Porcupine Ridge threshold

Set September 30th.

Thunder rolled overhead, graceless and threatening. The ashen male prowled towards the jutting ridge, his gaze trailing over the thick clouds that had gathered skyward. There was shelter there, on the ridge; he had scaled high enough to scope out potential den sites. He had visited the rocky outcropping once before, and found that the seclusion of the area was welcoming enough. The higher he climbed, the better his chances were of escaping the constant thrum of wandering wolves. Within the first three days of arriving in the Teekon, Kierkegaard could feel his head spinning. He was well aware that his likelihood for survival was much slimmer with the coming winter months. Sooner or later it would come down to having to join a pack. That was something he would discuss with Moz, whenever he found his swarthy sister again. Droplets of rain began to fall from the darkening sky. Evening was rolling in and it looked as though it was going to be a turbulent one. Leaping onto a flat surface, Kierke paused with his head low to the earth, the fur rising along his neck and spine. There was a brilliant flash of lightning that illuminated the skyline followed immediately by a roar of thunder so wicked that the ashen male felt his chest hum in response to it. Wondering where his sister was, he hoped that she was well-off enough to find shelter before nightfall. Taking a few quick leaps, Kierkegaard began his trek up the side of the ridge in search of a cave that might house him through the savage weather.

There were few things in the world that made Caiaphas flighty and one of them was thunder -- particularly, lightning. She had witnessed once what lightning did to an animal and the brutal memory was all she could think about now as she scrambled wildly down the jutting prominence in the hopes of finding suitable shelter.

So preoccupied was she by navigating the uneven crag, she scarcely saw the ragged male until she was nearly upon him -- he crawling upwards, she flying blindly downwards. She froze and a shriek issued forth from her muzzle as the lightning flared around them in a brilliant and coruscating white -- instinctively she cowered and howled and her ugly head fell flat to the rocky slab in temerity.

No sooner had the flash disappeared she tried to artlessly regain her composure, wheeling backwards to assess the rangy and palecloud colored creature. "Up here," She hissed with a motion of her narrow muzzle, pointing in the direction of a small overhang that could easily house two. Without waiting (and quite honestly without caring) she darted off towards the hollowed stone, her little paws skittering as she clawed her way desperately to shelter.

“Up here!” a ghost of a voice seemed to strike the air with a strange tsss noise, drawing Kierkegaard’s attention upwards to the sight of a distinctly marked female. She gestured with her narrow muzzle, and he followed the line to where she had pointed out an overhang in the ridge. The storm would get worse; already the rain was starting to dabble against the earth, sprinkling his ash-colored pelt. Kierkegaard was not foolish enough to believe that he could travel back to Moz in such weather. Without waiting for a response, the charcoal female seemed to already have made her way in the direction of the protruding rock. Kierke followed suit. Taking his movements in leaps and bounds, the pallid male trailed behind the darker stranger with a watchful eye. Another burst of lightning illuminated the skyline, though the thunder that followed seemed to have come much later than before. Still, Kierkegaard paused for a moment, his bright optics watching the jagged glimmer of light before it disappeared and left the two creatures standing in a lack of light. A heavy huff fell from his nose before he averted his gaze back to the retreating form of the strange female wolf. Clearing the distance between where he had been and where the overhang was located took him only a few moments. His lengthy strides seemed to carry him with a sense of urgency. When he was out of the drizzling rain, however, his bright stare fell on the companion that he had found in the tempestuous weather. Blinking at her slowly, Kierke lowered his head and shook his ashen pelt to free the water droplets that had gathered there.

She smothered another gurgling cry as a flare of lightning rocked the sky and sent the world into light; a flare of vivid and blinding white and then the sudden calamitous darkness.

Caiaphas reeled and flew under the overhang, a quivering and terrible mess. The male trailed behind her -- his long stride ground-consuming and lithe. She watched him broodily, unsure of how to interact with him. She was not by nature incredibly outgoing, and when he blinked and shook his silver-tipped body she rose and did the same -- though she stalked out to the perimeter of the crag as not to splatter him.

