Bramblepoint Sunblind

Kept vague due to other thread in progress.

Only clouds had colored the skies for several days. The warrior passed beneath them into the wood in search of a place to rest for the night, a moment to collect his thoughts.

The appearance of Willowsong had been a shocking surprise to the warrior. Foxfur had never thought he would find another runaway, not from the Starsea. It did not bode well that their new leadership had sparked so many to flee. It said less that one of those runaways was the Starsea’s prince, their prized seer.

Seeking a stream that would lead him to the lake, Foxfur sniffed at the earth and shouldered his way through a rough bramble bush that tugged at his flesh.

Khenbish paced through the dark in tight loops, in tighter staccato. He was sensitive to every sound, to every change in light. A dim shadow passing through the sky could spell death - so could the snap of a twig under a creature's weight. It was an obsession, an obsession with staying alive.

Many people thought the government or their family wanted them dead. Khenbish thought the whole world did.

So when he saw the figure of a stranger struggling through the undergrowth, his narrow face disappeared into the cluster of ferns he'd been hiding in, hoping to evade notice. He saw the pewter sky fragmented by branches and leaves, smelled the loam beneath his feet.

All it would have taken was a shift in the wind for the figure hidden in the ferns to be revealed by fragrance alone.

As it was, luck favored the shy wolf. Foxfur did not smell or hear him. The warrior was so occupied with the prickle of brambles against his flesh that he would have likely allowed a wounded deer to sneak past him. Once through, the masked wolf breathed heavily through his nares and shook the debris from his fur.

Brown eyes searched the area with more scrutiny. Foxfur had the feeling of someone being watched.

Even as the brambles pricked at the stranger's skin, he continued to press through. Khenbish looked at the scraps of fur left on the bushes with shrewd eyes. Soon, they would be picked up by birds wanting to make their nests. Something in his head clicked - a subtle winking in his gaze followed by a slow blink of resolve - and he opened his mouth.

I'm over here, he said freely, in his deadpan way. You made me nervous.

He let a few seconds pass before he emerged from the ferns, his head popping up periscope-like with the rustle of disturbed leaves.

A voice that lacked emotion sounded. The warrior’s ears were drawn into a sharp point as Foxfur pointed his sharp nose in the direction of the stranger whose mouth lisped softly at the end of his final word.

When the warm brown of Foxfur’s eyes rested on the stranger, the warrior bowed his head gently.

It is good to be wary when you travel alone, he offered as a means of understanding why the stranger might have held his silence. It was good to know that Foxfur’s hunch had been well-made, as well. I mean you no harm, traveler.

This stranger was kind - his voice not too loud, his motions not sudden - and Khenbish was pleased. He was pleasant on the eyes as well and Khenbish would have noted it, if he had an eye for such things.

I wish you no harm either. There is an efficiency to their exchange that pleases the hunter further. At this point he could've been faced with any number of obstacles with little warning - questions, exclamations, a movement to bump noses. But the two coywolves stand at arm's length from each other, and converse in statements.

Emboldened, he continued. I thought you might be looking for something. It must be important, to risk thorns in your skin.

He moved the rest of the foliage away, and turned to dust off the forest detritus caught up in his fur.

Something about the stranger was keener than Foxfur had anticipated. The slight male was swift to explain that he did not intend to make trouble. He had gone on to say that it seemed Foxfur had been searching for something, drawing attention to the way the warrior had moved through the brambles and torn at his flesh.

Foxfur issued a weary expression, a gentle smile lingering on his lips as he did so.

You are sharp, the warrior acknowledged. I am seeking a member of my clan, a young boy who has run away from his duty. I was told to retrieve him as swiftly as I could and return him home. Foxfur did not wish to trouble the stranger with Crowfeather’s disappearance.

A thin and whittled ear would sweep towards the russet man, belying the hunter's interest. He was emotive if you knew where to look for it.

Perhaps he's been taken, he suggested. I know many who have been taken away by bad people.

Where he had grown up, it had been lawless. Khenbish knew little of pack life, but he did not fault pack wolves either. He did not think himself more cunning or resourceful for being so stubbornly independent - he simply had no need nor want to jump between the rungs of social ladders. Family was all that mattered, and he had no family now.

That is why my name is Khenbish. It means nobody. Discourages bandits and criminals, even evil spirits. This was why he had spent his childhood with girls and boys who had names like sheepskin, not-this-one, or simply dog. A clever trick. He mused, and flashed a quick smile, only visible to hummingbirds and their insane rhythms.

