Redtail Rise the island of the fay

there had been very few times in her life where Avicus had tumbled into listless depression. not even after her mother had died—no, there had come vengeance, swift, raw, immediate. something to aim towards.

but now Prophet and Ashlar are both gone. 

what enemy is she to slay, now?

no amount of blood slain can bring them back. and that helplessness haunts her, weighs like a dark mantle upon her shoulders. she walks with an uncharacteristic heaviness in her step; she tears into prey as if rending flesh from bone can make things right again.

the pack goes on. life goes on. and she goes on. . .but indelibly changed.

the weather is growing colder, and the red woman is in the highlands just short of the forests that hug the mountains. she sniffs at the ground, looking for dens to raid. she works methodically, hoping to keep the thoughts and feelings at bay.

for once, she's hoping for company.

Following their talk with their brother, Masquerade felt compelled to seek out Avicus. They tracked her across the territory, her trail leading toward the forests. They caught sight of her just shy of the tree line, sniffing along the ground as if searching for something. The Ulfr paused to watch her a moment before loping down to join her.

Once, they would’ve greeted her as the Wealda, their nose quick to bump her chin and their long tail lowering. Now, they strode up beside her with a gentle woof, marigold eyes trailing speculatively over her face. Their body remained carefully neutral for the moment. They reached to touch her cheek, an unspoken apology for interrupting what looked like a small game hunt.

Mother, they said, their deep voice pitched low as they asked the question that had been lurking in their mind for some time now, will you be stepping up as Wealda again?

Masquerade appears, and she lifts her head to set her gaze upon her eldest daughter. the only one remaining here from her first litter. loyal beyond imagination.

her face is suffused with undeniable gratitude, but when the Ulfr speaks, that expression shifts to something darker. the skin near her eyes and mouth tightens; her indigo eyes grow hard.

yeah, Avicus replies, as if it shouldn't have been a question.

is it a question? were seeds of doubt being sowed among the pack as to her fitness to lead again? 

she will not stand for it. this is her land, above everything else, and she will not stand for any challenge to that.

why? she continues, letting both her countenance and tongue cool upon the word.

The quick, almost sharp response earned a rapid intake of breath from Masquerade. Their mind whirled for a moment before they settled on an intense rush of relief at the absolute certainty of Avicus’s reply. As her demeanor quickly shifted, so too did Masquerade’s. They dipped their head, bumping their snout against her shoulder in solidarity.

Wealda’s stood empty for a while and I didn’t understand why, they said, eyes gentle on their dam’s face before they bared the frank truth. I was going to ask if you would consider coaching me for the role, if you didn’t want it for yourself any longer. But mother, I will always stand in support of your claim. They paused. And you should reclaim it officially. There are questions, Masque finished candidly, thinking of their conversation with Riley. I think it would restore the rise’s stability and strength.

inch by inch of her skin begins to relax as Masque speaks again, explaining the reasons—only to tighten up at that word 'questions.' she grasps onto the fact that her daughter is interested in leadership—something she wholly supports—but the rest of it niggles at her.

wha' quehh—quessshh— Avicus breaks off, nose wrinkling in a snarl at her inability to form the word. who? she asks instead, trying to get to the bottom of potential treachery.

Masquerade would—will?—make a great Wealda. some day. she once had thought both Relic and Redd perfect for the task, but both had gone. Masquerade had not.

clearly, the ruddy-faced woman is the heir apparent.

They could see her relax her defenses slightly, though Avicus would not soon forget the slight implied by the mention of questions. Masque touched their nose to her cheek this time, trying to smooth away any wrinkles they might have caused.

No one is questioning you, at least as far as I know, they answered with the same candor with which Masque always spoke. But someone new to the ranks recently asked me, ‘Why isn’t Avicus leader anymore?’ And I didn’t know how to answer him. That’s all, mother. I didn’t know how to explain. But it doesn’t matter. Whenever you’re ready, retaking Wealda will clear the air. It will put everything to rights again.

It was so good to see this side of Avicus again. She had seemed so different after her return, altered by whatever mysterious horror had taken her from the wilds. But they had not been irrevocable changes, Masquerade realized with another twinge of relief. Titles aside, it was just good to have their mother back.

