Ravensblood Forest aperitif

Lil vague, but I need her to travel a bit.

Praimfaya had gone with Sugar, and while Stryx wanted to keep tabs on the two of them she knew the patient was safe with the medically-inclined youth. So, that left her to roam alone once again.

The blood on her forelimbs had caked in to her fur and she needed a good soak. She left the shadow of the keep and tried to find her way back to the riverside, and thankfully she did not have to go far - nor leave the shelter of the woods - although the strong scent of other wolves came and went beneath her feet. She was on high alert; however, the idiosyncratic mutterings of her patient had slipped her mind - something about, the bleeding forest?

Stryx was focused on finding her way in to the shallows where she could bathe the rich reds from her body. As she dipped in to the water she watched as the ruddy color bloomed in to the crisp water, surrounding her with a crimson tone that diluted with the flow. The water was colder than she expected and her tail raised, fluffing up slightly, then smoothed as she got used to the feeling. A sigh permeated the air - but in silence she got to scrubbing.

I’m going to steal if that’s okay! :) 

If it’s okay imma set the setting a bit more. Just pm me if you want me to change anything! ;>

Evening — 18:47. 68 degrees — Clear skies, sunset.

This afternoon, the great male saunters through his new territory. The towering trees and the thick canopy above provide a fair amount of shade from the sun when it’s high in the sky. Now though, as it nears the horizon, streaks of fiery orange make themselves aware across the forest floor. The massive sequoias casting long shadows around the brindled male.

As heavy paws carry him forward, he hears the softly running water of a stream that lingers nearby. His golden eyes fixate one the clear liquid in the distance and the wolf-dog finally closes the distance between them. Bowing his upper half down to lap up the cool liquid, his muscles shift beneath the intricate patterns of his summer coat.

Thornton about this day seems any more interesting than the others, except for when he finally stands and begins sidling down the side of the riverbank. Only a few paces down, something much more interesting catches his shimmering canary hues. A single wolf. They appear to be bathing themselves in the stream. His eyes follow their motion as he decides to come closer, not trying to be sneaky what so ever. The blood makes him quirk a brow and the ghost of an interesting smile comes to his face. 

“Now, who are you?” He asks finally. Deep voice smooth, but stern enough to drastically cut through the forests tranquility.

Cold water was perfect for cleaning all kinds of things from her fur. She knew this from experience. The crones who had tutored her had lived by the coast and they utilized the tide pools whenever possible; salt water was the best, but next to that was the crisp glacier-fed rivers that bordered their northerly claim. If it had been fresher blood it would have come out easily enough - bits still bloomed around her now - but this was a day old at least, maybe two days at this point. It would take some work to get it all out.

Stryx pondered as she worked. Her mind was most often blank when she was helping a patient, reacting to the circumstances as they presented themselves, and it wasn't until after that she could process each event. The birth of Raleska's children had been bloody and she was still processing that; now, the mangled face of Praimfaya rose to the forefront of her mind. The brutality that she had been subjected to. The woman would survive - but at what cost? Stryx had done very little to correct her facial wounds or anything superficial, focused entirely on the dire tear in her neck, and she knew the scars would be written across her flesh for the rest of her life.

Now, who are you? A foreign voice boomed from far too close. Stryx was surprised - mostly because she hadn't heard his approach - and felt her silver fur spike along her scruff and shoulders.

He was a hefty creature, and ugly. His proportions reminded her vaguely of a black bear. His coat was patterned with earth tones, each hair tipped in black or brown intermittently. He had broad shoulders and a thick-set neck and head, further pushing the comparison to the pig-faced bears of this area. Stryx was wise enough to know that bears could not hybridize with wolves but she was still unnerved by the way he stood there so bold, so close, and could not take her eyes off of him.

Nobody to be concerned about. She responded. Perhaps it would be wise for her to exit the river and find somewhere else to bathe. A moment later she pulled her attention away from him and to the water, working at the fur of her elbows some more, vaguely deferential to his presence but also, to a point, dismissive.

The smaller female bristles at his appearance and it seems as if she’s uneasy enough to not let him out of her sight. Wise on her part, though Donovan doesn’t plan on doing anything rash. Of course unless she tries to. Even then, the brindled male allows women to run a bit further with his patience than he allows most males to. He is reasonable but will not put up with it too long. 

