Dragoncrest Cliffs Witness Marks

trespassing

He stumbles, a little fugitive having ascended their cliffs, lungs knotted by thirst, sunheat searing dots into his vision. The worst of it- the demanding itch of his mutilated limb- he would suppress with his teeth for a span of time before the angry barrage returned that much stronger.

It was faith and determination that had brought him this far. He had met a kind mainlander girl and surrendered his guard. Naivety told him there were no hostile nations.

Here, the mainlander mark coats the inside of his nostrils. No voice unfurls; he could speak only wind. He traipses forward, searching for anyone.

"HALT!"

Thibault stood tall with a flagged tail and tired eyes. They settled on the strangers, crossing their borders unannounced. Someone took his sister. Someone took his sisters. He did not trust him, and he would not trust him. "Dis be Sapphique, stranger." He stated, a numb voice.

That didn't last long.

But there was a tremble in this mans walk. A foot that made his on legs stumble. Stepping back once, twice, Thibault's lip twitched as his eyes got wider, breath just a little faster. What was wrong with this guy? "What's wrong with you?" concern, terror, was settling over Thibault's voice. Did the person that took his sisters- did they get this guy? Was that why he was hurt? Is that what was happening?

In rides a red boy, tall and commanding thunder with his voice, knocking Rilke from his impaired rhythm. He sinks, barring himself, an apology on his face and in the pin of his ears, the wrap of his tail.

He forces with great effort an explanation from his throat, a crack made raw and rubbery.  He licks his lips profusely.

I am no threat to you!

A sea salted boy. Mangled and torn. His breath made Thibault flinch, both the rasp of it and the raking of this boy- he could feel.

He felt.

Inching closer, on his nose came suddenly an awful chill. The sternness in his own ragged voice fell curious, innocent in only a young boys way. "What happened to you?" he spoke to himself, but he looked him up and down inquisitively. Careful.

"Are you thirsty?" his brows lifted, a serious question, though genuine, sprouted from a strong soul behind a lackluster voice. 

This boy was an outsider.

They did not like outsider boys. But he was so frail.

Even cloaked in the scent of salt water, the stranger's scent did not fool the Tanzanite, who followed the trespasser's tracks at a steady trot as they led up and into the packlands, toying with the idea of simply booting the wolf off the edge of the cliff to their death for having skirted their borders, using sea-salt as a disguise.

What she didn't expect was to see one so young, frail, and already showing deference to her brave nephew, who earned a faint nod from the leader as she approached, slowing her gait. Her tail lifted and her tall ears stood erect, framing her face as she angled her gaze down at the boy's fearful eyes. A soft growl warned him to stay in place as she inhaled his scent, pausing for a moment as something about him smelled a little bit familiar. Hard to place, though, amid the scent of fear and sea water.

She'd spotted his tracks and had noticed the unusual pattern, and searched him for a moment for injury- finding the answer when she spotted the leg that ended at his ankle.

She did not tolerate trespassers- but children would always tug at her heartstrings. Like a disappointed dragon, she exhaled sharply, hot breath fanning over him like a blast of steam as she straightened.

"You 'ave trespassed into Sapphique's claim," She informed him, her voice a darkened melody.
"Stay where you are, an' tell us your name."

When the second comes his eyes blanche, furling from the notion of violence and realizing in full the error of his decision to cross over and disrespect the scents of seawolf. 

Face laden with fear he looks up into the eyes of the mother. His heart aches.

He makes no persuasions, still wearing caution and a low body that spells out apologies, praying he’ll be forgiven-

From his throat he pushes his voice out and it drags like blunt nails against porous stone.

“Cah!”

"Cah?" Cah was a funny name.

Not long did his auntie appear. He put himself out of the way, but with intense focus on the new boy. The sea boy. Pointing his nose to him, he sniffed and turned his head to Chacal.

"I don't t'ink he can talk, auntie."

"He's hurt. Maybe he be t'irsty? Are you t'irsty, sea boy?" He smelled greatly of the ocean.

Chacal's lips pulled into a thin frown; everything about him suggested that he'd spent a bit of time in salt-water, and had likely choked a fair bit of it down. The rasp in his voice could easily have been caused by dehydration. The young man would not have long before more dire consequences would set in, if he was not tended to. Aside from his missing paw, there was no telling what other ailments wounded him.

Thibault, to his credit, understood and made an astute observation, which won him a faint smile.

"We will take you to Glintwater lake-
you 'ave thirst to slake."

She suggested. She would watch his movement, for any sign of wild hostility, but would otherwise offer assistance to the boy still labelled as 'Cah' on their journey toward fresh water.

He trades glances between mother and son and gives a small nod, proffering his good limb- would be moved to tears if he had any of which to shed.

Bless you, bless you, his eyes wish to speak-

The grace of God moved through them and the boy comes empty, unable to offer anything in exchange for their kindness.

Guarded by the strong pair from Sapphique he navigates with slow success, submissively bent until his feet slid on the cooling bank.

He looks out between the dark woman and her red boy, awaiting express permission before submerging his muzzle to gulp for long minutes, lifting his nose only to take air before drinking again.

When at last he can take no more of the lake into his belly he heaves for breath. A knife’s edge is wedged in his throat, but a torn voice perforates through the pain, understanding this may be his only opportunity.

“Cah-racal,” he rasps, “My dad.” Water hacks from his jaws.

The boy, he followed closely by. By any moment, he expected him to topple over. Should his weight have fallen into him, he was there to lean him back up. Never far from his lips were traces of a tug pulling them down. He’d never seen a wolf in such condition before.
Blessed, when the sea boy was able to drink.

“…Caracle?”

His eyes, they were soon to his Auntie again.

”Do you know who dat be?”

Solemnly, the pair guided the sea-weary traveler to the lake, where cool, fresh water awaited him. Along some of the banks, ice had begun to grow though it was thin, still, and fractured under even the faintest bit of weight.

He drank greedily, and she uttered a soft noise to bid him to slow down- otherwise, the water might come right back up. Still- she didn't move to stop him, and sighed softly. She had brought him to water and he drank; any lesson he took from this experience he would learn on his own. He sank, his belly full of cold water, and she eyed him with calm scrutiny, knowing that the pain would either pass, or his body would eject the source.

Her expression smoothed, however, when he spoke a name she did recognize.

"Caracal," She repeated, for her son's ear. The name was associated by the kind woman who had received the fleeing party of wolves from Sapphique who had sought refuge from the bear's attack. Heda's reputation earned the ill lad some favour from the Tanzanite. Her husband, however, had not made the best impression on the Obsidian, and secret things whispered between sisters made her more curious as to why the boy had chosen to mention only his father's name. For Heda's sake, however, he would be granted hospitality.

"You be from Sweet'arbour, den.
Your mot'er, Heda, she be a good friend.
We will care for you until you are well." She stated. Implied, she hoped, was the fact that he would be returned home once he was mended. Quietly, she watched him- wondering what he might take of having only his mother's name spoken.