

astara watched him roll in the dirt with hate in her eyes. who the fuck was he to take her spot by merrick? she had half the mind to pounce him while his soft belly was exposed -- turn all that precious silver fur into something ugly red...

she stalked closer, realizing this was not ulysses, but some other mongrel -- the reedy lurchhound that merrick had taken under-wing.

torn between backing off  or continuing, astara froze -- her earlier intentions every bit exposed as the hound rose from the damp loam. fixing him with a careful glare, astara studied the wiriness of his pelt and the alien shape of his ears -- what had deformed him so?

She had, admittedly, not been a great packmember so far. It wasn't really her fault (yes it was), but she was a wanderer by heart, flighty and distracted. She was old enough to have some sense of responsibility, though this was mostly fueled by her curiosity for what other schmucks Merrick nabbed in his Valley with the promise of bears and freedom.

She figured that as a young pack, they'd be interested in marking their borders. She had to add her scent to the borders as well, so merged the two desires at once, trotting along the invisible line. She peed here and there, rubbing and scratching on the more prominent trees.

As she suspected, she was not alone. Though, the present company was a bit odd. A dog, of all things. The most dog-like dog she had seen in a while, all strange wiry fur and floppy ears. She snorted, unsure if he was a member of the pack. Merrick was allowing bears in, so dogs didn't seem that much of a stretch. Mornin', she greeted the foliage specked dog. Uh, I'm guessin' yer wit' us then, huh? Dogs were always a wildcard. She had met a few that naively joined packs, having dreamed of the wild all their lives behind their white-picket fences. It never seemed to end well. There was another confronting the dog, with lovely purple eyes. Is he wit us? she asked the black, clearly lupine figure.

He caught a glimpse of unflinching indigo as he lifted his head and immediately cast his gaze downward, tucking his tail in automatic submission. This was not his master, but she carried the master's bairns; he loved her and she loved him. She was his master, too—or mistress, but even that word seemed not strong enough for the respect she commanded.

Then another appeared, not Merrick but an agouti female wolf, inquiring audibly rather than the silent questions the dark woman gave with her eyes. Aye, he responded, turning to look at her. My name is Fraser—I serve Merrick and all those dear to him. His packmates, most important being Astara and the unborn babes.

He cocked his head slightly, having not seen the other face before. Ye serve Merrick as well? Fraser asked half-rhetorically, wondering how deep her loyalty ran.

an agouti of cobbish constructon joined them; astara tore her gaze from the hound, studying the new arrival with a shrewd lavender gaze. a woman by scent, but by appearance ... astara was put at ease, for she knew merrick would find little attraction in the sturdily built female.

turning back to catch fraser's submissive display, astara canted an ear and listened to the dialogue, offering nothing but her presence. what perturbed her was that orson did not visibly look taken aback by this creature -- what was he, and why did he look so distinct from her kin?

nosing along fraser's ruff if allowed, astara looked the picture of musing consternation.

Looking at the black-furred woman closer, she saw the swell of her stomach. It was that time of year after all — with this news in place she'd expect the summer to be a busy one indeed. The woman had not said a word, instead stepping forward to sniff at the dog's ruff. Orson, she gave her name in return. She noted how the dog had submitted to the soon-to-be mother almost immediately, then caught the tell-tale tendrils of Merrick from her. It clicked in Orson's mind. She understood.

So far as Merrick provides in return; tit-for-tat an' all. Orson shrugged. She turned her attention to the woman, inquiring. How far along are ye, miss? Ye look ready to pop, though that might be on account a how small ye are, she grinned, jesting. She was curious as to when they were expecting to feed some pups, though.

He lowered himself further in response to Astara's proximity, submitting himself to her exploration of his lanky frame. He was captivated by her quiet, her lack of words. She said so much with so little—no wonder Merrick had been taken by her! And the pups. . .oh, he would protect these babes with his life.

Orson, the other woman said, and he was shaken out of his reverie, turning his eyes to her. Orson, he repeated, and his ears canted forward. So not an absolute loyalty, then. One of convenience. One so as long as Merrick provided, she would stay. He would have to watch her carefully. He would have to warn. . .

Fraser glanced at the blackbird near his side, wondering what her opinion of the newcomer was.

while the two wolves exchanged pleasantries, merrick's blackbird drew her nose along fraser's flank. pleased at his generous display of submission, she stepped back -- allowing him both his space and his leave of her intrusive inspection.

glancing to orson, astara was aware the attention had shifted to her. with no words to offer in return, astara simply peered at that grinning mouth, flicked an ear, and then began to nose around orson. another scent had caught her attention this time -- something in the grass that was neither wolf nor bear.

feel free to skip me bc i feel like astara might be holding things up <3

Orson let the question fall flat. She wouldn't get much answer, it seemed. The woman was mute — either physically or by some other means (the possibility of which was endless, and Orson wasn't going to get any answers. Aye, it's me name. Don't wear it out an' all that, she chuckled. The dark furred woman began to sniff around Orson, getting rather close to her. She tucked her tail in. Not only was she close to whelping, but from Fraser's display, highly ranked. Merrick's lass then? They were young for it, but worst things have happened. Where're ye from, Fraser?

wrap up for a newer one? <3

astara, never one for conversation, drifted away. gradually, orson's voice became but a soft murmur. she kept one thin ear turned back, but did not return.

her attention was divided now. in alluring ribbons across the grass was a scent waylaid by blood; excitement rose in her belly as she traipsed after it, fat as a gravid manatee. somewhere in the bush, wounded prey awaited -- astara's mouth hungered as she gave chase.