Swiftcurrent Creek you call out

I'm hoping maybe @Haunter can hop in, but anybody is welcome! Don't feel obligated to match the length here...

Due to her healing, the past few days had been mostly downtime. That, of course, meant that Fox's mind had been moving far quicker than her body. It was likely good that she had some time to reflect and take a breather from the everyday hubub. Her thoughts had drifted to all kinds of things, but she always came back to thinking about the wolves who seemed to trust her to some degree. Swiftcurrent Creek was becoming quite a pack, and while it was a bit of a surprise to Fox, she could not help but be proud of her work. Obviously, Lethe had gotten it going, but Fox felt like she had been the one to really make it work.

Mentally, she took stock of her followers. Jinx, the feisty and loyal one. Njal, the fool who was slowly proving himself otherwise. Haunter, the one-eared giant who did not intend to stay past spring. Tuwawi, the caring soul who had thought to bring her a meal the day after the cougar fight. Lecter, the wolf she avoided unless absolutely necessary. Hecarim, Solene, Ferdie, and Sveinn were too distant in their personal relationships with her to pinpoint exactly how they were different. Although Hecarim was trying to contribute more, and Ferdie seemed like he was bound to cause trouble.

Then there were the younger two: Aethon and Bones. Both of them were full of piss and vinegar, and Fox was glad to have them around. Admittedly, she was not much older than either of them. The yearling had been forced to grow up mentally and emotionally these past few weeks. Despite her initial worries, she felt she was sliding into the role as well as anybody could.

Having not seen Haunter since his gallant defending of her own life, Fox lifted her muzzle and called to him. Her tone was not urgent, and if he failed to answer the call she would not be disappointed. And if somebody else showed up, Fox would be fine with that, too. So much rest had made her miss the companionship of her crew.

I couldn't resist. I can always have Sveinn pop out. :p Hover over the Norse for translation. Also I made some assumptions based off our PM but I'd be more than happy to change anything!

Týr had taken note of Fox’s - his dróttning - wounds that seemed relatively fresh to him when she accepted him earlier. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so observant but it was hard not to notice what he could smell as wounds even if he hadn’t looked. Idly and silently, he wondered what had happened to her even as he had diverted his eyes for not wanting to be caught or considered rude for staring. It had not been his place to inquire as to where her wounds had came from, for in reality, Týr assumed that it was not any of his business. As it was, this did not sate his curiosity, instead leaving it rather unsatisfied. Battle wounds were something any Viking was proud to bear - a testament to her strength, and her power - never mind how she received them. There was a crunch of bone betwixt his jaws as he clamped down upon the surprisingly plump hare’s neck, siphoning the life from it effortlessly, feeling it grow still under his paws and chest where he had cornered it. The lifeblood of the hare was warm as it spilled into his mouth. Releasing his grip upon it he rose his head, salmon pink tongue licking the gore from his lips in attempts to give him a less macabre appearance.

Despite that he did not know much of Fox, and likewise, he aspired to change that, and though they had briefly discussed his skills upon the borders when he had been seeking sanctuary within her borders, she had mentioned to him about gathering food the hare he had caught was not for the caches. Neither was it for him. No, the plump hare nestled between his paws, growing stiff with death was a gift - not because Týr was trying to be a kiss ass, or likewise, trying to say that Fox wasn’t capable of hunting for herself even with her injuries. Simply, he wanted to be thoughtful. A call rang out, familiar in that he recognized it as Fox’s. It was a summons for another, but grasping the hare in his jaws, Týr rose and headed in her direction nevertheless, now that he had a general idea of where Fox was.

He would not stay long. Only long enough to give her his gift in good faith and be on his way.

He found her after a while, and paused, lowering his body into a submissive pose, laying the hare gently at his paws. “Dróttning,” Týr greeted her respectfully in the tongue of his people. “I brought you a gift,” He explained after a few heartbeats of silence, waiting for her to acknowledge him or speak (whichever came first). “I will not intrude long, I promise.” He assured her, nudging the hare towards her with his muzzle, though if she chose to accept it or reject it was solely up to her.