Several things happened within those first few offerings between the two men. Their words exchanged to create an air about them, a strange feeling that stirred in the pit of the warrior’s belly. He wondered what sort of life this wolf had led.

I do not believe he has been taken. No signs of a struggle, only signs of a young boy’s fear, Foxfur said to the other man with a small shake of his head.

The shifting of conversation brought about new information – a name. The wolf was called Khenbish, a name that meant nobody. The wolf called Khenbish then stated that the name itself was a clever trick. Foxfur smirked softly, knowingly.

A name is not what makes a man. You are plenty without what you are called. Even still, where I am from- the warrior regarded Khenbish with a steady gaze, names tell stories.

Fear. He remembered it, a sour and unpleasant smell that was not washed off so easily. It crusted the fur, made one's mouth dry.

So yours must tell a story also. Khenbish skimmed off some of the distance between them. The stranger could easily lunge forward and harm him now, but there was an element of trust in the cadence of their conversation. A calm protected by a silent but powerful agreement.

I hope it's a happy one, he offered, in a moment of childlike sincerity, a simple wish of goodwill. I want to know how it goes.

Khenbish stepped closer, breaking away at the space that had stretched between them respectfully. Foxfur was unbothered by the movement. The warrior had assumed that his life was in no jeopardy while he remained in the presence of the strange wolf.

When the wolf spoke again and said that he would like to know how Foxfur’s story went, the warrior’s brown gaze met him sharply.

Khenbish, I am called Foxfur.

The introduction was offered with a voice that was both weary and melancholy in nature. The edges of his voice were rough, but nothing in his tone suggested he meant anything by what he said.

Where are you from?

Foxfur was an apt name. The mundane symmetry to it was calming. He was not a superstitious man, but he could imagine and entertain the possibility of being named Tagtaa* instead of Khenbish. He had always thought he looked like one.

I'm from mountains.

He paused at the flight of a crow overhead. Raucous calls rang through the forest, met with listless answers.

Called Tavan Bogd. A mean place. In my language, it means five saints. I've never seen no saints and I lived there for many seasons.

He did not miss it as much as one would expect a man to do so for his motherland. To the hunter it was only a mark on a map, a small swathe of geology in the cradle of other unknowables. He had left both his gods and his family behind, untethered in the world.

*tagtaa - dove

The mountains, Foxfur thought and turned his pointed snout toward the jutting stone of the distant range with interest. The warrior had never really ventured through many mountains. He had always been intimidated by their dangers, and yet they were a striking feature of any land he had traveled to.

You are glad to be rid of your home, Khenbish? Foxfur inquired only inquisitively.

There was something about this peculiar fellow that struck the warrior as familiar. Perhaps the unfamiliar wilderness around them was just that, a home to runaways.

When Khenbish had spoken of his former home, he did so without malice on his tongue. Still, the words he had shared were concerning. Foxfur knew of the dangers in the outside world. He had known the safety and security of the Starsea, but his travels had made him wise.

Something within him was grateful Khenbish had escaped.

There is nothing left for me to return to. No family, no pack. The marksman carried his father's name on his back long after it had lost all meaning. Far in the distance Tavan Bogd smoldered like the world's biggest cigarette burn.

I am glad that I am still living, he admitted, the set of his mouth resolute and dry. I hope you find your young boy, and I hope he is well. What does he look like, in case I may find him?

The world was a petri dish of runaway boys who thought themselves invincible. Khenbish thought that this one was shrewder than he had been given credit for.

The premise that there was nothing left for the strange wolf to return to left Foxfur with a sad feeling in the pit of his stomach. The masked wolf knew that no matter his journeys, no matter the trails, he could always return to the Starsea and be accepted as a prize warrior. What must it have been like for Khenbish?

He is a dark wolf, yellow eyes. He may be nervous, he was always the nervous sort, Foxfur provided the description with a small frown. The warrior did not know how Crowfeather had survived out there without the aid of a pack.

Where will you go, Khenbish? Foxfur inquired with a glance of his warm brown eyes. He wished to understand where it was that lost boys ventured. The warrior longed to know where it was the runaways turned to when they could not go home. The other was mysterious about his parting, though. When Foxfur left the scene, he was not sure if he would worry for Khenbish or think back on him kindly.