Were you hunting? I would be happy to help, they said, long tail swinging so that its tip feathered Avicus’s hip on every slow swing.

someone new to the ranks. she pauses for a heartbeat, thinking. there were only a few. . .that dark brown man, so similar in appearance to Ashlar. the young boy who'd taken to her own litter, born this year. she wonders who had asked.

maybe it doesn't matter. if she takes control, as Masque implies, order will be restored.

mmhmm, she confirms in response. gopher, maybe. wha'ever i can findh.

Avicus takes a moment to return the gentle touch, drawing her muzzle over her daughter's head, before continuing along the path cut through the highlands with an unmistakable musk.

just so long as it's not a bear—

a shiver rolls through her, raising the hairs along her spine and shoulders and sending her stomach plummeting toward her toes.

I’ll help, they repeated, letting out a happy little grumble at Avicus’s soft touch.

The two of them began loping along the game trail. Masquerade dropped their nose to comb for scents, even as their mind flicked back to their recent conversation with Mulherin and, a little further back, to their brief exultation at the recent pack hunt as well.

Mother, they said slightly haltingly, waiting to be certain they had her attention before proceeding, I will never seek to usurp you. But I’m still interested in learning about Wealda, if you feel it would be worthwhile to teach me.

There was more they wanted to include, though Masquerade held their tongue and let Avicus respond. They wondered if she was surprised by the yearling’s notions.

cameoooooo!

Carrion had thought to track Masquerade this day, perhaps to inspect them for more troubling signs of that inner pain they still squirreled away from the others, but at some point her masked sibling’s path converged with the tracks of the red mother, stopping her dead. The fifth child of Avicus felt something curdle in her stomach. And it wasn’t all the rotten meat.

She ventured further until the two wolves were in sight, watching them for a moment. They spoke briefly, though she was too far away to hear any of the conversation shared, before they began ranging onward in tandem hunters’ strides.

Carrion swallowed a sour taste, unaware that she’d been holding her breath. She felt indifference towards most wolves, fondness for others, but for Avicus, her own mother? She wasn’t sure. A mix of fear and disesteem wrestled within. She turned away with a childish snort. She hadn’t cared when the red mother had returned, she saw no reason to care about what she was doing now.

The girl slithered away in a rustle of dry grass, intent on putting her thoughts to more important matters: a bit of black meat in one of her many hidey-holes, something to quell her upset.

it's nice, to lope after her daughter in the mindless pursuit of game. the two of them tracking, intent on finding food, tails and noses almost in sync as they shimmy down the trail.

but when Masquerade speaks again, she's all ears.

yeah, Avicus says without hesitation, nodding. muhhh' be you. i will, Mack—you will learn.

a quirk of her mouth—almost, but not quite, a smile—and then she moves on, seeking that musk again. ground interrupted, a churning of dirt. . .there, she sees it, a newly made hole into the earth.

one ear flicks backward, and she looks at Masquerade, raising a brow.

she hadn't even registered the presence of another daughter, unseen and unheard.

Avicus didn’t just accept the idea, she replied, “Must be you.”

Once, this idea would’ve struck them as improbable to the point of absurdity. They weren’t suited to the role. There were so many other, more natural leaders in the rise. But over time, many of them had defected. Masquerade remained, pouring all of themself into the pack’s present and future and, in return, slowly but surely gaining confidence and experience. Their loyalty was second to none.

And Avicus Redtail herself believed in them: a defining moment. They knew Mulherin believed in them and his three litter mates might too. Perhaps the rest of the pack may, as well, though some of them had snubbed Masque before. That was in the past though. Perhaps most importantly of all, Masquerade believed in themself these days.

I’ve spent a lot of time caring for the four, the yearling continued, unaware that one of them spied in the backdrop before slinking away. Empowered by their mother’s resolute sanction, they posited, I see a lot of potential in Mulherin too. He’s still young but I think he should shadow you as well, learn from you alongside myself.

They could tell their mother was hungry, so they did not elaborate beyond that. Giving Avicus a moment to consider the latest and last pitch they would make for now, the Ulfr sniffed toward the hole at the red wolf’s feet. Their ears pushed forward on their head as they froze rigidly in place, trying to hear any stirring just beneath the surface.