The one to answer her call was not Haunter, but another male. The smell of a fresh kill came along with Sveinn, and Fox's ears perked up when he arrived. Unlike others who may have been offended by such a gift, Fox was flattered. The Alpha was a greedy soul at heart, and having food brought to her was certainly one way to get on her good side. While she did not always accept it as flattery, she was never one to turn down a free meal. Just the other day, Tuwawi had brought her a muskrat. And before that, Ferdie had shown up on the border with a rabbit hanging between his jaws. And now this. If this was what leadership was all about, she could understand why other leaders were willing to put up with the stress and workload required.

Not feeling particularly hungry right at that moment, Fox took the hare and set it aside for later. Hunger was one of those things that was always coming back, and it would be quite handy to have a spare hare (lol rhymes) laying around when she needed it, especially considering her current condition.

She had not noticed his accent before, but upon hearing his voice again, Fox likened it to Njal's own inflections. “Much appreciated,” she replied. “That word—the one you started with—what does it mean?” she asked. While he seemed eager to leave, she figured it would not hurt to keep him for a moment longer. It seemed there were plenty of wolves within Swiftcurrent's ranks who spoke words she did not understand.

There was a small measure of relief that swelled and washed through Týr’s chest when Fox did not take offense to his gift, but instead accepted it. A soft smile tugged at the edges of Týr’s lips, glad. Fox was smaller than him, but her approval was the most important, she was the crucial essence of the pack; and though Týr did not know her well, he certainly respected her nevertheless. She seemed to be a worthy leader and he would follow her with the devotion she required of him, exactly how he had followed Ragnar. Týr watched absently as Fox tucked the hare away, presumably for later, and for a few seconds he lingered there, slightly awkward not sure if he should take his leave then and there. In truth, he was not all that eager to leave - merely he did not want to intrude, especially since she had called for another. As it was, Týr was willing to linger for as long as she wished for his company. After all, it would be hard to get to know her as his leader if he never interacted with her. So long as she was willing to give him the time, that was.

“I am glad,” Týr offered her with another soft smile. He supposed he could be as brutish as the stories told the Vikings as - but there was more to him than fables, more than his accents, than his bulk and tones body. There was always more than met the eye - as in the case with Fox, Týr felt. She was small but at the end of the day the size of her body didn’t mind. She had the respect of her pack - including his own - and seemed like a more than worthy leader. “Dróttning,” Týr repeated, even though he knew that was the word she was inquiring about. “It is ‘old’ Norse; it's meaning is Queen.” It was the language of his people - at least those of Odinn’s Cove. Languages was something Týr had always been good at, mastering both the common tongue and the old Norse at roughly the same time in his childhood. Or so Ragnar had boasted at any rate - it wasn’t as if Týr could really remember much of his childhood.

“Huh,” Fox replied when he explained what the word meant. She hardly felt worthy of such a title, but since flattery was one of those things she just could not say "no" to, she did not correct him or try to discourage him from using the moniker. He seemed slightly less ready to go, so Fox decided to continue their conversation, rather than send him on his way. “Have you met Njal? He kinda has your same accent, I think.” The fireball tended to be rather unobservant, which is why she had not noticed the connection before. And honestly, she had a terrible time understanding anybody who talked too much differently than herself. Thankfully for the both of them, they seemed to know the common tongue well enough to communicate without using solely grunts and body language.

Perhaps if she had been more of a visual creature, Fox would have noticed the dashing chocolate coat and eye markings of Sveinn. She was not, of course, and tended to see things as they were: a wolf who happened to be brown. He had strength, but also an ounce of finesse. These were physical aspects, not visual ones. Beauty was not something that Fox understood or cared about, so she tended to ignore it all together.

