Redsand Canyon now who to blame but i for tying these knots so well at my wrists

@Donovan Azura
backdated to august 3rd. territory #13 - paranoia peaks. 68F, cloudy, 9pm

moonlight peeked through the clouds, sending shafts of pale light over the distant mountains. the loose sand slid away under their paws. they’d crossed the canyon in the time since their return; in the heavy shadows, everything was cool and still.

they paused at the peak of the dunes. a little early yet for most of the saints to be sleeping – though it was easier to patrol in the day, now that the clouds had settled stubbornly on the horizon. and they didn’t much care who they woke up.

renard lifted their muzzle and howled for @Donovan Azura.

they’d given him a few days. enough time to follow their orders over the sunspires. to the court, and to orlaith.

but that was hardly new information. it would surprise them if the court and the saints ever reached the level of not actively trying to rip each others’ throats out, much less anything else. no, they were curious.

had he even noticed finley’s departure? and would he care that it had happened at all?

Donovan hadn’t been sleeping when his ears swivel at the sound of another’s howl. One he recognizes as Renard. He wonders why they call at such an hour, though not entirely too late he just doesn’t expect it. He’d been drinking from the creek that led into Warriors heart and with a few more sips he’s on his way to Renard, obediently on his way to meet the call of his pack mate.

It’s a solid thirty or so minutes before he’s able to make it there. While it was across the half the Canyon, his shoulder still doesn’t feel good enough to full out sprint on yet. Eventually he makes it there and he’s padding through the sand dunes and over the occasional rough rock formation. 

Finally seeing the other wolfdog, he spurs himself into a trot before stopping beside him. “Evening, Renard.” He hums gruffly, but offers a small smile in return. “You called?” He says casually, inquiring more to get an answer as to why he called.

the call went out through the canyon, but they knew from experience it was a long trek from one side to the other. donovan wasn’t the fastest of them, even without nemisis’ wounds on his shoulder. in the interim, for lack of anything better to do, they paced ghost-like over the dunes. there was little prey in the canyon to begin with, much less in this place, much less in the dark.

he came eventually. paws crunching through sand and rock, a heavy and audible weight that stopped them in their tracks. at the peak of the dune, renard turned to face him as he came, offering a dip of their own head in return.

“finley’s gone,” renard informed him, perfectly blank-faced but for the smile. the encounter on the borders could wait, unless and until donovan had the presence of mind to question exactly how they knew.

A simple dip of Renard’s head in greeting and then all of a sudden Finley’s gone. slips from their maw. The news is unfortunate, but not to Renard it seems, for they hold a cool smile upon their lips and that pleasantly blank facial expression. Both of which tell Donovan that they could care less.

So he gives a short, quiet laugh. “Huh.” He hums as if he isn’t all too surprised either. 

Then as soon as he truly thinks about it, he’s really isn’t surprised. In the beginning when their numbers were small and insignificant she seemed to be fairing much better. As they got bigger and started making enemies it seems she doesn’t even have the guts to fight for them. Perhaps she didn’t have the loyalty he thought she would have. Though that’s not truly what grates in his nerves. It’s the fact that she didn’t tell him. Hell, he wouldn’t have cared if she wanted to leave. He can’t stop her anyhow. Though the good side of him fight for her and says that maybe she was too cautious of toeing the boundaries of respect for the alpha like she always has. Though the bad side of him spits venom at her name and calls her weak, spineless, as to not inform him of her plans. He can’t decide which side to take just yet.

“I guess I can’t say I’m surprised.” Though his face turns from neutral and begins to border on the side of pissed off. “Quite spineless of her not to tell me.” He comments with just a hint of salt. “How do you know she’s truly gone?”

renard’s gaze didn’t leave donovan’s face. they were, first and foremost, looking for a reaction: it came in the form of a short, soft laugh and then, in his expression, something a little darker.

seeing her fleeing, after all…their old pack had standing orders on the act of betrayal. unfortunate for them that it was renard carrying them out – if they didn’t want to be caught, they wouldn’t. the same couldn’t be said for finley. but donovan was not aion, and in the end, they’d done nothing. let her walk away.

did he wish they’d done otherwise?

“i saw her,” renard said. and here was the thing: whatever they said next…donovan had no choice but to take as the truth, and from finley’s own lips. who would contradict them?

something to keep in mind.

and yet, as it turned out, she’d said quite a lot. so for once, they offered the information without hiding, without goading – they didn't need it.