Once she was satisfied she turned back, feeling slightly cagey in such close proximity. She proffered a bland smile and strove to meet the brilliance of his infernal-gold eyes for a brief second before breaking contact and speaking. "I'm Caiaphas." She started -- and startled as another brutal pang of lightning and the howling crackle of thunder crashed overhead.

This charcoal-coated stranger seemed to be considerably distressed at the flash of lightning. Kierkegaard was not bothered by this; the natural phenomenon was known to wreak havoc on both land and against creatures. There were far more shameful things to be frightened of. Once they had both taken shelter underneath the rocky overhang, the two wolves shuddered the water from their pelt, and stood in a moment of silence. It seemed that neither of them were good with social situations. Kierkegaard was not opposed to the silence. It was a comfort zone for him. He had never been good with civil interaction. He was not so societally crippled that he could not muddle his way through a decent conversation, but he was not always comfortable with it. Still, if he and this anxious stranger were stuck together until the passing of the storm, he would have to do his best to be somewhat amiable. “I’m Caiaphas.” Another flash of lightning streaked across the heavens, causing her to shudder. Kierkegaard glanced at her with a slightly sympathetic expression. “Kierkegaard,” he then returned in introduction, his voice a low rumble.

The skeletal coywolf lowered her head as another peal thundered overhead -- and in the distance she watched a purple flare ignite across the meridian and in an instant the world was swallowed once more in unremitting darkness. She squinted, her eyes strained on the horizon where the last remaining light had baptized the entire world in a final fit of illuminating white.

The male proffered a name, a name that sounded to be of similar origin in tongue as a coywolf Caiaphas now only dimly recollected -- what language was it she spoke again? Caiaphas rolled the name over in her mind, her expression dark and ruminating.

Meanwhile, the only sound between them was the steady rise of their breath and the drumming fall of rain.

Eventually she spoke again, though this time her voice seemed only a half-venture -- so beguilingly timid it seemed. "What were you doing before the storm?" From the looks of it, Caiaphas could surmise the able-bodied and agile male was alone -- and a brief foray of her nose lead her to believe the male had no recent affiliations.

The silence that fell between the two wolves after his introduction was not abnormal. Kierkegaard was not so accustomed to being confined to small spaces with near-strangers. Granted, she seemed to be composed of the same soul. The sound of her name sounded similarly to the roots of his, though he did not know the language. She did not appear to be a wolf of many words. So, he watched her in silence, taking in her odd appearance with calculating eyes and a thin-lipped expression on his rugged face. She was unique; the color arrangement of her pelt suggested that alone, but it was really in the tapering of her features and the gaunt look of her ribcage that seemed to cause Kierke to wonder what had brought her to the Teekon area. She did not seem to be like the other wolves he had encountered. This was not a bad thing – not by his standards – but he was mildly surprised. “What were you doing before the storm?” Her voice shook him from his thoughts and he blinked at her once or twice before parting his lips to answer. “Wandering… I like the ridge,” he remarked, referring to the dangerous span of rocks where she had found him. “And you?” Kierkegaard then inquired politely. Her fear of the lightning and thunder did seem to make it odd that she would be travelling during a storm. Perhaps it had been her method of overcoming that mild fear. Then again, maybe she was in the wrong place at the wrong time and had merely been swept away by the tumbling rain and the wicked beams of light. The quiet thrumming of the rain overhead was peaceful to the ashen brute, and part of him wished that it would not end.

Out of the corner of her eyes she studied the male, colored of ash and tinder with an immersing gold gaze. He did not look like a pack wolf -- he was too rangy, too composed of lean muscle and unkempt pewter grey fur. Tameless and feral, in a way similar to her.

His explanation, however succinct, was explanation enough. Her wide gaze traced the skyline where in the distance the heavens upheaved with spears of lightning and the clouds snarled overhead dark and heavy with rain.

Wandering -- she would have said that too. "I wanted to crawl to the top of the world." As much as she had grown to love the ocean in the past few weeks, the ocean was flat and deep and impenetrable and no matter what vantage she chose she knew she would never witness its depths in its entirety. At least the upper world was transparent, with its trees and monsters and the moon.