Fox did not give any more than a thoughtful noise shortly after Týr had finished explaining to her what the word meant. Týr was not particularly bothered by her appearing to be lack of interest in his language, but he was contented that she did not vocalize any sort of dislike either. Týr took this to mean that it was ok for him to continue calling her by the title known by his culture. In this, it would be easier for him to establish that connection of leader and subordinate given that he could now apply the term ‘alpha female’ to his own words. Of course Týr understood what it meant regardless, but it was more …comfortable this way. “I have, yes,” Týr informed her, with a thoughtful twitch of his lips upwards ever so slightly. “We are both Northerners, and in this they are similar but still unique.” In a way that made them sort of like regional kin of sorts, or at least this was how Týr chose to view it, despite the differences between Njal’s language (and culture, likely) and his own.

Silence fell upon Týr then, and the Nord shifted his weight, clearing his throat - not that he had anything of any particular interest to say. “How are your wounds?” He inquired politely then, as his crystal eyes skimmed the marks that were visible to him before he diverted his eyes, in a manner that was relatively akin to demure. Týr did not know much of medicines which meant that he was generally useless when it came to tending to wounds, but it felt like a considerate thing to inquire about (of course he could have very well been dead wrong). “How did you acquire them …if I may inquire?” It was not any of his business, as he had ascertained earlier, but curiosity was a damning thing.

It seemed that although Njal and Sveinn were from the same area, they still had their differences. Fox couldn't tell an apple from an orange most days, so it was no wonder that she had not caught on to that fact right away. When the northerner asked about her wounds, she eyeballed them for a split second. “Wound-like,” she replied. Although the cuts were deep and ragged, Fox was not worried about them. Perhaps she should have been, but she thought if she could just rest and eat, she would heal up in no time. That may have been foolish of her, but it was just the way she was.

“Some cougar came watlzing into our territory. I wasn’t going to have any of that, so I made an example outta him.” Granted, Fox had gotten her ass kicked in the process, but she was sure that no other wild cat would dare cross into their territory now. Unless, of course, she had somehow pissed off a whole clan of them and they were all going to come running in at once. Fox was short-sighted and reactive, which was one of her most prominent downfalls. She failed to mention that the whole pack had helped her in killing the beast, but figured that if Sveinn wanted to believe that she had single-handedly taken down the beast, she was perfectly fine with that.

Týr studied Fox as subtly as he could, not wanting his curiosity to be mistaken for intentions. He was simply staring, trying to understand her because she was, well, different; as alien to him as he probably was to her. In hindsight, Týr could not recall ever meeting another like her, before, though, so his curiosity was seemingly a natural thing. Briefly, Týr was staggered by her response to his question, calling her wounds ‘wound-like’. For a few moments defining upon the a couple heart-beats Týr simply blinked at her, unsure if he should have let the bubbling humor at that spill forth, or not. In the end, he decided to let a soft chuckle escape under his breath and accompanied it with, “I would imagine so,”. A slight smirk teased at the edges of the Nord’s lips never quite making it to a full smirk; after all, Fox was his leader and he did not know enough of her yet to know her sense of humor - or even, likewise, if she had one.

Attentively, Týr listened to her explanation of what had transpired that had given her those wounds, ears cupping forth to give the further impression of his rapt attention. “Hmm,” The Northerner rumbled thoughtfully as he eyed Fox, once more, trying to picture her taking on a cougar single-handily. She did not boast that she had taken it down by herself, yet she did not hint that she had assistance, either. How it had been defeated did not really matter to Týr, simply that it no longer posed a threat to anyone else. “That was very brave,” Maybe a little reckless, but it sounded like something he would have done, himself, and so he had no right to consider anyone else reckless. “And commendable. He could have posed many threats to the pack, and to me the fact that you went after him shows that you care about this pack,” Týr paused, drawing in a soft breath. “You should wear them proudly.” Of course Týr would say that, but it was something he believed, nevertheless, despite that he, himself, did not have any scars to boast of.