“i believe her exact words were… ‘i’m not dying to protect an idiot.’” metaphor exempted, of course. that conversation, even if it had been more to the point than the last, still carried the heavy implication that it was not just finley who was unsatisfied with donovan’s rule – not something renard would be offering to him now.

He’s not surprised Renard let her go. Hell, so would Donovan. She was his pack mate, he wants his pack to be content. Though it seems she wasn’t and has found her journey leading her elsewhere. He can’t blame her. So he tries not to until Renard’s last words are spoken out.

Donovan nods gently, teasing his fangs with a pitch black tongue. “Okay.” Is all he says, assuming the idiot she references would be Donovan himself. Then he laughs bitterly. “Does she know anything of leading? Especially leading with a firm paw in the realistic side of shit? Those packs who revolve around niceties are weak. Unable to handle the harshness of the reality of life. Does she know that I would risk my life for you all? For my pack?” He shakes his head and Donovan stares Renard dead in the eyes. Not necessarily with malice, just a stern intensity. “What about you? What do you think of me, of this pack?” He asks then. “Speak the truth, for if I don’t know I can’t change it.”

“i doubt it.” if she knew anything about leading, she wouldn’t have been so quick to abandon the saints, not with their offer dangled clearer than any word they’d shared before between them. and if she cared anything for it, she should have at the very least given them some proposal to follow.

they might have even pretended to consider it.

they doubted donovan knew most of it either. but they couldn’t argue with his reasoning. kindness was a weakness: it left too much of your throat exposed. the saints, as much of a mess as they were, provided a service – the proof that everyone needed to know how to fight back.

not that they were doing this out of concern. not that the saints acted out of anything but whim, at this point. donovan commanded them now, even if it hadn’t been renard’s wisest decision. as intrigue went – very little got dull here, besides the patrols.

they could argue with his final question. a leader risking his life for his soldiers? if he wanted to play at having a family he would risk his life for, what a strange choice, to take them into the mess that he’d created at the hands of his own poor judgment.

but why were they expecting things to make sense now?

he’d asked. there was a painfully obvious question staring all of them in the face, acknowledged or not. “i want to know,” renard said, “what your goal is. what are you trying to accomplish here?”

what else was there to say? the saints baked in a desert, waiting for…what? the next eviction notice to be served? surely there was something more he wanted.

or maybe it was just chaos. and hadn’t they said they were here to be entertained?

Donovan nods and looks to Renard with a fire in his eyes. The bright yellow practically resembling the sun. “We’re here to grow stronger, grow our numbers. Train until we are better than the others that reside in these mountains.” He shakes his head. “My fathers goal was to establish a respect with his pack and the others. Challenge them and if they don’t instantly submit, beat them into submission. Though I’m not sure if our goals are the same now. I have a pack, we have enemies. For now all we can do is bide our time.” 

His gaze goes dark. “Until our enemies are dealt with we cannot go any further with the plans.” He says vaguely. “To show everyone who the real Saints are here. We choose their fate. They’ll bow to us. Learn to live with us or be wiped out. Simple.”

he wanted their opinion? then they would give it. a fraction of it. knowledge was best earned yourself – if he paid the attention he should to everything going on in the canyon, after all, he would have known about finley before this.

he didn't seem to know much about paying attention.

“and how much time do you think we have to train? we’re very far from respect right now.” if what donovan looked to command was indeed respect, instead of fear. “that’s a lot of people to beat into submission.” much as renard liked a fight, was used to the sort of endless war that came from being raised in it –

well. the court had the strength to back it up. they weren’t doing anyone a service pretending their presence here with the saints would do anything drastic to tip the scales – they were made for shadow and stealth, and donovan was anything but.

unlike finley, renard didn’t mind the brutality with which donovan had handled nemisis. approved of it, even. he’d been right to dispense some justice – and of course, renard’s concept of justice meant little more than blood. she’d posed an irritating obstacle: finally, it was removed.

but donovan was a battering ram, and under his command his forces had all the delicacy of an avalanche. except an avalanche wasn’t capable of making bad decisions, and an avalanche had the actual strength to back it up.

biding our time. they would have laughed, if they were anyone else. what a cute way to describe the situation.