"Have you found yourself a home?" The question was posed innocently enough; while she had no problem extending an invitation into her fold, it seemed like the man was too rough-shod and rawboned to acclimate well to the Nereides.

“I wanted to crawl to the top of the world.” There was a sudden feeling in the male’s gut at the sound of her words. His eyes pulled away from her and slowly scoured the tips of the ridge. To another, her comment might have sounded peculiar, even mad, but for the ashen brute… he could feel something similar in his chest and in the very depths of his bones. “This is a fitting place to do so,” he remarked, still following the dangerous peaks and falls of the ridge with his golden gaze. Kierkegaard could not quite place it, but there was something familiar about the wiry female. Perchance it was something in her vibrant yellow gaze, or the manner in which she tossed her words from her tapered muzzle with a strange sort of savagery. In spite of this, he felt at ease in her presence. There was no threat, no discomfort, and no obligation. It seemed that she was not perturbed by his silence or his rare short-syllabled responses to the few questions that she offered. It was out of the ordinary for the Sairensu male to find company of that sort. Had he more capability for socializing, he would have expressed his liking for her presence. Instead, he remained silent until another question struck his lengthy ashen ears. “I have not,” he answered her with a small frown, drawing his gaze back towards her intense features. “I have traveled most of my life.” Which meant that he had never known a real home before. Home was wherever he could settle down for the night, and by morning it was just another empty shell in the world.

She watched him secretly, her sly gaze withholding -- and there was no mistaking in his ash-furred countenance the faint gleam of recognition, the small understanding -- that flushed distant across his features. Her words, however muddled, had made sense to him. This was an unheard of practice and Caiaphas' eyes fell fast to the skyline in sudden meekness.

He admitted what she had suspected -- that he was a wolf of his own accord. She tentatively wondered then if she should even bother -- the Nereides would likely not suit him, he was too strong and likely too intelligent to want to concede to a harem of females (some of which Caiaphas believed half-wits). She expelled a sigh and enjoyed for a moment the monosyllabic nature of his response.

"I would say you would be welcome with my pack along the coast -- but men are seen as serfs there. We are short in men, perhaps you''d understand why." A wicked flash lit her features in dry humor. "But there is also the Bay, which houses many wolves. Ouroboros Spine is not far from here either -- and they need able bodies. Are you looking at all for a place to settle among your kind, Kierkegaard? Or does the dust of a wanderer suit you?"

There was a possibility that Kierkegaard and Caiaphas were something of kindred spirits. He could reason with the desire – no, the need – to find an outlet in the vast expanse of earth and sky. The wanderer had carried that very same yearning in the deepest fibers of his marrow. He had gazed upon the harsh cartography of the land and wondered how high he could climb before it fell away to nothing more than a flood of space. It was rare to find someone of that caliber. Even in his cold detached state, he could not have fought that moment of connection with the narrow-bodied coywolf. Forcing himself to turn his attention back to the girl, his ears were drawn forward so that he could capture what she was saying. An offer – of sorts – to look into the pack that Caiaphas had pledged herself to. As she explained the nature of her fellow members, Kierkegaard found himself both intrigued and appalled at the idea of treating males in such a way. Still, if they had made a name for themselves doing such, he did not suppose that it bothered him. Drawing his brows forward in a thoughtful manner, the ashen brute allowed for an elongated pause while he contemplated the appropriate way to decline her offer. Finally, fixing his stare on her once more, the Sairensu male frowned and tilted his head to the left. “I do not believe that my presence would be welcome in such a place, Caiaphas,” he reflected in a quiet and rumbling tone of voice. “However, I am not so foolish that I would think I could survive through a winter in these lands without a pack.” A heavy sigh followed these words, and Kierkegaard found himself clenching his jaw tightly. Admitting to such a setback was not something he particularly enjoyed. “I will either find a pack, or leave the wilds before the snows become too heavy,” he then added. “I do thank you for the offer, however.” More words than he had spoken in a very long time… to a stranger.

