Swiftcurrent Creek and i'll use you as a warning sign

The expectation had been far greater than what he felt in this moment.

The shadowrunner did not seek to move further, the waning moon barely filtering the stark bits of silver that frosted his otherwise black ensemble. His hardened champagne eyes would sweep over the rushing waters of the creek, knowing in his heart that at one point, this had been home, and yet unable to grasp such a concept.

Nowhere would ever feel like home again, now would it? The bitterness of that thought was swept tidily away in the back of his mind, a rumbling growl the only opposition he revealed to the world to those thoughts.

He hadn’t quite expected himself to come back to these valleys, but it seemed he was unable to keep away. A glutton for punishment, he was sure his brother would describe. @Viinturuth was about somewhere—the two never straying far from one another.

A cloud rolled above, shifting—revealing more of the cool moons glow before the beast sank to his haunches slowly. He had thought to find sleep earlier, after his arrival to his destination. Now, he knew his mind would never settle enough to allow such a simple act. Come daylight, decisions would need to be considered. For now, he would simply watch the night in the company of the ever-moving creek.

In her time searching, she’d come up ruefully short. The end of her time was coming, fast. She was still quick to her feet and continue her search in the morning, but the urgency that propelled her out into the wilderness beyond the pack’s claim had begun to fade. She’d only have a matter of days now, she thought, before her season was up.

She loathed to think she might be so undesirable that none would have her. She moved swiftly, quietly, but crooned a low, sultry note to reach the ears of any male in the area. She’d caught the scent of one, and had began to follow his tracks. She was groomed, so that her silver-misted fur might glean. And the siren song she wailed into the distance called out to him, begging for him to come and fulfill her desires.

o dear

Whatever moments had slipped past, the shaodwrunner had not kept track. The siren’s crooning stirred him for a moment, causing his muzzle to tilt up, nostrils flaring as he tried to decipher any scent upon the breeze. Nothing gave away the eerie sound yet—the beckoning. His brows knit closer, the light can’t of his head as his ears focused solely upon the rustling nearby.

He had partially expected the ghostly appearance of his brother to come through the foliage, a smirk on his broad face to indicate the unearthly noises had been him—a prank, in the dead of the night and a place that held such familiar heartache.

He remained still, knowing his brother unlikely to imitate any such sultry and dulcet tones from his vocals, waiting to see what ghost it was that sought him in the night.

Æsilfír hadn’t expected to fetch such a looker on her escapade, but she felt a smile teased into the lilac gleam of her eyes when she caught sight of Akavir, finally, after following his tracks. 

She paused, one forepaw dangling, allowing her tail to sway at her hocks in a fey, amenable manner. He too had a dark coat, though the silver-ticking at his hackles and shoulders was unique. He looked healthy, old enough to be of use but not so old he might’ve not had any interest. 

She set her paw down and regarded him with a glint of mischief in her eyes. She pricked her ears, lowered her head, and crooned once again- a keening, pleasing sound.

Sure enough, the moon soon spilled upon the inky form of another. A shadow in her own right, marred only by ivory upon her breast and muzzle. Areas that begged for his teeth to caress—the lustful thought abrupt in its nature and his champagne eyes falling to the sway of her tail near her hocks.

Of course this ritual was familiar to him—his instincts honed now since the opportunity had last presented itself prior with his deceased wife. No longer a youthful boy seeking to imprint himself in the world, the irony of the situation that was slowly unfolding before him wasn’t lost.

His gaze trailed over her languidly as his muscled form rose to four paws. His own tail gave an idle lash to the air, noting the delicate hue of lilac that stared back at him—such a contrast to the heated gaze of Ibis—the bright of her cerulean eyes staring at him during the course of their courtship.

His breath was drawn in with a low rumble, pausing only at her low keening. “You should go home,” he offered, breaking the silence of the night.

He would not be cuckolded again.

There was a discerning focus to his gaze, and it made her feel slightly nervous. Why wasn’t he simply enamoured? She’d always played with life as though she was an irresistible beauty but she could feel her heart beginning to beat wildly as she realized that with every second that passed without him taking a step toward her, made it all the more likely that he wasn’t interested.

His soft voice did not bring her any solace. Her heart felt as though it had been pinched, wrung of all its worth. Rejection, again, when all she wanted was one thing. 

But she was not a stupid wolf; and she was quick to recover.

”No, please,” her voice trembled lightly, and she took a tentative step toward him. ”I need yer help,” She said, and shook her head. ”It’s…Impossible te explain, but…If I can’t find someone te fadder my children, I’ll be punished.” She said, wilting visibly, at the thought of being punished and cast out. ”Please. Ye’ll never see me again, I swear,” She pleaded.

Whatever ploy—whatever words he had expected from her mouth, it was not what followed. Another gruff rumble from his chest was elicited as his pale eyes narrowed on her, studying her carefully before taking only a few steps forward. The notion of what she claimed was unfathomable—and yet Akavir had seen darkness in his life.

Unfortunately, he had seen it many times.

