OOC: @Fox Following days after the encounter with Haunter and Tuwawi, but before the NSV event. Depending on the amount of responses, this thread MAY turn private.
Spring was meant to be a time of good fortune. A time of rebirth and beginnings to new things. It was a time of possibilities to prepare for the coming seasons and of course, a time for the coming of new life. And of course, it was a known time for game to be plentiful… that no predator would know the pangs of hunger. But in the infancy of the season, the literal bite of another’s starved state was what she came to know. Initially, the bite of the dark male of the Creek had been seen as little more than unfortunate scuffle. A crossing of paths while one was hungry; an unfortunate passing and nothing more. But to find the red lady of the Creek not soon after coveting the remnants of another predator’s kill (by their lands, no less!) led the concerned mind to assume that something was amiss in the Creek. And perhaps spring had not brought them the bounty she had assumed.
She was not presumptuous to think the Vale was wholly plentiful. As sure as the sun was to set in the eve, she was certain in time the fodder would flee from their borders to more nourished lands. But for the time, she perceive the rich forests were filled with more than beyond the mountain. At least enough to sustain its inhabitants until the need for much larger game became dire. And perhaps there would be enough flesh to share with their neighbors.
If only to discourage these unpleasant encounters from continuing.
Not long after the tan female made her silent decision, she made for the Creek by the afternoon with a cargo in tow. A fair-sized weasel hung by the neck from her jaws, adorned with but a single red flower found in the foods. As she had caught the animal by the blossoming bush, she believed its buds were of some significance; a sign perhaps from a greater power that she might find success if its likeness accompanied the kill. She carried such optimisms while heading to the borders, but reality kept her mindful of both her pace and proximity. Lest she be seen with the intent to invade and cause unrest, she slowed her purposeful match to a walk and allowed her body to slouch in an open, relaxed show. Slowing to a halt away from the scented markers, she placed both flower and prey down by her paws, then wet her maw before raising her voice in request for the pack’s lead. |
Fox felt nearly back to normal, following the harrowing encounter with the cougar, and she was convinced that the last frost would be soon. Last night had been a cold one, but surely there could not be too many more before the earth decided it was time for warmth day-in and day-out. She had begun the day by stretching herself in the den, still laying on her side, pushing herself into Haunter as she did so. He groaned, and she countered this with a snort before rolling onto her stomach and exiting their little hole in the ground.
She spent several minutes grooming herself, licking and biting out whatever dirt and grime had gathered over the evening. A rustling in the bushes caused her attention to be redirected, and she investigated with mild curiosity. By the time she got there, whatever it was had either run off or flown away, for Fox could find nothing but the bushes themselves. Shrugging her shoulders, the yearling was about to seek out one of her pack-mates when the resounding howl came forth.
Now with a clear purpose, Fox jogged toward the source of the call. The distinct smell of a fresh kill was apparent as she drew closer, and the yearling licked her chops in anticipation. It seemed common for joiners seeking refuge to bring her a kill, and she had become rather fond of the tradition. And yet... this was clearly not a lost soul looking for a home. Fox bristled, though she kept her lips firmly over her teeth. The smell of Northstar Vale was thick upon the female who had the weasel at her feet. Suspicious, unwilling to make the first move, Fox stood several yards away and looked pointedly at the visitor.
A singular timber standing within the closing wild, she stood still, anticipating the eventual appearance of the pack lead. She was of calm mind and ease, taking note the land in her leisure. Apprehension was far from the reach of her mind as she adopted a more optimistic state of thought. Once before, she had stood on these borders to wait though the company was exceedingly smaller than that time. And once again, she brought with her the peaceful intentions that had become her party before, but with less patience as was once embraced in ignorance.
Here now, as she stood was by a single thread, already worn, bitten, weathered, and frayed. A sliver of hope forged and cared for in promise to her dear companion resting beyond the borders. The mentor whom she respected and adored… but would release if his ilk offered only hostility and ill-contempt upon greeting. She had grown tired… so very tired of the dire need to protect against their like. When there were those that did not deserve such skepticism and ill regard, yet the minds were warped to regard the other so maliciously. She knew it was not fair, yet she was favoring more the mindset of her superior… and stop caring all together. Let tooth and claw be their greeting upon sight. Yet in her heart, she wished this future would not come about.