Donovan chuckles at Renard’s questioning response. “I’m sure we have a lot of time. Plus, I have a feeling these surrounding packs can’t do shit by themselves. They rely on their allies. That can only get you so far. If a pack isn’t strong on its own then it isn’t shit. True their are strength in numbers, so we’d have to pick off their allies one by one; incapacitate them and go for the last one standing.”

Donovan doesn’t feel like he has all of the packs faith, or perhaps trust. He’s been leading for half his life. The pack before this had many more problems, but they were also more willing to solve said problems with blood. True they have the disadvantage right now. So they have to play it smart when it comes to battle. Make themselves seem smaller and weaker than everyone else thinks. So when they do come they don’t bring a whole army.

“Renard, your points are valid, but not worth stressing about. We just have to be sure to keep to the canyon when they do come. Make ourselves seem smaller and weaker than they think we are. We have a pack of seasoned warriors. We don’t have to run into battle. We can use stealth to our advantage.” He tilts his chin at them and laughs lowly once more. “You have such little faith in me, Renard.” He hums, practically undressing them with his eyes.

they rely on their allies. that can only get you so far.

they couldn’t argue the point. donovan was capable of insight, when it suited him. it was a shame he rarely chose to do anything with it besides shovel another pawful of earth out of the hole he was standing in.

but not worth stressing about? an interesting claim from their leader. renard didn’t care if the saints clawed themselves out of this drenched in blood or not; they cared that the person holding their blade knew how to use it and used it often.

neither of these things were true.

and –

renard’s smile did not falter. it grew until it was more a baring of teeth, barely holding onto the vaguest edge of amusement. that was always what it was about with him, wasn’t it? they hadn’t forgotten their fight in the catacombs.

they hadn’t expected donovan to, either. the man was completely focused on one thing; it could have been a skill, if it was anything other than his dick.

there was no helping this. so they’d made a bad decision on who to give their loyalty to; finley would have done as little with their leash, but at least she had a head on her shoulders. if this was what he wanted so badly, renard had no advice left to give him.

watching him fall would, at the least, be fun.

“are you going to beat me in a spar this time?”

Roll here!

He watches as the others smile grows in what one would call a Cheshire grin. Donovan shakes his head yet his own smirk widens too. Renard seems to have changed in his short time away from Donovan so long ago. Not for worse, for the better. He loves the ferocity that’s weaved itself into the wolfdog. Gets the fire going in his belly even as they question him like he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. Like he doesn’t know how to lead a pack. Like he hasn’t had to play tag with his enemies before. Oh well, let them watch and learn. Bask is the glory of the death and destruction that will befall Donovan’s own pack and the packs of the ones that fuck with him.

He tilts his head, circular brows furrowed mischievously as he toes closer. “You want me to, baby? Let’s go.”

With that Donovan’s kicking up dust as he’s baring his teeth in Renard’s  direction. Going straight for the others throat, a swipe of a paw to Renard’s face and he’s able to latch onto the wolf. Giving a good shake, there will be some blood but, no real injuries. If Renard what’s this, he’ll give it to them.

renard didn’t welcome being wrong. but it taught better than being right did. if donovan could turn it all around and the saints became more than a minor nuisance, they wouldn’t have a problem admitting he was correct.

of course, he wasn’t going to be correct.

his level of skill when it came to thinking instead of charging in headfirst expecting everything to lay itself out neatly in front of him, however, meant less when it came to a spar. he didn’t need speed when they were this close; he barreled into renard like a charging bear, teeth locked around their throat, and shook them side to side.

blood dripped over the scars. renard moved with him to keep their spine and skin intact, back and forth, and as soon as he’d stopped moving they twisted their head around, coming down on his muzzle and cheek to latch on in turn, with not nearly as much restraint as donovan had shown.

instinct said teeth should not have been that close to the vulnerable curve of their neck. but if a little blood was what it cost to get him to take this seriously, then they were more than willing to provide.

Teeth to skin, Donovan tastes blood. If it’s a fight Renard wants — a true spar with their Grandmaster — then it is a fight they will get. Expertly, the other wolfdog moves with his shakes. A smart move and honestly he can’t really be surprised when teeth meet the side of his own face. He’s shocked for a moment and calm the next. Scrunching you’re his face in obvious pain, it truly doesn’t bother him all too much. 

There’s blood here too. Dripping from his cheek in small pearls of crimson. Renard is quite the flexible one. A brief thought that passes through his mind. Though it’s the least important of the things he should be thinking out. Like planning his next move maybe? Or perhaps he’ll just let instinct guide him. Let it happen naturally. 