“I’m not the donating kind.” The shadowrunner drifted closer, taking her scent in more fully, trying to determine past the cloying smell of her heat and focusing on other wolves—pack. Nothing about the shaded siren was familiar.

“Maybe you should reconsider your company if you’re only meant to be a brood mare.” He canted his muzzle, eyes sweeping over her, waiting for a reaction.

Once, a long time ago, Swiftcurrent Creek had been ruled by Frostfur and Mayfair alike. His parents had claimed it as birthright for the first of their litters, intending to settle there for good. "Happily ever after" was a phrase that Viinturuth had lost faith in at an early age, for his family - and their home - had soured.

It was strange to be back. The ghost veered away from his raven-pelted sibling to make his way alone along familiar trails, eager for some privacy as he took in the sights and sounds remembered from gentler times. Viinturuth wasn't gone long from Akavir's side when the siren song of a she-wolf in heat rose from close by to request company.

In previous years, he'd given in to the season's temptation. It did so again, naturally, for he felt himself young still - a bachelor, a rogue without ties. Viinturuth failed to consider how many bastard litters he might've sired since maturity, how many might've survived. It was easier that way, to pretend nothing could ever come of such brief encounters.

In the approach to his fourth year, he was a wiser wolf - but still curious. Viinturuth veered through the dark woods toward the source and burgundy eyes swiftly found not only the form of the female but that of his brother. Something feral sparked to life within him as he paused to gauge the exchange between them, a sense of possessiveness rising in his blood as he bit back the desire to bare teeth at his littermate.

"Your pack sent you out to seek the company of strangers?" Viinturuth, with a frustrated lash of his tail, shifted to be closer to Akavir. "Why? No men among your ranks?"

This is going to work.

He would more than suffice, she thought, and when he stepped closer still he wrenched the breath from her body though her heart continued to thud wildly inside her chest. She could have been tipped over by the slightest breeze at that point, so it was fortunate for her that the winds were still. She yearned for his touch, burned for it.

Dark fur- not chocolate, but close enough. She could forgive the silver dappling at his hackles. His eyes had more yellow to them than what she sought but she could envision them in her mind as being orange lanterns; she wouldn’t be looking at him duringthe act anyway. Any discrepancies in the resulting litter she could write off as markings having belonged to her father, her mother, her siblings.  The kids could simply just be more her than him, it was plausible.

But with his words he denied her, and she felt spite coil and rise within her aching breast like a cobra. It was impossible for her not to take this additional refusal personally. She huffed, her breaths cutting the air in short chuffs as she grappled with denial, baring her teeth in disdain. She twisted her features into a grimace of fear and dread.

Unwanted.

It stung. For someone who wanted very much to believe that nobody else’s opinion of her mattered, she was surprisingly thin-skinned. 

”Ye don’t understand, ye just-“ She blurted, her voice trembling. 

She flinched and tensed with a snap when another male approached. She squared her feet and felt the hackles along the back of her neck prickle and stand up. She was outnumbered now, with no way to know how this might play out. Maybe this new fellow was lusty, and would chase the dark one away, take her for himself. She’d allow it- she hoped for it, for a moment- but it appeared that he’d been eavesdropping on their conversation, and thought he had an idea of what was going on. 

She wished he’d simply chased the dark male off, and given her what she wanted. Now, she felt truly cornered, outnumbered- and her story was being questioned. Fortunately, Æsilfír had a quick wit- and a certain talent for spinning yarns.

She shook her head. ”No. Ye den’ understan’ me,” she wheezed emphatically. When she spoke next, it was in a low voice- hushed, and fast. ”The man I’m betrothed te? He’s old. Too old. Las’ year, he had a pretty young t’ing fer a wife, an’ she had no kids by him. The year before, same t’ing, apparently. This year? It’s me. Man hasn’t an oat to sow but nay wit te know as such an’ I seen wot ‘append to his miss from last year fer not bearin’ him heirs an’ it ain’t gonna be me this year so I’m gonna do what I hafta do an’ no, I can’t just leave coz he’ll-“ Her voice broke with a sob, and she staggered back a pace, shaking her head. Her brow furrowed in frustration. ”Not yer business. Neider of ye’ll help. Bot’ of ye, just…Fuck off.” She said with bitterness that made her tongue curl, as she turned and began to stalk off stiffly.

While the story was entirely fabricated, her frustration, hurt and disdain was very real.

A damsel in distress—a trope Akavir had never truly been able to deny. Viinturuth’s presence was welcomed, though the tense posture of his littermate was not missed. The season wreaked havoc on so many—the shadowrunner was determined to avoid partaking in most of its shenanigans.

The lilting voice as she spoke—the conviction of her words and dare he believe it, the hurt that was very clear in her eyes stirred the narrowing of his eyes, and as she told them both ‘ta jus’ fack off’ in her rather endearing accent, Akavir did exactly the opposite.

Honed to her now, the dark wolf sidestepped, jutting forward and aiming to block her path fully, so close that in her haste she might just slam in to his side, allowing him better view of her. He had a feeling Viinturuth would be interested in extracting more information as well.

“Then why return at all?” He was looking to build an empire here—why not start their cause with the notion of white knightdom?