Hideaway Strath Eyes, blood, bones

For @Fury

Months had passed by now, but the return was necessary. Nyra had only seen a glimpse of him the last he'd visited this side of the mountain pass. She'd chased him out then. Would she now?
There were differences between this visit and the last. For starters, he would not simply sneak in to spy. Where the borders were marked plain and clear, Fenrir would wait. His daughter knew his scent well enough. To assume that she would be the first to catch it was bold, but valid.
Secondly, the lord's intentions had changed. No, he had not come to apologize for the mounds of shit he put her through — for in his eyes, he'd done nothing but be a necessary figure in her life — but he still hoped their misgivings could be set aside for the future at hand. He had a future and he knew it well. But before anything else could happen, Nyra needed to know that he was back for good.

Fury didn't smell him at first. 
Then the wind shifted, and his scent wafted to her nostrils like the stench of putrid rot.

Fenrir...
Father.

The Warqueen was up in an instant, barking sharply to her daughter to stay with Arashi before the white behemoth raced at damn-past breakneck speed for the borders. 

As she came closer, she saw the figure that brought back so many unhappy memories for her from her Birthplace.

She did not slow down as she drew nearer, murder in her golden hues as she let out a battle roar upon aiming to collide full force with the earthen-colored man; teeth arced for his face.

In the moment she wanted to fucking kill him. 
For everything he did to her, to her sister. 

The man had to be at least 7 in age by now, so he shouldn't give too many issues to her efforts! 

I give permission for Fenrir to pin her to the ground in your next reply if you'd like, Heretic! Forceful "calm tf down" moment lol <3

To use the word "patient" was far beneath any he'd use, but he waited without complaint nonetheless.
There was silence for a while, broken later by the thrum of heavy steps.
A white figure charged forward at a high speed. Her teeth were born, threatening to sink unto his flesh. 
Unnervingly collected, Fenrir simply braced for her approach. But when she was close enough, he was not the one who fell. 
Outstretching his neck, the dark coated canine forced his shoulder hard against her own and placed his teeth against the back of her nape. With his hold, he then settled an arm against her back and used his force to weigh her down against the ground. Only once he was sure she'd put an end to her writhing, his snout slithered down behind her ear.
Is that any way to greet your Lord Father? He rasped coldly, hot breath fuming over the hairs lining the cartilage.

She had underestimated him. 
And the Queen paid for it.

Shoulder into shoulder, teeth into nape made her crash to the ground, where the bastard pinned her. 

She thrashed for a long time, snapping and kicking to no avail. 

Is that any way to greet your lord Father? 

"GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!" Fury thundered, baring her teeth and kicking at him with her hind legs one more time to make the point extra clear. 

Her eyes danced with anger, hurt, and hatred, but she made no other efforts past that to force him to let her get up.

There had been no forcing him in the past, either.

As was to be expected, she retaliated forcefully. 
She kicked, snapped her teeth, flailed her claws, roared loudly with grated words. They were both of similar stature, but Fenrir had far too much experience with brutality, thus giving him the upper hand. 
He waited for her to grow calm before finally giving in and stepping back from her form.
Do not attack me again, or you will be left hurting, He warned sharply, brows furrowing slightly.
The threat was one she would remember all too well, for it was one spoken many times during her youth.

Fury was up in an instant and snapped her teeth in a firm, final warning, tail flared high upon her hips. 
"You're both bold and stupid to think I won't call upon my pack if you try to hurt me." She hissed.

"The fact I didn't bring them all with me to greet you is a mercy to you that you frankly don't fucking deserve, Father." She rumbled in a low growl, hackles razored along her nape and spine as she placed herself between her Sire and the rest of her territory.

Straightening his stance, the dark lord lifted his head high to watch as his daughter regained her footing. It was both satisfying and disappointing to watch. While to teach her discipline was his intent, he would have much preferred to see her being able to outmatch her opponent, regardless of who they happened to be.
Her soon words brought a scowl upon his face, expression growing dim. 
You are much more-so the fool to assume I would allow you to get that far. Regardless of if you had, I am your father. It is not their business to stick their teeth where they don't belong. It wasn't, but that didn't mean they would care. He knew that.
Mercy. She spoke of mercy, then.
The lord's nostrils flared, lip curling for a moment in distaste of the thought. If one of us find themselves pleading for mercy, it will be you. A firm warning and a promising threat. The last he would give her to tone down the present attitude and disrespect.