This agouti she-wolf proves to be fairly harmless. Donovan doesn’t underestimate, but she seems peaceful enough. So he will meet her with the same energy. 

“I’d hope so.” He hums. “What brings you here then? And what’s got you so bloody?” He asks with a cocked brow and a smile ghosting across his maw.

Most of the gore had cleared from her legs, but there was still a lingering copper sheen between her toes. Soaking them proved helpful to a degree. Now Stryx removed herself, climbing across the river stones to the dry patches of crumbling grass struggling to remain alive through the heat and suffocating humidity, shaking her limbs off as she took each step, like a frustrated cat.

The man's questions were probing. His eyes felt like they burned in to her as she moved, and when Stryx stopped to seat herself in the grass, she stared back at him with the same intensity for a second or two. Found someone half-butchered and patched them up. I'm a physician.

She looked him over once more, noticing the lack of fresh wounds and the general cleanliness of his coat, so it could not have been this wolf that had torn in to Praimfaya. It wasn't her business, so Stryx wasn't about to question him about the ordeal; the girl had lived, Stryx had done her duty, and now she was eager to be clean. With this in mind, she turned her attention to her bloodied toes and began to groom through them, lifting one paw to her muzzle at a time and working at the dried blood between them.

The she wolf paws out of the water and shakes herself off. Then as she settles her interesting gaze in just as intense as it meets his own she speaks of being a physicist and dare his ears perk up at that word.

He hums quietly as a response “You’re a healer then?” He asks a smile ghosting his lips and he tilts his chin up at her. “Where do you make your home? Are there others like you?” He questions. Having a good relationship with any healers in the surrounding area could be life saving. “I’m growing my pack on these lands.” He hums, golden hues meeting her eyes. “Even if you weren’t to join, having an alliance could be beneficial for the both of us.” He says it like he’s trying to sell her the idea. He would take no offense to the denial of his offer. 

Sure, the brindled male grew up in a pack that would rip apart anything that looked at them funny. His father taught him the importance of being diplomatic as well. Staring such an opportunity in the face and not shooting his shot would be a horrible decision on his part.

She looked up from her cleaning sharply, with a shrewd little glare that almost read as "no shit, that's what I said," but she held her tongue, even as his questions grated at her ears. Are there others like you..? What kind of question was that? No, she was the only medic in all the world, a wandering immortal set with the quest of healing all that ailed; obviously she wasn't the only one. But then Stryx recalled Sugar, and wondered to herself if this thick-skulled man was referring to the scents she currently wore.

Still, silence. One thing Stryx had learned years ago was, you could always learn more by listening than by speaking. The man seemed to like hearing himself talk (which was typical), and through his own admission he was laying some form of claim to these woods. The woods - the bleeding forest. It clicked, albeit a little too late. Just her luck that Stryx would go traipsing through an area after being warned away from it.

—having an alliance could be beneficial for the both of us. The man concluded, to which she remained mute as if mulling over the possibilities. She resumed cleaning - this time her other paw - but as she neared finishing her work, Stryx chose to give him a once-over with her eyes, a flick of her gaze to the trees around them, assessing.

Then, her answer: I align myself with nobody. That was a pointed refusal to the proposition, however she was not finished. But I have sworn an oath to tend to the wounded regardless of their personal ties. All lives are sacred, even those that seek to eviscerate the occasional lone wolf that may pass through a poorly marked pseudo-claim.

She thought of Praimfaya, of course. This man's scent was thick among the trees, and the wounded woman had carried a different one, sweeter, more feminine. But two wolves did not make a strong claim no matter how self-important the leader felt about themselves. Stryx knew she was an asset to any pack, especially so to a group trying to solidify their place, but it was not her nature to stay rooted.

Just by the ashen females stare he can tell she’s not interested. Then she answers his own question, brutally honest as well. To which Donovan respects to some extent. Then as she references a wolf that might have wandered into their, hardly existing, territory his brows pinch together.

“Who might you be talking about then, healer?”

