Blood on my Hands

NNNGGGGGGGFEYTDFIUWEDIWY! This is mostly long and drawn out for my own damn self to flesh out storyline so sorry you have to read this crap.

Petulant gaze burned into the horizon with a glow that only twilight could bring. A cool breeze swept along the facial features of the Eta, caressing inky fur and tussling it haphazardly in its wake. The Spire was rife with these crisp fingers of chill, coiling into bones and robbing the flesh of warmth. It was a foreign environment. Sandy guard hairs were accustomed to the sea and the temperate climate that grew thick tangles of mossy vines within the trees. A damp environment. Not this ever dragging, bone-sucking and lung-crippling dry cold. 

There was a sizzle of anger. Nothing had prepared the former drifter for this merciless territory and some youthful arrogance still believed it was owed. Little doubt that the Coho siblings were plenty ready at this point in their fruitless lives. Nostrils inhaled, whisking in the scent of Nanuk that still clung to outer fur like it was the last remnant of the male's success within the Sawtooth wolves. Dispersed within that very distinct aroma was that of leaves, dust, and other debris that held the stamp of the pack. Much time had been spent within the earlier hours of darkness to erase every last stench of freedom and wilderness. The wolf was a Sawtooth now. The past was the past, though thoughts still dwindled, fleetingly, towards the charcoal-cheeked Tail. What would decide her fate? Would she fare as well?

The sun peaked, bringing a glow to the thin stretch of horizon. Slowly but surely that glow turned into a fire, alighting every sparkle of water source, burning into every tree and hilltop that was visible from the spired peak the Eta sat upon. This was home. Inky legs unfolded, muscles uncoiling from the ache of stagnation and wind, a small shake of hackles dislodging the last bits of dirt coating the unblemished pitch fur. Lanky stature set off on a pace, completely content to seek the individual his bear-wolf guide had spoken of. Rumor had it that the alpha had just begun weaning the monsters that robbed her body of nourishment. It gave the wolf purpose. Feed the alpha, feed the young, feed the pack, and feed oneself. 

A flare of nostrils quickly picked up the trail of the sooty beast as she set about her duties of tending the boarders. Such a task was of prominent interest to the Eta, a new duty that seemed self rewarding, and pace gathered into a trot to cover the distance at a quicker clip. Her figure emerged from the shadows slowly, as though the darkness clung to her in respect of presence. Head lowered, sweeping gait steadied, and a small wuff sounded his intrusion. "Tonravik?"  he called confidently, hoping her interest would be considered.