Dragoncrest Cliffs No to your letters love

Establishing a claim was no easy task, especially not in a group of so few.  She paced the edge of the cliff territory every day, ensuring that the place was clearly marked as owned.  As soon as the others returned, they could allow their presence to fade from the Moors entirely, and this would become their new home.

It was a mixed feeling.  She remembered her time feeling trapped here, caught on the small beach that extended behind the caverns, rather well.  She'd passed a time in literal hell here, and the beauty of it sought to deny that.

As she laid another marker, her mind drifted back to the cove.  No matter how conflicted she might be, one thing was certain; it was nice to be so near the water again.

WC: 132

And, they, made it!

Somehow, one way or another, alongst the move did Grímnismál get lost, and end up crying near a random bay. Thankfully though, @Kaertok had shown her the way, and despite being a rather intimidating bear, he was okay to nice. The two only ended up doing minimal talking, for one was of stoicism, and the other was of anxiety- perhaps not the best match to be.

Nontheless, the reaper was finally at the destination mark. Albeit, a few days late.

Though she came during the time, the Alpha was marking.

if she'd noticed someone was missing on the move she'd prob have looked, they are such a baby group XD but I can roll with it!

She hadn't worried overly much when Grimnismal went missing for a brief time during their journey.  Rosalyn wasn't one for strict leadership and if the crew wanted to wander, she would not prevent them.  She had worried however that the extended absence meant she'd chosen to depart rather than finish the trip.  She didn't know the girl very well, but their numbers were few enough as is.

Fortunately, that didn't seem to be the case.  Aye, welcome, Rosalyn greeted her with a small smile.  What do you think?

WC: 88

When at last Wylla worked up the nerve to return to the cliffs—as much to escape the awkward silence spanning between Mahler and herself as to survey the area—it was to find newly laid scent markers. A discovery that was met with a loud shout of, motherfuckers.

Yeah, no. She'd had quite enough of squatters setting up shop so close to Nova Peak. Truthfully, there was a fair distance between them, but Sagtannet had already been driven from one home by the proximity of a dangerous pack. She would sooner die than give up yet another home, and as these wolves were an unknown entity, she had to assume they were dangerous, too.

She waltzed right on over the scent markers and marched into the trees, stopping only when she found signs of another nearby. This was pretty dangerous, in hindsight, but Wylla was so far beyond caring. She would welcome death if it came for her. Let Mahler reel from that loss and finally, finally, be forced to confront his ego.

(She thought that out of spite, but didn't actually want to die; her guarded posture as she marched in was telling. She had children she loved, after all.)

At first she found only Rosalyn, russet fur through the trees. If it was only her, Wylla would've attacked immediately. But voices sounded, and she knew she couldn't take two wolves. Let them initiate the hostility. She was fast enough. More importantly, she was nimble as a rabbit.

She ensured there was a huge gap between herself and them before calling out, ears pricked and tail arched and head held high, who the fuck are you?

Not formally meeting the red sea leader, once more the reaper felt intimidated by the woman. Though eased upon the smile and rather warm welcoming, her meek nature descended just a bit, and was able to approach closer, "it- looks nice!" and she hoped it would be. It was a lot of travelling to gain here, to the point somewhere losing the rest.

"I like it's near the sea," Grímnismál said, pointing to the obvious. Her ruby-eyes glanced toward the distance, before her body bristled like a cat to an alarming sound. Fear, was a general word for the small tailess medic, as she worriedly looked to the voice that simply screamed, 'who the fuck are you!'

And so she noped, and hid behind Rosalyn.

ohmg

Rosalyn was just about to agree when she heard a voice shout from across the way.  Grimnismal was quick to duck behind her, but Rosalyn was already striding forward and ignored it.  She didn't mind, there was a time she'd have cut and run herself.

Who the fuck is asking, she asked, bristling.  The fact that their marks were still fresh here, and the full of their claim not stated, made her more lenient than she might have been.  But she did not appreciate the tenor of the question or the way this woman had pushed her way through a clearly defined boundary.

WC: 103

Rosalyn turned and Wylla felt, for the briefest of moments, a confusing flash of comradery. It withered under the weight of her indignation, but she didn't miss that the older woman had one clouded and ruined eye. If not for the many scars Rosalyn wore and the evident age of the wolf before her, Wylla might've been jealous that at least Rosalyn still had her eye, but she was too busy weighing her odds. The other wolf, an abnormal amalgamation of bold black and white markings that made Wylla instantly doubt her pure blood, seemed like a coward. Good. One less thing to worry about. Rosalyn alone was pretty old, and though she looked a capable warrior, Wylla was in her prime and felt certain she could win if she had to.