Sighing softly as she dismissed her thought, her eyes had lowered to take note of a small splinter in her paw, til the rustle of flora alerted her to an approaching form. Rich russet and as small as the day of their first encounter, but upon her shoulders now was the distinguished wear of leadership. And her eyes too were of the same likeness as the Creek wolves she had seen; hard with an unwarranted suspicion. Rolling her tongue over her lips, she did her best to ignore it with a polite dip of her muzzle and soft utterance of a word.
"Good day," she grumbled. "I have come from the Vale with an offering and a proposal, if you would listen." Smoothly tan paws guided her from the weasel in gesture for it to be taken. She spared but a questioning look to the small female, then let her gaze rest comfortably at the ground by her own feet. |
Fox did not step toward the weasel, choosing to remain where she had stopped in the first place. Knowing that the other female could likely not see a nod, Fox spoke a single phrase to encourage the girl. “Go on.” The yearling was still on edge, and she did not see why such diplomatic trips were necessary. If the vale simply left them alone, the creek would not interfere. At least not on a whole-pack basis. What the individual members did was up to them, as Fox was not one to police them all day.
Patiently she stood by and waited, in the hopes that her gesture might be received. Though when the warm flesh of the quarry remained untouched, Xi’nuata simply turned her muzzle from it and remained standing as she was. A flicker of optimism slipped across her bi-colored eyes with the hope that in time it would become accepted truly as an offering.
“On occasion,” she began softly, carefully minding the tone of her raspy words. “The paths crossed between the Vale and the Creek have not always been… kind. I do not expect there to be peace all the time when each member walks in the presence of another-“ her ears flicked back then just as quickly righted “-but perhaps this season, we might encourage a change.” The warrior paused for a moment, allowing her words to settle before she breathed softly once more to continue with her intentions. “I cannot speak for all the encounters of my brethren, but twice now I have encountered your own… hungry and aggressive. I have been a wanderer for a long while, and knew the pain and desperation of hunger. It is something I do not wish upon any of my brethren… nor yours.
“I would ask that you consider this season we might… assist each other. If not to unify… then to ensure that no one might feel the bite of another over something as available as food. And… it might serve as an advantage, give relief even… if we may hunt without conflict to prepare for new life…” |
"The creek does not wish for reliance on others. Nor for others to be reliant on us. If you dislike the attitude of the creek's inhabitants, I suggest you keep your distance from us. Let me clarify that what I say is not a threat, just information you may find useful. I do not wish for war,"—especially considering their current state of health—"and I do not believe the vale does, either." Fox paused, letting these words settle before she continued. "With more plentiful prey, we will stick to our lands more, and the neutral lands less. That should make avoiding us more simple."
The yearling would make no treaty with these wolves. Such a thing was far too solid. She merely offered them a suggestion as to how to avoid conflict, if that was their desire.
It was the warrior’s turn to listen then, though the relax state of her countenance might have portrayed something different. Her eyes ventured downward, fixed upon the moistened soil then drifted again the tawny furs of the prey growing cold. A stout ear would twitch occasionally as she absorbed the words of the young Alpha, yet no expression followed. Only a passive acceptance for what was spoken.
She would suggest they avoid each other rather than encourage more positive co-existence with the other. As if hiding away in one’s own territory was the absolute means to limit contact with another. Remain on their own lands and less in the neutral. Then what would become of the Creek with the prey began to dwindle? What of the Vale, for that matter?
“This information is not useful to me…” when her maw parted at last, it was with bit a whisper as she stepped forward toward the still carcass. “…but to others, yes.” Gingerly, she scooped the weasel nearer to her paws before lowering her muzzle to brush through its fur. The flower accompanying it, she left alone. “None of us intend for war,” she continued softly, distantly as if preparing to tread down a different path of thought. “That, I will relay to my brethren.” Though if the intrusion of the Creek’s pale wolf was of any example, there were bound to be those that did not share the same intentions. Swiftly, she took the offering by the head then raised her dulling eyes to the muzzle of the young wolf. “Be well, then,” she dipped her muzzle was she prepared to leave. |
Fox did not intend to make war. At least not on a pack-level. Had she still been a subordinate, she would have been causing quite a ruckus everywhere she went. Alas, she was a leader now, often bound by the confines of her home. She was not complaining, of course. It was just a much different way of life than what she was used to.
While the vale female did not seem particularly pleased with her answer, Fox was certain that she would not attempt to make any more peace treaties (or whatever it was she was trying to do). The flower was left on the ground; the weasel was taken; Fox was left to her own devices. Letting out a huff, the yearling turned her back to the vale and headed to the inner depths of Swiftcurrent's claim.