The call for him was not urgent, so Haunter did not exactly hurry to meet his Alpha—and this was only because he had returned from the coast just last night and was decidedly very tired, having been asleep at the time the call rang out. Long legs slowly drew him from within his den and into the direction of the call's origin. As he walked, he remembered the last time he had seen Fox. It was not the cougar attack, but rather the night after when he had went to check on her.

Granted she had been in a deep, well-needed sleep and he had left without disturbing her, but he had checked in on her nonetheless. Haunter was neither skilled nor well-versed in social mannerisms, so a more apt wolf might've taken to Fox's side, cleaned a few of her wounds and may have otherwise provided her some company. But of course, the one-earred Rorschach inkblot was not such a wolf and had unconsciously been a little wary of disturbing the injured Fox, so he had kept his distance so to speak.

The fact that the red-furred yearling had called to him now was a surprise, but it was a surprise that he found he actually appreciated in some way. So the real reason Haunter took his time in arriving, was because he didn't want to seem too eager to see her. His pace only picked up when the scent of an unfamiliar wolf reached his nostrils, as well as the scent of prey.

He materialized somewhere to the left of the pair, yellow eyes glancing first towards the new subordinate—quietly assessing that there was no threat here—before swiveling unto Fox. He pulled his ear back and ducked his large head respectfully as he padded to his marred Alpha's side. He brought his long muzzle beneath hers briefly, and then repositioned himself so that he loomed like a dark tower at her side, facing the large, coffee-brown male. As usual, he was silent.

Her wound comment had been made in jest, though it was a dryer sense of humor than most had. She also simply disliked being asked the question because she felt that others did not really even care about the answer. If she said they were doing better, Sveinn likely would have nodded and said something about how he was glad. If she said they were causing terrible pain, he likely would have felt sorry for her. Neither of those things felt particularly useful to the fireball, so she'd made the decision to avoid it all together and give him a non-response.

Fox shrugged, though she inwardly dwelled on his compliments. She was a sucker for flattery, and Sveinn was doing a fine job of it. The scars the cougar would give her would only be added to the one that was atop her head. That one, however, was courtesy of Jinx. It had healed over now, but there was a clear line of missing fur where the white girl's teeth had sunk in. Fox thought they gave her some kind of extra personality, though she wasn't really sure why.

When Haunter showed himself, Fox had almost forgotten that it was him she had called for in the first place. She greeted him with a bump of her nose to his shoulder, but then turned her attention to Sveinn. “Thank you for the rabbit, Sveinn. If you don't mind, I’d like to speak to Haunter privately.” It was her oh-so subtle way of telling him to scram.

Once Sveinn had left the premises, Fox turned her attention back to Haunter. She did not move from her spot beside him (mainly due to the pain it would cause her), but she did turn her neck so she faced him. “I hope I didn’t pull you away from anything terribly important,” she said, though it was mostly said as a joke. Surely there was nothing more important than her! “I wanted to thank you for coming to my aid the other day.” Obviously, she meant the cougar.

This is Týr's exit. :-)

It was not long before they were joined by another, a male cloaked in the abysmal colors of shadows with bright yellow eyes that Týr felt upon him as he was assessed. This was only fair and to be expected to the Viking, for Týr was assessing the shadow beast in turn. Týr watched as the male approached Fox, and it was decided that the ebony man was the one that Fox had sent out the summons for in the first place. “Of course meinn dróttning.” Týr murmured as he bowed his head to first Fox and then the other male - Haunter - Fox had called him. Týr had caught on quickly to Fox’s hint - and would have excused himself even if she hadn’t made it obvious his presence was no longer needed. Quietly, the Nord turned and seeming evaporated into the landscape, figuring he could gather a few more rabbits for the caches; or at least find some other task that would make him useful.

Haunter watched the male go, staring even after he had long melted away into nothingness. It was Fox's voice that drew the ebony phantom out his personal thoughts, and he looked at her mildly, yellow eyes as intense as ever, despite the unknowing affection he felt towards the small Alpha. "You woke me up," he told her unabashedly, though was almost certain she didn't truly care. He had come to her, and that was what mattered most.

