Phantom Hollow capture the erymanthian boar

004 of 012 — the twelve labors of hercules ingram edition.

the morning is early, and the dark, desolate, damp woods with greying leaves and thick tendrils of hanging moss is ... comforting.

to ingram, at least.

outwardly the hollow is a mirror to what he feels inside.

without knowing where his destination would be, he heads deeper into the hollow; eyes and ears alert.

gently tosses my gal in here because why not! to hell with consequences!

She had gone much, much farther from home than she'd intended. But that was, perhaps, how it had to be. The shackles of heat had let their grip loosen as it nears the end of its reign of terror, but it was not yet gone. 
And stupidly, she was growing less careful about where she went. 
The passing days of travel eventually gave way to rolling fields and waterways, and alone, she'd gone Westward. In a day or two, she would return home - and probably avoid looking Akavir in the eyes - but for now, she would enjoy what little solitude she had remaining. Quietly, she trails along the holler, smoothing windswept fur with a forepaw. How serene and peaceful this was. 

Until a scent fills her nostrils, and that warm, desirous feeling floods her bloodstream yet again. And then it is promptly followed by the ice cold rush of panic.
A man. 

for a while, there is only the feeling of what could be described as zen within ingram as he walks deeper into the hollow, nearing it's proverbial beating heart.

a duck beneath a particularly long tendril of climbing moss; the damp earthy scent punctured by the enticing scent that he knows too well.

his steps slow to a cease, temporarily unable to discern if it was a scent haunting him or real.

the woman comes into his view not soon after, answering all unspoken questions.

real.

a flare of his nostrils comes seconds before the low, crooning chuff that leaves ingram's lips.

Through the thick of dying trees, she can see him. Velveteen and covered in layers of ashen silvers and blacks that feel darker than night itself. He is shrouded in haze. When she looks, he stares back. She wished he wasn't so intoxicating. 
Wren is careful not to show fear. She is not afraid of him, but afraid of what her lack of inhibitions may make her do. A steady rise of hackles and a silent step backward, a brief flash of teeth that devolves into a lick of her tongue over her lips. 
She doesn't say anything to him, not yet. But her eyes never once stray from the seafoam that tries to drown her. 

He shouldn’t have gone so far from the creek. 

The tragedy at the meeting of Kvarsheim clung to him like a dark cloud and he kept moving to clear his head. 

Or, at the very best, to ensure he was too busy to think of the entirety of what happened. 

He hunted for a witch—what he found was the tantalizing scent of his pack mate. He had done well to avoid her during this time—but something stirred with the realization of how far from home she was. 

And so when the dark shadow trailed after her, champagne eyes flashing with disdain as he found the two of them—he circled closer to Wren, chuffing, a snarl elicited to the presence of the other man. 

Was this man not Ash Paws mate?
And then he remembered Ash Paw’s words moments before the collapse of Moss—this man she had briefly been tied to. One who had also been tied to the witch he hunted.

oooooh plot twist omg. gonna throw in a short lil response here as to not skip over ingram <3

Someone else was here. Ears swivel forward, followed by a turn of her head as two irises of cool golden are visible through the greenery. 
Akavir. 
What the hell was he doing all the way out here? Had he followed her? Was he here to protect her, or assert his own breeding rights? And worst of all, what was the man of the holler going to do about it? 

the moment is a spell woven like ingram's own personal hell and the contemplation if he was strong enough to overcome the primal instincts kicking into high gear, urging him to ghost nearer to her ... and walking away.

it is shattered, splintering in a thousand sharp splintered directions at the approach of another male circling her with a snarl aimed in ingram's direction.

the curl of his lips to expose his teeth, spurred too easily by the freedom that he has no ties. no loyalties.

and no fucks to give.

but he was a loner and there was the consideration that getting into a fight over a woman that he would never see again in his life was ... stupid.

and ingram was a lot of things but he wasn't sure his ego could withstand the brand of 'stupid' upon it.

take your woman and leave me. he grumbles out the order: because why did he have to leave?

His breath exhaled sharply as the man rumbled an order—his snarl continuing, his form snaking forward one pace, pressing to the side of Wren. But this was more than the protection of a she-wolf within his ranks—this had everything to do with the dark man’s interlude with the witch.

There was deep desire to end this with tooth and claw in this very moment. But Akavir steeled himself—unwilling to attack another without at least warning or reason. “Almalexia is wanted for crimes committed to Swiftcurrent Creek,” he finally spat, crown lifting as his eyes flashed. “Blood demands blood. Do you know where she is?”

Akavir was not leaving here without answers—even as enticing as Wren’s scent was, as it snaked over him with her vicinity.

feel free to skip/slightly pp her until she's needed again after this!