His question is genuine, for he has had a few wolves come through. Though he hasn’t claimed his teeth any that he can put his mind to. When he jogs his memory, the painted image his mind creates brings up the silvery white warrior that he had an impressive spar with only weeks before. The exact one that Nemisis deemed worthy to catch her teeth in a messy territorial dispute. One that was useless at that. Donovan tried is damndest to break up the fight and would have jumped in against Nemisis if needed. Thankfully the pale woman was able to escape. The scolding Donovan gave his partner surely only went so far as well.

“Are you speaking of the white she-wolf that’s been wandering along the coast?”

I know nothing about where she had been prior to being my patient, only that she came close to death. Too close. She answered with a conversational tone, letting some of her attitude give way. She had to be careful, as this was so obviously the place where the poor girl had her throat torn, and while it had not been this man to do it, someone close to him was the perpetrator - they could have been lingering near, listening, waiting for Stryx to step in to the shadows. She was capable of many feats, but combat - true life or death fighting - was a last resort she wasn't exactly versed in.

But maybe even if she wasn't some warrior, Stryx could find a way through this. She did not want to burn any bridges, nor give up her patient to the mercy of this man (whether he intended to finish the job or not was up to interpretation but Stryx wasn't going to take chances), so she would find a carefully crafted middle-ground.

I propose a.. compromise. Should I be in the area and your people need my services, I will help without question. As payment I request safe passage - free, unhindered, harmless passage - through the forest, as I wish.While I tend to your wounded I will not eat of your stores, and I will refill any herbal caches afterward. Perhaps this way she could continue working as her vocation required, while also allowing for her natural freedoms. He would get her knowledge and medical prowess and she, the ability to traverse this bleeding forest without threat of harm.

He hums to her first sentence. He’s glad to know the she-wolf isn’t dead, but the whole exchange was unnecessary in his eyes and for Nemisis to attack one that could be called his ally, or at least an acquaintance, doesn’t sit well with him.

Then as the smaller wolf continues, she seems to propose an idea of some sorts — a compromise. He nods once to the agouti female before him. He seems her terms acceptable. Medics are honored in his pack and valuable. So he would not treat her any less than he would his own pack, unless she were to do something that begged him to.

“I accept. I’ll need your name and the names of any others that are with you as well.” His nose has caught the scent of other wolves on her pelt through the slithering breeze. “So to be sure they get the same treatment. We’re willing to house or feed you as well if so needed. But I’m sure you’re capable enough to hunt of your own. We will treat you as an ally to the pack and will share our forest with you. Medics are honored in my family, as they should be.”

It was a good compromise. So long as she was left to her own devices and she remain respectful of this forest, it would be safe for her - and anyone she brought through the area, which was an aspect she had not thought to include. He was being generous; it surprised her to have such an addendum to the agreement, but she would accept. It would be stupid not to.

My name is Stryx. She says. There is a pause if he feels inclined to give his own name or any other details, but whether he does or not, she adds of her own accord - I work alone for the most part. If I should have an accomplice with me in the future, I will let it be known. We will not separate while passing through the forest. That would keep it simple and easy for everyone.

All that said, Stryx rose to her mostly-clean paws and looked southeast within the woods, a determined look on her face, perhaps waiting for a final word before she leave him. We have an agreement, then? With his assertion, Stryx would feel free to depart, but she would wait for confirmation first.

When the pale agouti wolf sounds out her name he nods tentatively. Then with a sly smile he gives his own. “Donovan. Hopefully you haven’t heard of me.” Is all he says mysteriously. 

As she continues he nods once she’s done. “Sounds fair to me, Stryx.” He hums casually. “Don’t be afraid to howl for us if you need help or are in trouble. I’m always looking for some action.” He says this darkly. Then on another note he becomes more casual. “I’ll inform my partner of our alliance so she doesn’t make another rash decision.” He chuckles briefly at the end of his words.

She had not - but the name was now etched in to her mind, along with his hulking shape, and the general unease he caused within her. He played at being peaceable with every look he granted her, every little twisting smirk, while his words held an undercurrent she felt could only be described as vaguely threatening. There was no doubt in her mind that this man was the cause of Praimfaya's injuries; whether he attacked the poor girl himself or not, gave the order or tried to put a stop to it, he held himself with some esteem and spoke of his partner, the woman, as if she were under his thumb. Stryx eyed him with a mixture of wariness and lassitude as she finally broke away from his company, sulkily departing through the trees at an increasing pace.