Wapun Meadow amappo

having passed on the news about this rising sun bounty to @Ameline, ancelin took @Athalia out one cold afternoon into the meadow they'd claimed as theirs. "a bad guy is around," he told her solemnly. "i know you've been all over bearclaw. but i want to teach you to track wolves."
prey-hunting was something that both girls would learn on their way growing up. this was specific, and might keep her safe if she was ever apart from them.

the bearwolves had a lot of strange habits.
if athalia had the language for it, she would likely describe ancelin as a bit paranoid. there were always lessons to be learned, things to be explained to her. she took very little interest in it, typically, but it seemed to make him happy, and so she went along with him if it meant he would sing her praises.
she trails along a pace behind him, hopping through ice-caked snow and bobbing her head contentedly. she enjoyed these nature walks, if anything; it got her to stretch her legs, and stretching her legs meant better sleep. she only wished the birds were here with her.
ancelin grumbles something about a bad guy. bad? athalia crows back at him, ears swiveled forward in some form of intrigue. how bad? had he met him?

"attacked a lady." ancelin didn't elaborate because athalia didn't need to know all that. yet. he'd much rather use this time to teach her a skill rather than frighten her with an explanation of someone he'd never met.
a paw lifted to point out wolf tracks in the snow. "what can you tell me about this one?" a lone male had come through, unaffiliated with any pack.
the tracks were mingled with elk spoor and what he felt might be a mark from a riverclan wolf.

oh.
he'd hurt a lady. athalia feels her skin prickle with something dusky and heavy, the age-old call for teeth to latch onto flesh. she wonders what could have come of that lady. what the smell of decay might be like emanating from her putrid bones.
she leans down to taste the broken earth with the tip of her tongue. girl, she answers quietly. two. a pair of them, if she had to guess; like ancelin and ameline.

'very good," ancelin grunted, nosing over the marks. "where do the tracks lead, each set?" he encouraged. the man demonstrated a straight line for a moment, gazing toward the valley and then around in a slow sweep, searching for and identifying any movement.
"it's easy to get really focused when you're tracking. keep your awareness. it's the difference between someone sneaking up on you or not."

athalia's tail drags upward and into a slow wag, thumping once, twice, thrice against ancelin's flank. she shuffles forward hesitantly at first before gaining more confidence, stopping as the tracks near a stone. when she looks closely, she can see a beige flyaway hair; the scent upon it is stale, but still traceable. she juts out her nose to point eastward.
ancelin takes a moment to scan over his shoulders, and so the bruingirl mirrors it; head darting quickly over to the left, then the right, and then the left again. she freezes.
there's someone in the distance — hidden largely behind the dewy haze of snowfall, but she can see them. her heart feels as if it is lodged in her throat as she attempts to swallow; she cannot tell if she feels excited or frightened, but she feels the pull to walk toward it.
her guardian, however, would see nothing but the hills beyond.

pretty enough hills, though they bored ancelin more quickly than he was expecting. what intrigued him was how quickly athalia took point and traipsed off through the drifts. because he was learning to be a hands-off sort of parenting style dad, ancelin watched the girl for a moment and then followed, making a game of following in her tracks.
he said nothing, only observed her body language and the fragrances she might take from the wind and the land. he himself kept a running tally of all the things he overheard, saw, smelled, or touched; the cry of a crow calling others to eat, the upright, still ears of a hare he only just glimpsed against the snow, the reek of fox urine pointing the way toward carrion, the hum of a vole's breath as the wolves passed over the earth above its head.
the land was wild. ancelin was wild. he felt it stirring in his blood.

sorry to derail the cute father daughter trade thread with delulu

the figure grows more distinct as athalia gets closer to it and farther from ancelin. she can see the foreboding, cool gaze, the soft charcoal of its fur, the snow as it begins to collect upon its guard hairs. there is something so familiar about it — her. she speaks to her in a language she has never heard before; she smiles, but her teeth are like knives as she opens her mouth. hello, athalia.
the bearwolf freezes. she knows this woman; she knows, she does, she knows, but there is something wrong, something so very wrong — momma?
who is your friend, athalia? the figure steps closer, grows taller as she does so. the one you abandoned your name for? after all i did for you and your sister, this is how you two repay me?
athalia cannot move, cannot pry her eyes away from the kaleidoscope of her mother's. momma, she shouts it now, shouts it aloud to no one as if it may pull her from her spell if she says it loud enough. she thinks of what ameline had said to her once, that night she spent tucked up at the crest of her arm; you leave. ancelin stay.
you were meant to follow, the facade shouts. her voice hammers in athalia's eardrums, scraping, tearing apart from the inside out, and the girl winces; the apparition is impossibly large now, towering, reaching for her and yet pulling away simultaneously; i did not birth such a cowardly child! i did not raise a failure!

failure failure failure FAILURE

after she ducks to look for ancelin, her mother is gone.
she begins to weep.

yes. he was very emotionally equipped for this. he was strong. 

when the girl turned to look for him, the indigo-eyed man was there. he pulled her close (awkwardly) and patted her back (awkwardly) while in fear and anger and superstition he faced far into the distance which had somehow made her weep.
had she ever cried like this before, even as a baby? 
wild, wild, echoes of goosewings in the everlight.
stay. had that been what she said?
"stay," he repeated, for no other reason than the fact he thought of doing it.
ancelin held athalia until she had cried herself out, her head almost reaching the bearclaw tied into the fur over his heart.

why did she leave?
ancelin swept in as mother dove out, disjointed and awkward as he was. the sensation of his touch hardly even so much as registers; athalia's mind dissolves into painful shards as she shudders and sighs with sobs.
why did she leave?
she had been so young, so, so young, and now athalia grew truly angry over this. her fists beat into the ground as her body rocks back and forth, horrific, shrill, wordless echoes thundering around her. what was she supposed to do? why had no one come back for her?
why did she leave?
she stills after a while, calmed by the security of ancelin, just knowing he was near. she feels the bear talon prodding her cheek, the earthen, wild musk of his fur filling her senses until there is nothing else except for him.
ancelin stayed.
she was bearclaw.
for the first time, she reaches up with her slender forelimbs and snakes them lazily around his waist. he stayed —
he stayed.
he stayed.
he stayed.