She thanked him then, which he thought wholly unnecessary, so he shrugged his lean shoulders slightly, tipping his head at her and making the unevenness of his head seem slightly more pronounced. "You expected different of me?" he asked her, though this was slightly rhetorical—Haunter was actually humored by her thanks, and he wondered if she had been calling out to each of her pack in order to individually deal out her appreciation.

He looked away then, gazing back in the direction their newcomer had disappeared to. "What did he call you?" the Epsilon asked abruptly, as obviously the lingering thought was bothering him somewhat.

The fireball gave Sveinn a quick nod before turning her attention to Haunter. She felt the tiniest hint of guilt when he said she had woken him up, though she washed it away with a blink. She had no way of knowing his current conscious state at any given point. While Fox had not actually gone out to each and every member of her pack to thank them, it was not her only reason for calling him here. She would see each of them eventually, and she could thank them as time allowed. Already, Tuwawi had shown up at her doorstep, and she was sure that she would hear from Bones, Jinx, and Njal in due time. Then again, she had a feeling Njal would not be up to entertaining company for some time.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect from you,” replied Fox, as honestly as she could. Haunter was somewhat of a mystery to her, although she could not deny that she liked having him around. A part of her expected him to be gone without a trace, even though she had expressed her desire to at least know when he was planning on leaving. He was not overly social, so she was unsure about what his role was among their other comrades, too. However, his actions during the cougar fight had been nothing but appropriate, and she felt it necessary to make sure he knew that she had liked what he had done.

“It means 'queen' in his native language,” she replied. She would have to take his word on it, considering the syllables he pronounced had no meaning at all to her (except what he gave her). Fox could have easily cross-referenced the word with Njal, but since Sveinn seemed pleasant enough, she had no reason to doubt him.

“Hm, despite me waking you… you seem to have gotten your beauty sleep,” she said, eyeballing him from the side. Without that second ear, he would always be a little bit lopsided. Still, Fox couldn't help but think that he had his own appeal over the other males that resided in the creek. She had been on the lookout for potential baby-makers for next year, and while she knew that Haunter likely would not be around by that time, she did think that they would make some fine children.

Her lack of expectations for the dark male was probably smart on Fox's part, and felt no hurt over it. In fact, given her position he would've written himself off long ago—though the little silver-eyed blaze seemed to hold some hope for his enigmatic company, even if he did not know this personally. He looked at her when she was to answer him, and to be quite frank he didn't really like her answer: "queen".

Though Fox was technically a queen, a feeling of irritation had been stirred inside his chest at the knowledge that a young male had called her as such. Unconsciously his upper lip curled slightly, but he realized the sneer had arose and tried to deflect it by speaking again. "Well... it's better than m'lady," he drawled in a very poor, very sarcastic impression of Mr. Ferdie Von Pelt. Actually, in his mind, it was somehow worse, although he would be loathe to admit this to young Fox because she would undoubtedly want to know why he thought as such.

He was looking away when she spoke again, this time gazing in a direction that would not bring ire to his thoughts, but rather composure. He realized he was getting a tad riled over nothing; but her words drew him completely off-guard and made him forget the envious feeling mushrooming in his chest. He was silent, staring at her blankly for a long moment as he was wondering how exactly to take her words. He started to compliment her in some way, but the words caught in his throat and he coughed once, unintentionally.

Haunter looked down and then back up, finding that he had been quiet for far too long. "H-How are your wounds? Do they need cleaning—or more herbs?" he started uncertainly, but was clearly trying to deflect the conversation from being about himself. He was studying her body now, eying the particularly unfortunate gash at her side, which seemed to be the worse of her injuries. Now Haunter had never tended to an injured wolf other than himself, but the motions (he figured) were instinctual in the very least and it was only a matter of awaking long-forgotten social etiquette.

Idk why I love putting Haunter in awkward situations.