She found it sad, in a way, that Kierkegaard stayed his course. It was an admirable thing to be a loner, and she was not sad that he was the way he was. It was not a sadness for him, nor of him, that stirred her -- but simply a sadness that all lone wolves knew of and could not flee from. The hardships that consumed them -- the simple mistakes that often cost them their lives. These were the things all lone wolves struggled with; it was the cost of staying feral and isolated from the calamitous ringing of the inner world.

He politely deferred her half-composed invitation, as she suspected he would. During his silence she watched him unobtrusively, suspecting he was likely composing a manner in which to decline her without insult. But his response was a response she had anticipated and it showed in the brief and breezy smile that played and passed across her lips in understanding. ""I have not yet endured a winter here. But it would do you well to find a pack for shelter if you stay."

She lowered her muzzle and for a moment sought the brilliance of his own gaze -- but the impart was passing. "To my knowledge Ouroboros Spine may be your best fit -- but if you do not align yourself by snowfall you may find me on the strand. For a short while, I can share my cache with you. But you must not stay long." She knew however, if it came to that, Kierkegaard would likely not overstay his welcome -- he was too well molded for life in the hinterland. She knew moreover that it was not the wilderness that defined wolves like the two of them, but rather, the feral wilderness in them defined the entire world. In a way she envied him; how she missed the lack of accountability for anything but herself.

I have thoroughly enjoyed RPing with you and would love another thread with these two... if you're up for it. <3

Part of him was stubborn, and for this half of the pallid brute, it was difficult to imagine pledging himself to the ranks of a pack and to a group of leaders that he very well could have despised. Then, there was another half of Kierkegaard… one that understood the benefits of living with others and contributing to the survival of all instead of a select few. It was difficult to judge which side of him would win before the falling of the first snow. Either way, he would have to discuss the decision with Moz before he made a move. Kierkegaard’s only true companion had been the dark-furred female, and he was not about to change that aspect of his routine. The storm was beginning to pass over the ridge and the rain had turned to nothing more than a misty drizzle. The male cast his attention towards the coywolf girl and found himself wishing that the weather would turn once more and leave them stranded for a while longer. He was not capable of admitting to it, but Kierke had enjoyed the company of the wiry girl. It was a rare occurrence, so even the ashen brute did not know how to handle his own emotions in such a case. Her words caught his attention momentarily, and he found himself surprised by the offer to see her on the strand, and again at the idea that she would share with him her cache. So dumbfounded by the invitation, the Sairensu male found that he was incapable of formulating a response that he would deem appropriate to her kindness. Rising from his seat, the hulking male cast a ghost of a smile in the direction of the charcoal-coated woman. “Caiaphas, your company will always be welcome,” he growled to her in a quiet voice, unsure if that was a fitting ending to their conversation. It was the only way that he was capable of expressing his like of her. With a quick dip of his skull and a thankful glance of his golden gaze at her tapered muzzle, the brute turned to the north and set off in a steady pace to his next area of interest. Kierkegaard was not one to dwell on the companionship of strangers, but his mind strayed to her fiery spirit and sharp yellow eyes on occasion in the hours that had followed their meeting.

i had so much fun with this thread... kierkegaard is awesome!! please shoot me a PM any time you want to thread with any characters! your writing is awesome!!

Caiaphas eyed the roiling and distant storm reproachfully -- like Kierkegaard there was a very small part of her that wished the calm would stay at bay and the storm would resume its ominous thundering. But it was the way of the world for things to have their meridian and taper off and die and she knew that if she was ever to make it back to the Sound she had to depart his company. With a wry smile arming her features she inwardly admitted the end of their conversation was much more pleasant than the beginning had been -- and what small, seemingly insignificant change had overcome the two of them. It was rare she found herself enjoying the company of others; particularly strangers. But Kierkegaard disarmingly shattered this preconception.

When he spoke she sought his gaze for a brief moment in deference, a thin smile playing her lips still. She offered no rejoin -- instead she rose and dipped her muzzle in farewell and without a parting look she stepped from the high stone down towards the rocky outcropping where a small and undistinguished trail meandered down the stony precipice's face.

It would be quite some time before she would arrive at the Sound -- and during this interim she thought bemusedly of the male and wondered (and half-hoped) if she would ever see the likes of him again.