Realizing he can’t just let Renard munch on his face wall day, Donovan risks furthering his injuries by ripping himself out of his grasp. Followed by shoving him with as much force as he’s able to. Surely the other will at least stumble, if not completely to let over, but he knows Renard is strong. Ultimately, Donovan will let go and see what the others counter attack will be.

as discussed donovan will be winning so we can just stretch out a few more rounds of spar for trade reasons :D

donovan was thoroughly frustrating. he could fight, he could recruit, he could mostly control the people he’d gathered. it was just a shame most of the people he’d gathered were more bloodlust than sense, and that he didn’t have the cunning to go along with the rest of his skills. fury could only get you so far.

renard was getting tired of pretending to themselves he’d turn it around.

their teeth cut through donovan’s cheek. blood welled up over their tongue, and donovan seemed to be – distracted.

he was just letting them do it. of course. why should they have expected him to take anything seriously in his life? irritation trickling down their spine, now, they bit down harder, scissoring more deeply into skin, and that seemed to do the trick; he yanked himself out of renard’s grasp, dragging their teeth in bloody lines down the side of his face, and slammed his weight into them.

renard staggered. they weren’t nearly donovan’s size or strength, but he didn’t even come after them. just stared, like the perfect opportunity hadn’t served itself up on a platter, and they righted themselves and they didn’t. snarl. no matter how much it was starting to seem like a good idea.

“you still aren’t taking this seriously, are you?” they stalked forward, still smiling.

and then, with jaws wide, went right for his throat.

He can feel the irritation radiating off of Renard like the echos off the canyon walls. It’s an obvious thing and it only makes Donovan smirk in his direction. Okay they’re pissed of that he’s not trying? He’s taking it more serious than he did last time. What more does Renard want? For Don to kill him? That would signify the fact that he’s actually trying. Oh well, Renard still has time to see what he’s capable of.

Renard is quick to retaliate though. With his snarky comments and an attack. His teeth scrape his throat painfully and Donovan is wincing in pain. He dips his chin down to protect the area and send a massive paw in the direction of the other’s face. Hopefully connecting enough to distract as Donovonce again shoved himself at the wolfdog. Practically chest to chest he pushes and shoves. His a move he was known to do in the past, he rears up on his hind legs, looking absolutely massive and bears down all his weight on Renard’s side. Surely he’s shoveling them down into the sandy earth.

He wastes no time in caging them in with his heavy arms and an accidental baring of teeth show on Donovan’s part. Merely into the moment; distracted by battle.

little bit of pp here okayed by malia!

taunting was always a dangerous game. renard was just annoyed enough that they'd stopped bothering with the consequences – wasn't all of this already the consequences of pledging to the saints. probably smarter to just nod and go along with it, and not make implication of their dissatisfaction too openly, but at this point donovan noticed so little it was starting to seem unfair, that renard hadn't even tipped a portion of their hand.

maybe this was it. or maybe he'd continue not to notice.

their jaws came down on his throat, pushing through the fur until their teeth raked along skin. dangerous to bite too hard, and renard hung on the edge of it, teeth clenching steadily harder until donovan's chin came down over their muzzle, one broad paw reaching for their face.

they had no desire to lose an eye, even in the pursuit of something like this. renard released him and drew back, and donovan came down at them, rearing up on his hind legs as he slammed his weight into their side. it was like trying to resist a boulder – the pros of dumb muscle, apparently.

no, in a one on one fight, a real fight, the only way to handle him would be through speed and stealth. ambush. not giving him the chance to use his weight. no help now, of course, because unless they wanted to seriously injure something they weren't standing up to that force.

they folded. donovan had them up against the sand, a perfect position to strike out with their hind legs – and it *was* tempting, but if renard was going to use that, it was better saved for when they actually needed it. instead, they drew their head back and planted their forelimbs along his neck, snapping out to rake their teeth over his chest and leg until his jaws loomed too close to allow the possibility.

licking blood from their lips, the glittering violet of their gaze fixed on donovan's face, renard smiled up at him, throat unsettlingly close to bared, and waited.

Donovan feels a fury of smaller bites to his face and arms as he pins the other wolf. Their front paws push against his neck and chest as if to keep him at bay. Though Donovan’s not sure how well that will work, he gives it an A for effort. Though, Renard’s last attempt at an attack only last about a second or two, they’re quickly settling and gazing interestingly up to Donovan. 

