Broken Boulder Crucible of Broken Blouder

Her smile alone was a thing of grace and it captured Redmoon, the wave of her tail just as gentle. But as distracting as she was, he wasn’t so blinded to continue on his mission. Whatever that mission was. She agreed to come with him and he certainly didn’t argue, he’d forgotten what company was and having a friendly face was nice for a change. He may be a wanderer but that didn’t mean he solely enjoyed being alone. There again, that didn’t mean he completely trusted her either. They’d just met - but this was a chance to learn of her character in a way words couldn’t do. 

They moved forward and this is where the red pelt took stock of her scent. He enjoyed her presence and at first it was very difficult to sense her feelings but from what he could gather from her proximity was that she was kind and concerned. Kindness perhaps came naturally but he couldn’t be sure. Concerned came from the cries of the youngster. His own scent would be giving off insecurity from the feeling of being unsure if he wanted to find out what was causing the cries or not and the inability to see the task to the end. Redmoon was no coward and he held a moral compass - but he understood he was just one wolf in a big world with a whole mess of nasty realities.  He was fit and strong, but still young and trying to find his way in the world. Most of the time he tried hard to avoid difficult circumstances for the fact that he was indeed, alone. If he was wounded out here in the wilds then he’d be unable to hunt or track or even hide properly. He’d be dead within a week. It rebelled against the survivalist in him that he was even going on this search of the pup. 

But neither could he turn away. He cringed at what he may find but he also refused to let himself run into the hills. It was difficult being a wolf with no home and it was worse being one that was looking for a way forward. 

They traveled together some distance, shoulder to shoulder, several times Redmoon accidentally bumped into her as they trotted along. It took him a few moments to understand her scent as in how she moved and finally he was able to not be so obtuse and avoided further collisions, a good thing too as their level of stealth naturally increased. He thought about Anubis and thanked the dark pelt for his lessons in silent movement. It hadn't made Redmoon in anyway a wraith in the night but it made him better off in his efforts. 

Arriving at a low rise covered in earthen colors, Redmoon blended well with his surroundings. But the true thing that stuck out was not his lovely counterpart but the pumgent aroma of blood, urine and fecal matter. It hung in the air with a thickness that couldn't be ignored. But as well came the sounds of laughter, cackling maniacally in multiple voices. They were high in pitch, very audible to a typical wolf's ears but very much so from the acute and keen senses of Redmoon. "Three," he whispered to her, "four max." That assessment was troubling. If these were nefarious fellows then this wouldn't spell well for the duo. 

Forward he crept now until they crested the mound and looked down. They loomed over a field that looked like a battle but in truth it was a butcher's mat. A wolf den was in the base of a rotten stump and it had been dug out. Signs of a struggle scoured the ground heavily and a she-wolf lay some yards off with her throat ripped out and wounds all over. Clearly she'd fought the good fight. Not far lay two pups, unmoving and soaked in red. 

Then, there towards the edge of this clearing was a third pup, fighting to get away from three vile creatures of which held a scent Redmoon hadn't ever found. They were smaller than he was and their coats were filthy and unkept. They instinctively gave the feeling of criminality and thievery. Redmoon would come to know these things as coyotes.

Occasionally the pup would escape only to be pounced upon and swatted to the ground. They were doing this for sport and unlikley out of necessity. Redmoon flattened his ears and released a low growl. 

In his heart he yearnedto leap into action. The beast within desired to go down there and seek revenge for the atrocity given. But the survivor warned that turning around was best. Out here in this world it was the victor's spoils. Only the strongest would survive. This was just how things were. Redmoon's mood began to falter as he warred within himself,  unsure of what to do. 

The wounded pup was probably already dead, wounded beyond saving. What would it matter to fight over a corpse? He knew that way of thinking was wrong and he raged agaisnt it. It was difficult, part of him wanted to turn a blind eye, part wanted to sally forth - the conflict in his heart was immense. 

But his choice was made for him finally when he saw the wounded pup lash out and scratch the eye of one of his aggressors. The coyote recoiled a moment and then began to maul the pup anew. Redmoon saw his own fate in that moment and even if he was damned to die here, if there was any fight left in him he needed to show it. Never give up, even if those odds were high.

Redmoon gave off his scent that he was about to charge. "I'm going down there." He whispered again.