Fury scoffed audibly at her father as he threatened her again. 
"I am not weak anymore. It will be you."  She growled darkly, ominously. 
She bristled with razored hackles, prepared for the incoming fight, and all too prepared to show him she could back up her words with actions.

The fur atop his neck bristled. Though, it was odd. He was irate and proud all at the same time.
You have found confidence. Dare I ask what has invited this new attitude? Your new pack, perhaps?
While Fenrir wasn't fond of the fact she had started anew without him, how could he show too much disappointment in such a grand accomplishment?

Fury snorted sharply at her Father's words.
To her, they sounded mocking, but she sensed some form of genuinity there, thus she decided to answer...
"That, among other things. I have worked hard to get to where I am." She rumbled. The Warqueen dared not tell him details. 
Not yet, at the very least.

In her eyes, Fenrir didn't (yet) deserve to know her journey within these wilds.

She had grown. For that much, he was certain.
The last time he'd seen any of his children, they had been young and naive. But now, Nyra had formed to be a creature of great ambition and triumph.
She bore scars as well. Slowly, the beast circled his daughter, viewing the mass of muscle and collection of trophies from what many battles she clearly had fought.
You have done well for yourself, Fenrir purred, tone slightly more rasped, but still with that same instance of malice. Though I had been furious when finding that you had abandoned your home, I couldn't bare to conceal pride for who my daughter has become. A Dróttning, now, I take it? This was her territory, as she'd so claimed. He hoped that she would not be entirely dismissive of their cultural hierarchy. 

"Fullvalda." She corrected. She was the sole ruler of her pack, nobody else held the throne with her.  
"The title I wear as the Alpha is Stríðshöfðingi - Warchief." She explained,  allowing her father to examine her as he circled.
Would he ask what they were called? The Saints was not a name Fenrir would likely approve of, especially where Fury didn't teach of her gods. 

She had been considering a rebrand, however. But it was something to address with all her members.

Note: Fullvalda translates to Sovereign according to Google Translate, for those reading!

Fullvalda. The man mimicked, eyes narrowing slightly. 
A woman leading without a man at her side. An unnatural occurrence. 
His circling ceased. Heavy eyes now bore against her. No husband has taken your hand? You lead on your own? Disdain was evident in his tone. She would not enjoy his lecture, but Fenrir was not one to hold back on his thoughts and lessons.
Come now, Nyra. By now, you should know better than to resist our customs to such a degree. It is not proper to a woman to lead alone, let alone be above other men. Were my lessons completely disregarded? A disappointed father. What else could he be? 

"My Husband is my General, my second in command." She replied coldly, sharply.
His personal teachings meant little to her anymore, especially now that she was a grown woman and not some helpless pup.
"We are called The Saints. And, my name is no longer Nyra - I am Fury Brunhilde." She added with a tinge of venom.

Her fiery amber glare dared Fenrir to disrespect her any further.

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So, she had a husband after all. There was that, at the least.
At least he is second to you, rather a slave. He mocked her slightly, doing his best to set aside the offense. The announcement of the new name certainly helped with this.
Fury? Hm. Suites you. The man almost laughed, but withheld. As for the surname... Brunhilde. Where have you taken this from? Your husband? He hoped it had been from her husband, rather some whore she'd spent a night with, or even from some random concoction. 

"You know of our Clan's history, Father. Brunhilde was the original surname of our bloodline." She replied, slightly confused that he would ask. 
He was most certainly testing her, she felt. 

Fury did not give anything further, for now at least.

He knew where the name had come from, but not quite where she'd found the gall to change it. Brunhilde was an old name; one Fenrir never intended to speak of again. Fury seemed to have her own plans. Rather than put it behind her, she would shove her history into the future and make it anew. 