The brindled male takes in the interesting patterns of their coat and the slightest baring of neck they offer. It almost makes his thoughts fly south for the winter and nestle themselves into the naughtier section of his brain. It dares to excite him. He’s smirks devilishly down to them and a small fit of rolling laughter bubbles past his throat.

“Careful, darling. Keep looking at me like that and I might have to take this fight in a different direction.” He suggests with his classic wink.

you may feel free to come beat me over the head for the delay on this it is only polite

it really was like pushing against a boulder. didn't feel as satisfying as it could have, either, but since it was time to face the reality of their relationship with the saints, it was as satisfying as it was going to get. renard supposed someone might have a use for dumb muscle, but it would be someone more patient than them, and someone willing to put up with the rest of the mess that came with it. donovan wouldn't be giving up power easily, even if he wasn't cut out for it.

and the proof of that – well, didn't have to go any further than this, right here. they'd take a portion of the blame – back in the catacombs he'd wanted the exact same thing, and they'd seen an opportunity. if the only thing donovan cared about was sex, holding that over his head was as good an angle as any to get what they wanted.

that had made it an exchange. and if he was so absorbed by it, then actually providing it would only help their position.

donovan laughed above them, and renard's lips drew farther back, until their smile held a sharper edge; their chin tipped back another fraction. it still felt uncomfortable baring their throat – wasn't that the point – but it was a discomfort they were used to. there was no more effective signal of submission than the one that provided full opportunity for someone to tear your throat out in a bite, so of course it had always been the favorite of the court. 

even if it was a little less than genuine now, donovan had no way to tell. they'd respected their old leader, ruthlessness and all; here, they had none of it left to offer. 

renard laughed. "we did make a deal." their mouth quirked. "or was that still not you taking things seriously?"

Donovan is moderately surprised by Renard’s reply. We did make a deal. Slithers our from his maw, causing a charming, slightly teasing, smirk to contort his face handsomely. They even dare to ask if that was him taking things seriously or not. To which he chuckles out a bout of easy laughter.

“If I were being serious I would’ve killed you, darling.” He hums easily to Renard. Leaning down and giving an experimental lap of his tongue to they’re exposed neck. “Is dinner still on the table?” He asks teasingly if Renard will still allow him to go further even though he wasn’t taking it as serious as the wolfdog wants him to.

Mature Content Warning

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tag for safety, not sure this needs it but just in case. should be last post for me! <3

renard shifted, scraping a hind leg up over donovan's stomach. it would have been so easy to drive their paws up; they entertained the idea for an extended moment as their nails scratched through his fur, camouflaged under their smile and the exposed stretch of their throat, though the opportunity had already come and passed them by. 

donovan leant down and dragged his tongue over their neck. they let him. they'd wondered if he'd have a problem with their phrasing – like this was a prize he was winning – but either he hadn't noticed or didn't care.

another piece slid into place, and a small, vaguely amused part of their mind wondered what finley would have made of this, after all of that secrecy and doublespeak and treason. but they didn't expect to see her again, and now they needed to pay attention.

they let their eyes drift back to donovan's face, returning his smirk with one of their own. he was just vague enough that they could have been evasive if they wanted. the temptation was there; renard lingered over it as well.

he chose now to be patient. they hadn't expected that of him. amusement edged their heavy exhale of breath; gaze locked steady on donovan, they slid out from under him, brushing the black-and-fawn bristle of their spine purposefully against his chest, and stretched to obligingly nip at the line of donovan's jaw, just hard enough to draw blood. their tongue followed, swiping across his muzzle like an apology. encouragement.

"consider that permission," they said, both taunt and invitation.

this hadn't been their idea. if donovan knew anything, it would be what he wanted out of fucking someone, so they'd let him guide them, and keep an eye out for any reactions that might be of use – either for him in this moment, or for the future.

The wolfdog offers themself to Donovan in the promise of a heated, skin to skin exchange. Letting go in the rawest form of pleasure. Donovan would never deny such a request that he’s been dying to get into since he met them. 

He’s humming smooth words into Renard’s ear. Smirking when they brush their hips against his chest in a classic sign of ‘give it to me’. He will waste no time in taking full advantage of the situation. Being sure to pleasure the other with his tongue first, then moving on to a more natural means of lust. He will take the wolfdog as his tonight.

Fade to black, cut scene cause they smashin.