Rosalyn's terse response was almost exactly how Wylla would've responded if their roles were reversed. In another life, maybe she'd have actually liked this woman. But she eyed the bristled fur and fluffed hers out in response, hackles lifting fully along the entire length of her back. The one whose home you're setting up practically right on top of, she snapped. Nova Mountain loomed nearby, eclipsing the mess of a territory between it and the cliffs. In her eyes, this was way too close.

There was more to it, of course. She remembered the attitude of the wolves that once lived on this cliff, acting as though they owned everything around them. She remembered the loner that ripped her eye out, practically acting like she owned the place despite being just one wolf alone when Mahler first found her. Wylla believed the cliffs made wolves bold and entitled. If she had to play that same game of laying claim to everything in reach to ensure her family's safety in the face of these new ruffians, then she would do so.

Another who thought if they owned one place, they owned them all.  Funnily, Rosalyn too thought of Drageda, and immediately Wylla equated herself to them with enough similarity that Rosalyn's lip lifted briefly.  It was not a pleasant memory.

As she drew closer, she too could size Wylla up.  Larger, younger, but likely arrogant.  If Rosalyn fought fair she would likely lose, but she had no intention of making it easy, and she had a pack behind her.  She'd call her crew in a heartbeat if Wylla tried anything, and could likely hold her own until at least a couple others arrived.  She had no pride to uphold.

Another pack who looks to own what they don't claim.  How original. she said with a touch of a sneer behind the tone.  Then her voice straightened, direct.  These cliffs are ours.  I've no interest in seeing them claimed by another, not after the last time.  She stopped in her advance a distance away, enough that a short sprint would close it, but neither could move on the other without warning.  She needed to get a measure of this wolf and her pack, as well as how strong their claim to this place was.

We are tired of fighting.. She remembered the weariness in Erzulie, but that only made her own anger rise even more.  Why was it, every time they tried, they only ended up against the wall once more?

WC: 239

And I've no interest in seeing them claimed by anyone, snarled Wylla in response. She didn't know what Rosalyn meant by "the last time" and she didn't much care. Her brothers had been hurt by wolves who lived on the cliffs. Her former home in Sawtooth had been lost because a potentially hostile pack had set up shop not much closer than these wolves now were to Sagtannet. To preserve the peace, knowing there were probably more wolves where Rosalyn came from while she was presently alone, she could've offered some sort of accord—a no man's land in the ruined territory that stood between them, perhaps—but Wylla would not, could not, ever stake her family's safety on the integrity of strangers.

Based on the mangled look of her, Rosalyn wasn't a trustworthy wolf, anyway. The only wolf Wylla would ever trust to hold the cliffs without a repeat of Drageda was herself. Rosalyn's response was enough for Wylla to know that allowing these wolves to get a foothold here could only spell future trouble for Sagtannet. Hell to the no.

This is your only warning. You're too close to my pack and you are not welcome. It will not be tolerated. Get lost. Find somewhere else to live.

Hell no.  Then claim them yourself. Rosalyn growled back.  She'd already had no patience for this conversation at the start, and the woman's unfounded ire when she'd never seen her before reminded her so much of Drageda that she was having a hard time holding herself back.

She hadn't wanted to attack another wolf this badly in a long, long while.

Because otherwise, I'll be damned if I trust my family's safety to your pack's oversight.  We have no interest in you, but if you cross my borders without permission again, I'll kill you myself.  

WC: 165

Maybe there was a diplomatic answer here.  And maybe Erzulie would have words for her later. But Rosalyn was sick to death of wolves thinking they had the right to shove her aside because they held a claim and thought she threatened it.  No wolf owned the coast, no wolf owned the sea, and no wolf owned her.  If they wanted this place, they'd have to come for it themselves.

All the more reason for you to take your family and get lost, Wylla retorted. Was Rosalyn really so stubborn that she would put her wolves at the mercy of Sagtannet's wrath by remaining here? Wylla and Mahler had put their family first when they chose to move them away from Sawtooth Spire to avoid conflict, but that was the first and last time she was willing to abandon her home due to others moving in. After Umbra, she wasn't willing to wait and see how friendly these neighbours were. She wasn't noseblind, either. Rosalyn's group couldn't be much larger than Sagtannet yet—if it was larger at all. Why give them time to grow? Or are you content to let them suffer? They will never be safe here. She would see to it personally.

If she caught one of them in the Tangle, she would not hesitate to hunt and harass them. In fact, she was already making plans to harry their borders day in and day out until they got the point. She didn't take Rosalyn's death threat very seriously except to take it as evidence that they needed to be snuffed out. She didn't think she had much to worry about otherwise, especially if the pack was comprised of wolves like Grímnismál who cowered behind their evident leader.