Brunhilde is old and tattered, no longer fit to be used, The dark one replied coldly.

Perhaps he couldn't force her to change it, but he could deeply inflict his opinion. But he'd always done that regardless. 

Enough of this.

Circling back, Fenrir sat directly facing his daughter. It was time for a new topic. So. Tell me of this new pack of yours, The Saints. And of your husband and general. Have you bore children from his blood? Or... perhaps another?

Surely by now she'd experienced at least one litter, for her body was well beyond matured. Even if the offspring weren't that of her current husband, the bloodline must be expanded by some means or another.

Fury was impassive as her Father spoke his opinion on her chosen surname.
She didn't shift even once as he circled back in front of her, sat to face her...
Ask of the pack she led.
Her husband, children...

Fury huffed softly and explained.
"The Saints was once founded and lead before my involvement by a man called Kynareth Deagon. After I was recruited, he became a close friend to me as I climbed the ranks and came to stand beside him as an equal in power." 
She chose to spare many details, especially for now.

"This year I've had one litter of four pups. Three have been lost...my firstborn daughter remains, her name is Sovereign." She rumbled. She figured he would assume she meant her other three children died, but she wouldn't correct him if so.
"Sovereign is half a year old now." She added.

There was much to tell of her history with his absence. But he paid little mind to the tales, for that was not where his true interest lay to ponder.

You've kept yourself busy, then.

Four children, and only to live. Pitiful, and disgraceful. Whomever the sire happened to be, surely they would have been disappointed. Yet, there was still one.

I would much like to meet this young Sovereign. I know we are not on the best terms, but she is still my grandchild. Fenrir began to wonder of whether Fury would be quick to deny him such a right. It would be a most entertaining event if she did.

Fury's gaze was hard yet her expression impassive as her Father spoke.
He didn't seem to care for the tales of history she told, but he was much interested in her daughter.

The Warqueen growled softly, but she figured somewhere deep in her heart that it might prove to be a useful interaction, somehow.
With a huff, the giant would tilt her head back some and call for her daughter with a howl.

Sovereign had been on a patrol, as was her duty as a Private, when her mother's call rang out.
The youth paused in her strides, ears perked, before she took off at a fast trot for the border.

Several minutes later, the pale girl was coming upon her mother to see a man just as big as her, but covered in dark, earthen tones.
The young fighter drew alongside her mother with an inquisitive yet soft rumble, molten amber eyes never leaving the stranger before her.

Her gaze held distrust and yet intrigue. 
Who're you? The golden eyes demanded

Fury did not resist. She called upon the named child.

They made haste. 

Glittering approval shone within Fenrir's eyes as the girl approached. She was the spitting image if her mother.

The man took a step nearer, observing closely. An image of great strength. You will grow to be strong and powerful, just like your mother and I. He'd forgotten to introduce himself, though he did so purposefully. If Fury wanted it to be known, she would tell her own child who he was.

Fury was not as warm to her daughter as she would usually be, as the youth approached and stood at her side.
She schooled her hackles into staying flat as her father came closer to Sovereign, speaking about the young girl being an image of great strength, how she would grow up into a powerful wolf like himself and Fury.

The Warchief would keep her gaze on Fenrir as she spoke to Sovereign.
"This is Fenrir Nightwish, my father, and your grandfather." 
She hoped that would clear things up a bit for the child, but she could sense that Sovereign was cold to his presence much like Fury herself was.

Sovereign's gaze was pinned to the male.
She couldn't feel her mother's eyes on her, which meant she, too, was boring into this man with her eyes.
He took a step closer, speaking of great strength and how she wold grow, what she would grow into.
Then, the voice of her mother.
This is Fenrir Nightwish, my father, and your grandfather. 
The new information helped some, but her coldness did not begin to melt at all.
Her mother's tones were without warmth, and Sovereign was loyal to her mother, she trusted her judgement beyond almost anyone else's.
Save for her dad, Arashi, of course.

Sovereign eventually rumbled a soft growl in response, not content to speak, unless her mother asked her to.