Who the fuck is Almalexia? 
She dances from one man to the other with a hardened gaze, a protruding fang  exposed with the tight curl of her lip. This is not just about Wren, maybe nothing to do with her at all. 
What is it with her and stumbling upon wanted men? 
The feeling of Akavir's steely form pressed against her serves as a momentary distraction, a match lit beneath her with synapses that fire and beg for his attention. But that... was something to be dealt with later. She peers out from behind him, a low, bellowing growl in her throat directed at the man of the holler. 
With no prior knowledge of this Almalexia to speak of, she couldn't say much of anything. But at the very least, she owed Akavir some back up. 

though the woman's scent is ever present and ever enticing — annoyingly so, now — ingram's brows rise, ears slicking back to rest at half mast atop his skull at the man's words.

they do not surprise ingram necessarily ... and he is not protective of his ex. the insult lays in the assumption that he would know ... or care.

i don't fucking know, ingram says gruffly, biting back the snarl he wants to give. barely. we're exes for a reason.

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A token moment yawned before him—an opportunity of retribution for the wrongs that had been committed to his pack—but not necessarily dealt with a just hand. The temptation to seek purchase on the flesh of the other man was growing at a rapidly alarming rate, and the permeating scent of Wren was all the more encouragement for the figurative devil on Akavir’s shoulder.

He continued to bristle—tongue snaking out to flash across his teeth as he licked at them—eyes darkened upon the other.

Exes for a reason. Akavir’s need to see the witch bend at the knee was great—but not at the behest of his own moral compass…. Or, what little morality that seemed to still hang on a dangerous precipice.

“Fuck,” he hissed, a final snarl before he turned abruptly on what was likely to be a ridiculous pissing match, his eyes flaring as they roved over Wren—muzzle drifting with a brazen assertion, mouthing at her nape and shoulder, a frustrated rumble echoing from his chest as he made to coax her away from the other man and playing upon the edge of yet another new and dangerous game.

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Wren's only other offering to the stranger is an indignant huff. Aside from his choice to refer to her as Akavir's woman as if she were nothing but a hunk of flesh, the last thing she needed was to involve herself more in petty drama she had nothing to do with. Frostbitten gaze is then turned towards Akavir, silently padding after him. 

She knows what that look in his eye means. She cannot decide if she loves or hates it, but with the fogging of her mind, right now, she drinks from it. 
Her tail whips up into a sway, the warm mouth on her shoulder only fuelling her fire. Whether or not this is a mistake matters not in this moment. Well, hi to you too, she purrs, low and throaty and teetering on the edge of desperation. 
Burning, burning, burning. 

the man is not happy with the answer that ingram gives him, but ingram couldn't be bothered to care.

their issues with his ex were their issues and did not involve him.

he created enough of his own chaos to want to involve himself in anyone elses.

and ... as if the two of them have forgotten his presence, they grow a bit more intimate. his nostrils flare — that he was denied before he could even get a chance with her ( which was purely instinct ), angry that they didn't appear to make any moves to leave.

because, again, he didn't think he should be the one to leave.

you gonna ... leave? or you gonna do it right here in front of me?

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Wren greeted him with a purr very unlike any other time they had spoken—and even as he was brushing against her, more rough than he would under usual circumstances and from his ire, he spared only a backwards glance to the rogue wolf as he asked if they were just stay and do it, then and there—his own annoyance clear.

Akavir loosed another snarl—pressing past the desire to simply try to do so just from sheer spite to the other man—before he snorted, instead. “She’s not a fucking spectacle. Get your rocks off elsewhere.”

And then, the thunderous snarl of his words muted closer to a rumble, his teeth grazing at Wren, encouraging her hopefully to move away with him and toward the direction of home as he could feel the tension taut within his muscles. And under his breath: “Fuckface there left a woman and pups at Riverclan,” he noted to her darkly, pale eyes now cast to her, to see her reaction.

Left a woman and pups in Riverclan. 

It was like as soon as he'd said that, the spell was broken. Jesus Christ, what the fuck was she doing? Oh, god, if she let him get any closer — either of these men, that would be her. Stuck with the consequences of her actions that she did not want. Alone, with only fragments of an identity and with milkteeth that gnaw and suffocate.  
Frozen still, she is, before pulling away very suddenly. Saucer-shaped eyes that stare at Akavir in a fright. Pale and cold and suddenly very, very nauseous. 
I can't do this, is what comes from her mouth, shaken and ice cold before the tears start to form. I don't-- I can't be her. I can't be like that. I'm sorry. 

And with not another word, she is gone, fading into the brush of the holler.