Redsand Canyon 'til I tear the walls

days have passed, and the warlord is become accustomed to the canyon and some of the mottle bunch of wolves that have chosen to follow donovan. the stiffness in her shoulder fades with each day, and as she flexes the arch of her spine, there comes a flash of pleasure with the movement fails to tug painfully at the new scars wrapping around her chest. the ugly slashes around her forelimb have yet to heal entirely, and her hind remains unable to bear the entirety of her weight, but she is growing bolder in testing it. 

she moves through the canyon; while the grey sky threatens, the morning has offered a respite from the rain for the time being, at least. the downpours are annoying, but at the least the earth remains still underfoot. the warlord pauses, shifting to nose at a smear of red against the rock. something had found success in the hunt here, hours before by the looks of it. with a sharp exhale, the woman straightens and resumes her search for @Donovan Azura.

Could I ask where in the canyon they’re at? Like territory wise? I like to be descriptive of the scenery lol ;)

He’s been tracking a wandering deer or something of the such for about an hour now. Eyeing down its sunken hoof prints in the sand he continues on. Until he smells something familiar. Or rather someone familiar. It’s a scent he’s just only really getting used to and he inhales lungfuls of it trying to place who it is. His leathery nose, dusted with red sand, sniffs about in the air and finally he begins going the direction opposite of which it blows.

Padding around some random boulders much bigger than himself, he finds a dark form before him. Recognizing them as Hela he smiles in her direction. He approaches her with a casual swagger and his chin tilts up in greetings. “Hela. What brings you here, dear?” He asks calmly, voice grouch from disuse.

Territory #9 — Redsand Canyon
The majority of the canyon is made up of miscellaneous shrubbery, sand and clay, and various oddly shaped rock formations. Any area unmarked on the map looks like the picture shown below.

the leader rounds the boulder, and the warlord stills, an aud twitching in greeting. he moves still with that casual arrogance, exaggerated perhaps within his own claim. "your war," she answers, seeing no reason to hesitate before the subject. tongue moves over a canine, contemplative. it is a concept that had thus far only existed in faded tales, one she seeks to understand, to analyze. 

"do you intend to move against the coastal wolves?" she queries, curious if he truly intended to go through with the visuals he'd presented in that coastal wood. did he intend to bide his time, or simply move past the even altogether? she'd understood the nightwalkers, their motives, power-dynamics. her choice to stay or leave had been informed, but here, she's yet to learn, to analyze the structure and intents of the group besides what little donovan had offered her.

Thank you!

He stands before her, sun radiating off of his magnificent coat as he watches her. At first she utters only two simple words. He knows she’s going to follow it up with something, yet she contemplates. Eyes shamelessly flicking to the motion of a pink tongue running along dangerous fangs. Then finally the topic on conversation is spilled. She wonders of his plans with the coastal wolves — he only has a few and all the outcomes except one are bloody.

“I will move against them only if they wish to continue to meddle in our business.” He shrugs and offers the words casually. “I have no room for mercy after they rushed my pack from the woods. If they wish to die painful deaths at the teeth of the Saints then so be it, but ultimately it’s up to them to decide their fate.” His eyes become intense and his smirk becomes vicious. “It’s simple really. If they want to fuck with us, we have no choice. With that in mind, I must look after the well-being of the pack until we have stronger numbers. Therefore, I won’t move directly against them until I know that can we handle them and leave with minimal casualties.”

He quirks his head curiously to her, voice low but not threatening whatsoever. “If you have an opinion I’d love to hear it, darling.”

"your business," echoes the warlord, as it's the second time he's referred to whatever his dealing might be as such. "what is it, exactly? how do the coastal wolves meddle in it?" he is forthcoming about just how badly he seems to want them to suffer at the fangs of his and his, though less so about the vague beginnings of their conflict. her desire to understand such things is relatively new; a change stemming, perhaps, from her departure from the Nightwalkers. 

"you will not call me darling," she states plainly, gaze steady on his. there is no anger in it, only factual firmness. "I do not think they would attack you here," she begins, "it would take more than a disagreement, a fight between warriors to warrant them coming to the mountains." if the coastal wolves sought to drive donovan and the saints even further; if the distance already existing between them was not far enough, surely there would have to be some other reason to do so. the island's leader did not strike her as foolish nor cowardly, and surely there must be good reason, if any, to draw her and her warriors from their isle.

“They poke their noses in our direction. Stalk around wondering and watching. They should keep their distance if they know what’s good for them.”

Then as her blunt statement of him not to call her darling it only makes his smile grow — intrigued by the other wolf. He always did have a thing for aggressive women. Though why? He doesn’t fucking know. Then as she finishes he shakes his head. “You’d think.” Comes his own dull reply. “If they were that hurt over one fight then I wouldn’t be surprised.” He shrugs. “That’s why we need to map out our territory. Know this place like the pack of our paw just in case they decide to try something. We’d have the territory advantage.”

it appears that the man does not like the idea of being observed in any capacity. she does not think it is shame that drives this, nor a desire to hide his activities. no, she suspects it is the attempts that others might take to curb or control his actions that has him so guarding of his privacy. 

while she does not know if the need to defend this place would arise, she does know how best she'd do so. "the catacombs," she offers, mind moving to that twisting network of rock. "your greatest advantage would come in knowing the labyrinth better than your aggressors, and drawing them into it. your numbers are great enough to plan an ambush." the fighting would be tight, yes, especially for those like herself and donovan. but the tactical advantage that came with choosing one's own battlefield would be great.

He nods enthusiastically. “Yes, the catacombs is the best place for an ambush for sure.” A very great idea in her part. “We could even separate them from each other and the echos prevent them from knowing which direction to go to find one another. It would be easy enough. Two of us per one of them if we could get it that way.” 

Then he remembers the number of packs that are allied together and sighs. “That would be our best bet if more than one pack comes along. We’d have to outsmart them — trap them and kill them. For now I think we should resort to defensive fighting such as poisoning and killing off their prey. Things that will weaken them.” His honey orbs meet her own. “What do you think?” He asks again for her opinion after voicing his own.

a nod, as he elaborates on her proposal. the idea seems to please him, and it is evident, as if it had been so already, that the man before her is more likely to incite a war than to shy away from one. it is the mention of packs, plural, that has her curious. "allies, or more enemies?" has donovan managed to incite the wrath of more than just the coast wolves? 

to his next suggestion, she offers, "defensive can become aggressive if you are not already sure of their intent. doing what you describe will be sure to draw them into conflict, and they'll be angry enough to run you and yours from this canyon." a pause, "unless war is what you want. are you confident enough in your numbers?" there's no sense in doing what he suggests unless victory is a clear-sighted thing.

He listens eagerly to her well thought out points. Ultimately, he shakes his head with a soft spoken “No.” at her final question. “We must train, gather more members. More warriors. Then we can begin the reaping.” He chuckles, a dark twist on his words. A malicious glint in his molten gold eyes.

“War will be inevitable. Better to train for it and be ready. Perhaps initiate it or maybe trick them. It will all be situational. Still inevitable nonetheless.”

he does not answer, and perhaps, she decides, it does not matter. war is war, though knowledge of the other would certainly lend one side or another the upper hand. though he seems more interested in the grit of it, the blood and battle and power; the reaping. she know not what to think of it, yet. 

"so we will prepare." a moment of silence, and then a silent motion of her intent to embark on a patrol. a dip of her muzzle and she takes her leave, with certainly more to think on than she'd had previously.