Fox snorted at his remark about Ferdie. “That guy is a trip.” She still wasn't sure what to think of the strange creature that Haunter had greeted at there borders a few days before the cougar. Ferdie was... bizarre, at the very least. Then again, Fox could not say that she was completely normal, and she certainly would not say such a thing about any of her crew here at Swiftcurrent Creek. Perhaps it should be renamed Swiftcurrent Quirk. It made her wonder where the stinky old Lecter was and if he was just stealing from their caches without replenishing them. The horrid thing was Fox's least favorite thing about the creek, and yet she could not find it in herself to turn him away. Mostly because even being close to him made her stomach turn.

It seemed her half-assed compliment had somehow gotten to the oh-so-stoic Haunter, and she looked at him expectantly as he coughed instead of spoke. Somehow he managed to change the subject entirely, and Fox quirked a brow. “Tuwawi took care of them,” she replied, “Although that was a couple of days ago, and there’s this one spot I can’t reach.” Standing up and shuffling over to Haunter, she positioned herself so that her shoulder blade was easily accessible to him. The cat's claw had hooked in on the left shoulder and dragged across her back, making it damn-near impossible for her to clean those particular wounds.

LOL and awkward Haunt is especially awkward now :B THANKS A LOT, REM

"...this one spot I can't reach." Haunter went slightly rigid as the injured Fox hobbled nearer, the fur along his spine raising as his uncertainty mounted to an all-new high. He watched, dumbfounded and too stupid to close the distance for her, as she was clearly in no real condition to be moving around. She lingered now, with the fiery blush of her shoulder grazing neatly against his lean, dark chest as she presented him with her wounded shoulder-blade, clearly a spot her own tongue could not attend to.

He did not balk at the sight of the wound—a smear of ugly black and glistening red against her otherwise pleasant, auburn frame—but he hesitated to touch her, his singular ear pulling back as he suddenly regretted asking about her wounds. Slowly he lowered his elongated snout, salmon-hued tongue escaping the trap of his teeth and touching her marred flesh quick and rough, lacking the gentle touch of a lover or healer as he'd known neither type of touch before himself.

Realizing that he hadn't started off well, he grunted and repositioned himself in a sit, which forced a lot of his muscles to relax considerably. He tried again, slower and gentler this time, skimming the tender edges of her wound rather than acting as if he were trying to lap up her scabbing skin.

I do what I can!

Fox had made this particular move for a few reasons. She wanted Haunter to trust her, for one. Making herself vulnerable to him was the easiest and most surefire way of doing this. If she could show him that she was willing to be under his care, it was possible he would think of it as she hoped. Secondly, she hoped to return the favor one day. That would only further his trust in her (according to logic), and that in turn would strengthen their bond of trust, should one begin forming now. But this was not only about trust. Fox also wished to see his reaction to her in particular. Not just as a subordinate, but on a more personal level. Everything was a game to Fox; she just had to learn the rules first.

The skin on her back flinched when his tongue met it, but she stood strong, allowing the saliva to heal her wounds as he raked over them. It was a sort of painful pleasure that she had experienced a few times now. The caressing was unmatched and comforting, although she could still feel every inch of her body tense due to the cleansing properties of Haunter's saliva. When she heard him shifting, she thought perhaps her plan had failed, but a quick look back assured her that he was merely getting into a more comfortable position. He became gentler, and Fox let out a heavy sigh of contentment, despite the occasional stinging that came with this kind of treatment.

As her skin twitched and shuddered beneath the slick touches of his probing tongue, he considered stopping in an incessant worry that he was hurting her, but Fox made no move to side-step him or otherwise rebuke his ministrations, so he kept at his surprisingly gentle service as smoothly as possible. He had only groomed one other wolf before in his entire life, and though he could not compare the two situations, he found himself doing it anyway.

The salt of her raw, healing flesh was unpleasant, as wolf's blood tended to be—especially the dried and crusted type—but Haunter was not persuaded to stop. In fact, though the wolf would be hard-pressed to be called glad in any fashion, he found himself completely content to be attending to Fox's injury. Perhaps it was because she was his Alpha, but then again, if he had refused, he doubted she would've punished him besides being disappointed. So, maybe it wasn't that...