I suggest you clear out of here by the week's end, she warned lowly, beginning to step backward toward where the border was. She wasn't stupid enough to turn her back on the two wolves—the second was obviously craven, but she wouldn't put it past Rosalyn to launch an attack while her back was turned. Already, she was drawing parallels between this one and the last old bitch she'd had the displeasure of dealing with: Caiaphas.

Time to rally Sagtannet for the first time. She doubted any of her packmates would disagree with being rid of this obvious threat.

Outwardly, Rosalyn was pure fire.  Internally, she felt overwhelming anguish strike her as Wylla spoke that knell.  Of course.  They were never safe.  She would not tuck her tail and flee now, not without first speaking with @Erzulie when she'd returned.  But the prospect of war, as soon as they'd settled, because this crazy bitch couldn't stand proximity... It was good that Wylla did not turn her back, because Rosalyn wasn't sure if she would have been able to stop herself.

Just her luck that a stranger would see fit to risk sacrificing her pack upon the rocks of these cliffs worth it to drive them away.

For once, Rosalyn had lost any words to respond.  If she were a younger wolf, she'd have thrown out the challenge to prove it, but she had a family now.  And this feeling, that the wilds were closing around them, was exactly what she'd hoped to avoid by laying claim to these cliffs.

As soon as Wylla was out of sight, Rosalyn visibly dropped in posture, forgetting for a moment that Grim was there.  She couldn't fathom moving again, but she also couldn't fathom another Drageda.

WC: 193

Grímnismál watched the whole thing.

There was sparks flying and threats to be thrown, and it deeply reminded her of the wolves from the isle. They were warriors of the sea, constantly filled with pride and arrogance, just like the one-eyed badger that came and left like a storm. It brought indecent memories, and only when she left, could the reaper finally breathe.

"Uhm.." she spoke up, "what do we do now?"

Rosalyn remained as she was until Grimnismal spoke behind her and reminded her that she was not alone. She straightened, but only externally.

Now we find out if they mean it, she answered, taking a few steps forward and gesturing for Grim to follow.  She needed to ensure Wylla had really left.

And if they do, we decide what that means.  This move had been her decision, and if she needed to revoke it, she would.  She'd already accepted a long time ago that she was shit when it came to leadership, but even if she failed a hundred times over, her only interest now was in finding a place their family could settle and live out their days in peace.  After this, I will not move again.  When we find a place, I intend to die there.  It was such a comforting thought, surprising in a scout who had wandered as much as she.

WC: 155

She bounded after Rosalyn, following despite not being sure what exactly that entails, "Are we... Going to war with them?" The looming thought of 'battle' hung to her head. She had never been in one, nor' experienced, by the yearlings of her age were all excited for the first battle they would get.

All that Grímnismál knew, it involved bloodshed.

Not if we can help it, Rosalyn answered.  Hopefully their threats are empty, and they only want to run us off.  Her tail lashed once, irately, as she pictured the woman again.  Entitlement ran deeply embedded in these northern packs, and the inability to abide wolves existing near them was a disease.  

If we present no threat to them, then the harm of challenging us will be more than the harm of leaving us alone.  The only fear here was if they weren't the logical sort.  Drageda had been similar, but they'd also held the stronghold of the cliffs.  And even then in time they'd moved on.  Cut their losses and left rather than crash endlessly against a rock that would not move.  This woman was less a wave than she was a light spray, and Rosalyn didn't mind abiding the damp for the moment while she sorted out just how to rank this threat.

WC: 155

There was no reassurance to the wolf that was barely a wolf, but a simple existence that screamed anxiety. Grímnismál came from a nordic pack, they were in winter waters, the snow often drifting around, but surrounded by the sea. She was familiar with such territorial events, as the Keep was as well. However, she was no warrior.

She was barely a hunter, a warrior was just a laughable entity to think to the meek reaper. She was afraid of war.

With spirits lowered, her ruby-gaze set downards with ears flattening down.

Rosalyn could clearly see that the words didn't do much good, but outside of lies, they were all she had to offer.  She'd need to consult with her wife on the course to follow; she thought that the risk of remaining where they were, lying low for a while, would be enough.  She wasn't sure the spiced witch would agree, and in the end, she wouldn't press it.

She'd made enough mistakes, this was likely simply another of them.

With a final, sympathetic look, Rosalyn stepped off to walk the border again.  It would need to have a strong presence now if they wanted to deter any who would question them.

WC: 111

Grímnismál was not that strong presence. When the red leader walked away to seek out another, she too left to find a soft, dark place to simply hide away and think of the possibilities of so. One couldn't help but feel her eyes burn from the droplets that were to be, and the nervousness she held on any possibility of war.