Otatso Wetlands and if i catch it coming back my way, i'm gonna serve it to you

Tags for reference. For @Viinturuth first, if anyone else wants to join after Rebel posts. <3

@Arric was down for the count. The man, completely run down, was sick—@Eshe had him on bed rest, and even if Akavir had been tempted to try to pry the man out for a patrol, the little healer proved to be far more feisty than he had initially considered. If she said he needed the rest, the ebony wolf was only keen on seeing his best friend well once more.

Dawn approached. @Jakub was missing. @Mae was injured. @Wren still rested.

His teeth grit, his eyes sweeping up as storm clouds roiled overhead. A match to his mood. With a sharp barking howl, he called for Viinturuth. The rain began to sprinkle as he cast his brother a wolfish grin—dark—eager. “We’re hunting rogues, today,” he told the ivory beast as he drew near, and without waiting for word, Akavir began a loping gait toward the wetlands.


Anger emanated from him. Moss—lifeless. Wren's doe-eyes. Mae, afraid. A sneer settled itself upon his countenance.

When Akavir called to request his presence, Viinturuth veered toward the sound of his voice. He picked his way swiftly through familiar woods, easing his stride to a relaxed lope when his brother entered his line of sight. There was no time for pleasantries, apparently, as the obsidian Alpha turned away with a comment about hunting rogues.

The pale brute followed dutifully. He had trailed the lands where an assault had happened involving their wolves, and found no trace of the outsiders responsible. Viinturuth didn't doubt that other creek-dwellers had likewise tried to pursue their tracks, and he wondered if Akavir had been gifted a lead to investigate.

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His brother appeared much like a ghost emerging from the shadows—eyes barely questioning before he followed the dark wolf’s lead, and just like that, ying and yang begun to weave across the lands of the wetlands. There had been no leads—only impending silence on the matter, and each day the control of the situation was further from his reach… Leaving him with nothing but restlessness.

He lost track of time—his gaze lifting to the sky only to realize that hours had likely passed—and still there was nothing suspicious highlighted to him. A snarl began to bubble from his jowls—a sneer on his lips. “Suppose whoever they were, they fucked off from the valley and toward the desert lands? Or the mountains?” There was also the taiga to consider.

They could be to the ocean, by now.

Viinturuth had seen his brother through many trying times, unphased by his fierce tongue or dark intentions. The pale wolf thought himself the more level-headed of the duo in recent years, a drastic growth considering the unpredictability of his youth. Akavir had often sought him to provide some grounding, so he studied the obsidian Alpha's demeanour with interest.

A snarl bubbled in Akavir's throat, fury in its note. He maintained a cool appearance and monitored the situation quietly, wondering if or when he might need to consider a more firm approach.

He had ever right to be angry, of course. But it was important that Viinturuth serve his purpose in keeping the raven from straying too far into the dark.

We don't have much to go on, he answered, tugging a hind paw free of clinging mud, if they had a single brain cell between them, they'd disappear. There was a strong possibility that they'd never catch up to them, after all.

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Viinturuth’s words were resolute with the indication they had little chance of finding them now—something he quietly agreed with, which only fueled his frustration. He leveled his gaze to his brother—not speaking what he thought of it all: that if whoever had touched his daughter, Wren and Eshe even revealed themself, he would ensure they paid.

Because he hadn’t been able to make anyone pay for Ibis—nor for Lilitu, or Arielle. Moss.

“Fuck,” he hissed, spitting at the ground and swiping to it, the lower of his snarls raising for a moment. “Fuck!”

He raged—not quietly—wishing for nothing more but his teeth to grip something tangible—something that deserved this burning anger in him. Teeth clacking on empty air, he tried to quiet the snarl, hackles bristled—the complete contrast to his calmer sibling. “What am I even doing, Viin?”

Akavir swore again, which brought the alabaster ranger's ears forward. The sharp word was repeated with greater ferocity following a lashing of an ebony paw at the sodden ground, and Viinturuth eased his stride to a halt. Focus remained firm on his brother's face as his champagne gaze rose to met burgundy and for the most fleeting of moments, he swore he saw their mother's fierce eyes glowering his way.

It'd been difficult to be a child of the wildfire Durnehviir - more so when her relationship with their father had been so uncertain. Despite the years and distance that'd been placed between mother and son, Viinturuth often thought of his miserable youth and the dragoness' harsh expectations of her brood.

He blinked, and rooted himself once more. Akavir looked like a feral thing with his fangs clacking and guard hairs stood erect, though Viinturuth inhaled deeply. You are trying to protect them, he said gently, and was admirable of it, and it's okay to be pissed. I'd be kicking you if you weren't, considering the circumstances. He braved a step closer. But we need to be realistic. There may never be closure. There may never be justice for Moss.

Viinturuth—a voice of reason if there was one, and yet in the spiraling darkness he was beginning to feel closing in on him, it fell mostly on deaf ears. “Like I protected Ibis,” he replied dully—knowing if anyone could understand him in this pain, even remotely—it was his brother. He had known Ibis. Had helped them with their children.

And helped them when things had gotten dark at the Empire—even though Ibis had never known the full extent of the politics she had been shielded from.

He exhaled sharply—steeling himself—a brazen roll of his shoulders as he tried to ground himself. “Now what?”

He had always been a man who wished to live his life quietly. For years he'd lurked in the shadows of better wolves, serving and guarding and hunting long enough until he felt the familiar pull of attachment. It was then that he'd withdraw, pulling away until he could taste freedom once more - the reminder that it was not safe to love.

Then, looking at Akavir as he raged and ached, Viinturuth wondered if things would've been better on the road for his brother. There would be no ties but that to one another, no need to worry over offspring or companions who relied on his guidance. He blinked, considering how vastly different they'd each come to exist, and felt conflicted.

The mention of Ibis' name speared him, more so with guilt than anything else. She had held his heart once before - or so he believed. Viinturuth had removed himself from whatever affection he'd harboured for Ibis and chose Akavir, as he knew he always would. What happened to Ibis could never have been your fault, he told the ebony leader gently, a glint of sorrow in the burgundy of his gaze. It pained him that Akavir felt responsible for him even after she'd betrayed him, after she'd rejected him and cast him aside. Viinturuth made no mention to remind his brother of how deeply she'd wounded him, fearful that he would open those that'd since scabbed over.

He stared at his brother for a long moment, then carried on to take the lead. We keep going, he answered, resuming their hunt through the swamp. We look until there's nowhere else to look, then we make a decision based on what we do - or don't - find.

His claws flexed on the ground—the motion of a jiggling leg as he took in what his littermate had to say. Unable to sit still—unable to go on, it seemed. He held himself at an impasse, and he was simply waiting to fall off the proverbial edge he now settled upon.

He could not agree with Viinturuth about Ibis—so much had been unknown to him. Still remained unknown—were Lilitu and Arielle his, by blood? Surely, in all ways that mattered they were—but again, he wasn’t exactly going to win father of the year anytime soon.

Vaguely, he wondered if Eshe realized that, yet, and would come to her good senses and leave.

“Onward then,” he pushed out, pressing himself up and willing himself further. Adrenaline still coursed through him—he wanted nothing more than to tear in to something. So, he would find something tangible—something to solve. He had to.