Without entirely meaning to, he had left the top of her shoulder, and began to slowly, meticulously follow the lengthy claw marks down to her side.

When she felt that he had reached the entirety of the spots she could not, Fox assumed that he would stop. Instead, he continued along her ribs. Surprised, but not at all disliking the treatment, Fox remained where she was, allowing him to continue his work. If Fox had been born a year earlier, she would have been acting quite a bit differently in this moment. As it was, she did not feel the burning that more mature girls did. Instead, Fox simply felt the same strange stirring that she had with Njal. It was slightly different this time. Perhaps only because it was familiar to her. It was a warmth that no fire could have created.

Without stopping to think about it, Fox curved her own neck and sought Haunter's fur with a small pink tongue. If he had any injuries, they were small ones, but she was not searching for them. She simply wished to return the favor with a few small caresses of her own. It was only natural, after all. A friendly gesture to assure him that she appreciated the extra effort he seemed to be putting into her care.

As he groomed her, Haunter suddenly felt an unfamiliar warmth against his shoulder and then his chest. His body tensed for a moment and then relaxed against the pleasantness of it, and didn't cease to gently tend to her. Fox's touch was entirely foreign, but not in any way unwelcome. She touched none of his fresher scars, but rather very old ones, long overgrown with his dark fur. He felt strangely self-conscious about his ruined body, but the small female didn't seem to mind, and he did not stop her.

She was young, irritatingly young, so he felt no carnal desire to have her in that way. But there was a feeling inside his chest—one newly stirring, freshly boiling—that consisted of a possessiveness he could not quite explain, even to himself. His tongue returned to its home for a moment, and he pressed his muzzle tenderly into the side of her neck, just briefly, and just so that he could draw her pleasant moon-like gaze into his unpleasant, sunny one.

"As long as I'm near, I will not let anything like this happen to you again.. Fox." His low, raspy voice was punctuated with a growl. He didn't know what he was promising, but he now found himself wanting to stay, forgetting all about the creeping spring-time and his earlier indication of abandonment. Right now, there was only Fox, and he lowered his head to press his long muzzle into the sweet crook of her chin and neck just to make sure that she, and this moment was real.

Although Fox always felt small, she felt minuscule in comparison to Haunter right then. While he was not the largest wolf she had ever encountered, he felt like a giant. She was stunned when he turned toward her, their eyes locking for the briefest of moments before she averted her gaze. But it was his words that really shocked her. It seemed completely out of character for him, but she had not known him all that long, so perhaps this was typical Haunter behavior. Deep down, she yearned for his presence, and yet... and yet...

She did not believe him.

How could she? He had made it abundantly clear from the moment he had shown up that he intended to leave once the days grew longer and warmer. Fox did not require him to stay, nor did she expect it of him. No, he was just a passing figure that would leave her when the time was right. “Do not make promises you cannot keep,” she said in a lowered, soft voice. Her tone was somewhere between pained and knowing. Fox allowed herself to enjoy his wolfish embrace for only a few brief seconds before withdrawing from his chest.

Even if he promised only to keep her safe until he left the creek, he was making an unwise choice. It was Fox's prerogative to get herself into trouble, and he would only be setting himself up for failure. The yearling was unwilling to allow herself to grow attached to somebody who would only disappear just when she had found contentment. It was an ounce of prevention she had learned from her brief affection to Njal. While he had not physically disappeared, she still believed he had been taken from her.

When she looked at him, he could see her for the young wolf she was. Naive and foolish. She wanted to trust him, to take his words and believe them with all her heart; but he saw the glimmer of disbelief just as she looked away, and Haunter did not blame her. A part of himself regretted saying what he said. He knew it was foolhardy to want to protect someone from the life of a wolf which was inherently dangerous, and especially for Fox, who seemed to draw trouble like a magnet...