”i’ve spent a lot of time caring for the four,” Masque says—and it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t cut into her like it does.

but she knows her disappearance has brought chaos to the pack, and most of all, her youngest children. better that Masquerade, as Caru, step up in her stead. better that the void be filled than left yawning, gaping, for her own vanity’s sake.

mmm, yeah. Mul, Avicus replies, a small smile gracing her mouth as she thinks of the dark boy. most assuredly Ashlar’s—a perfect blend of his parents. agree.

the others can learn, too, she posits to herself. . .but that sentiment has too many sibilants, and she’s eager to get on with the hunt.

findh oh’her hole, she tells her daughter, dipping her muzzle at the depression at their paws, then further down the path. we’ll ‘hhrap ‘em.

she takes a deep, steadying breath, filled with the heady scent of dying leaves and pungent earth, and prepares for what could be a long wait.

Avicus concurred and Masquerade felt more validated than ever. Despite their own readiness to consider leadership, their vision for Mulherin was still more important than their own. They wanted to do everything in their power to foster the potential they saw in their younger brother.

They gazed at Avicus as his voice echoed in their head. “I wonder what mom would think.” But Masque had already decided to pitch the idea of sister packs another day.

The Ulfr didn’t need to be told twice when their mother instructed them to locate the second hole. Masque began carefully combing the ground, eyes and nose peeled for any sign of it. They couldn’t help but think of their first time hunting groundhogs with Avicus.

But they intuited that their mother wanted to make the kill today, so as soon as they found the second borehole, they glanced her way, ready to begin digging at her signal.

Masque's thoughts ran alongside her own—at least regarding the past hunting expedition. she catches the flash of her daughter's glance and nods, all the while ears cupped, listening for subterranean sounds.

then. . .

a shuffling, a muffled—

a round brown face with protruding teeth shoots out, gawps at her, and retreats as quickly as it had emerged.

coming your way! Avicus barks. she hopes she's right, though she supposes the gophers could have more sophisticated tunnels. 

she hopes Masque will be on the receiving end, though. they'll trap the thing, if not quick enough to nab it outright.

They couldn’t be sure what she’d seen from over here, though the signal Avicus gave wasn’t the one they expected. Evidently the quarry was heading their way. Remembering just how suddenly the groundhogs had emerged from the earth, they braced in preparation.

Yet nothing happened. Perhaps this rodent was wiser, going to ground rather than leaping from the frying pan into the fire. Masque whined under their breath, thrusting their muzzle into the hole and trying to scent the prey. They swore they could smell it and its fear, its warm, quivering body just out of reach…

With a huff, Masque withdrew their snout to begin attacking the small burrow. They dug rapidly, not so much to get at the gopher but to frighten it into moving back toward their mother. Meanwhile, they collapsed this burrow entirely, cutting off at least one exit.

When that was done, the Ulfr went very still very suddenly, ears pricked. They heard movement beneath the ground and sprang forward, tracking it from above. They shot their mother an eager look.

Returning to sender, they quipped, breathless from the anticipation and effort.

breathless, she watches Masque hunt, and when her daughter moves and then speaks, she braces herself. brouching low, trying to blend with the multi-color leaves that have fallen. . .

a brown snout emerges, then a head. she wastes no time.

she strikes forward, serpentine, and grasps the well-muscled neck in her jaws. one wrench, two, and she feels the pop of a broken spine ripple down to her toes.

the gopher is limp in her jaws as she straightens and approaches Masque, then drops the thing at her forepaws.

well done, Avicus remarks, smiling. we are a goodh 'hheam.

rolled for success!

It was only a small kill, though watching their mother execute the gopher with such violent precision brought a smile to Masque’s face. Avicus really was back. And soon she would retake her rightful place as Wealda. Along with the scent of fresh meat, the thought stirred the yearling’s blood.

We are, they agreed, thinking of the new dynamic to their relationship: ruler and heir, Wealdas of the near and distant future. It’s all yours, they added, wishing the red woman to continue rebuilding her strength.