And then there was another side of him, a wholly unfamiliar side that he could not deny. He had only wanted to protect and serve one other wolf in this manner, but she had refused him, and he had not opened himself up since. He wasn't exactly being open now, but he felt—with her—a capacity to do and say anything she asked, answer all of her questions, make her happy. And more than any of that he wanted to protect her—be her ever-lasting shadow. He could hardly explain any of this to her; he simply didn't know how.

She pulled away from him, and an unhappy growl pitched in the back of his throat, but he continued to sit, and did not approach her again. "I wouldn't dare lie to you," he said lowly, yellow eyes glancing from left to right and then settling on her injured shoulder. "I will stay, for as long as you'll have me, and I will be yours until I stop breathing." He did not mean as her lover. He didn't think he loved Fox—she was so young! But he did not feel fatherly or brotherly towards her either. Family was an unfriendly concept to him.

He couldn't explain the need she had suddenly spurred in him to be anything she wanted him to be, as he had not experienced it before. He had never wanted to stay with any one wolf and do as they bid. He had never been fond of authority, male or female alike, but this was different... She was different. And she had accepted him just as rough as he was, without prejudice or fear as he had been received so many times before. Haunter cared for Fox, and he wanted her to believe him, so he was willing to prove it.

You're welcome to fade out with your next post if you'd like, but I'm also happy to keep it going. :) I heart these two!

From an outsider's perspective, there was some irony in the way both of them protected themselves. Fox would not allow herself to feel for him, and he would not allow himself to feel for her. Even if they were feeling something for one another in that moment, they seemed to be feeling entirely different things. Or were they? Perhaps this outsider is up far too late and reading too much into things.

Fox had known family. Her own had been perfectly normal from what she could tell, and yet she had never felt at home with them. Her parents had surely loved her, and while she had scrapped with her siblings day-in and day-out, they had never hated one another. There was a kinship among them that would never be broken, no matter how much Fox tended to forget that her past had happened at all. So no, family was not a foreign concept to her. But having Haunter as some kind of family was about as foreign as it could get. He had all but promised to leave them come springtime, and Fox did not believe that his change of heart would last.

But she could not deny him.

“Then stay,” she said softly, a stark contrast to his half-threatening growl and gravely voice. With much care, Fox curled herself up on the floor of her den, glancing up to invite him to join her. There were no adulterous overtones in her motions because she lacked the capacity for them. It would be at least a year before she came into her own in that regard. She would not be surprised if he passed her up on her offer, but she would also not be surprised if he accepted it. If he truly did wish to protect her as he said he did, then staying by her side when she was at her physical weakest was the best course of action.

Here's a good spot! We can always have another ;)

"Then stay," she bid him, and he knew in his heart that he would. Wandering was in his nature, but Teekon was so expansive that he could wander all around it, and still come home to Fox. Home... He ignored the word in his head, having never called any place besides Hollow Mountain his home, and that desolate arena had showered him with nothing but misery since the day of his omen-bearing birth. He watched her, the small firecracker whose fuse had been tattered by the claws and teeth of a cougar, limp back into her den, and he followed wordlessly.

He stood at the entrance, blocking most of the light, but he only waited to let her settle before gliding to her side and wrapping his long body about her curled form in a closeness that had been absent of him for at least two years now. He nibbled intimately at her ruff, licking the back of her ears before tenderly preening the fringes of her wounded shoulder once more. He was quiet for a long while, listening to her breaths as they evened out and slowed in a motion that suggested she was comfortable and falling asleep curled so neatly into him as she were.

"Until I stop breathing," he repeated quietly to her, finding himself hoping that she would dream of his words and believe them when she woke and he was still at her side. Haunter would not return to his own den any more. He would not spend every night with Fox because he sometimes left the Creek on his selfish exploits, but each time from that day forward, when he returned he would return to her and her warmth.

For now, he lay his large head beside hers and gazed through the mouth of her den, ever-watchful as she slept.