Sleeping Dragon Burn wild

Wildfire was sorely tempted to try tracking Saena and her wolves, yet she resisted. She didn't want to risk causing more conflict and, besides, she still wasn't in peak physical condition. Her ribs barely bothered her anymore but she had lost some muscle mass during the downtime. And there were plenty of things to do right here at home, like mapping the place, padding the stockpiles and meeting the rest of her pack mates properly.

On this particularly glorious April afternoon, she spent a few hours memorizing the borders, then headed deeper into the territory to hunt. She had barely gotten started tracking when she stepped on something sharp, eliciting a muffled ksssss! noise. Wildfire paused, turning over her paw to inspect the leathery paw pad. She plucked the sharp little stone out with her teeth, then ran her tongue over the wound, trying not to roll her eyes at her bad luck.

Gavriel had returned from the mission with nothing to show for it. He hadn't expected much action to begin with, but the wolves returned without any marks to show for it. Instead, even if they'd won in the long run, he still felt the urge to shred something. The large male remains on the borders for days to come to make sure there is nothing left to be worried about, that there are not Phoenix wolves left to cause harm to their own.

When he moves his weary feet inward, he notices the slight scent of blood. He finds the fox-colored girl that was meant to stand guard with him during the mission, but the plans changed and he searched alone. He harbors no ill-feelings toward her, the change had been necessary, as he'd been told, and he accepted that. However, he took the chance now to officially come face to face with his companion.

A soft chuff slips his jaws and he lowers his head and tail to suit their position in heda's hierarchy.

Her saliva clung to the wound, clotting the blood, and Wildfire gingerly put her foot back on the ground. She looked up again and caught sight of a large, tawny wolf moving toward her. She tensed instinctively, taking half a step backward, then stopped herself. This was a pack mate and there was nothing threatening about him, in spite of his size. As a matter of fact, he bowed his head to her in a clear sign of respect. Wildfire felt a little uneasy at this. She appreciated the gesture, of course, and she knew she had earned some measure of esteem with her involvement in the Heda's foiled war. But she had only been here a week or two, at most.

So she dipped her head to him, offering up her respect in equal measure, before her amber eyes rested softly on his face. "Are you Gavriel?" Wildfire guessed. She had seen him at the meeting—he had arrived with Thuringwethil, in fact—though he hadn't joined the group in the morning. Between these and other contextual clues, she was pretty sure she was correct in her assumption. If not, well, he would correct her and Wildfire would get another opportunity to roll her eyes at herself.

He knew little about healing—it hadn’t been his speciality—but in a moment of war and battle, he knew how to patch up, or at least to get the blood to stop, and keep going. The girl’s wound seems small, minor, but on the bottom of her paw would cause irritation later and take longer to heal. If it is small enough, maybe it wouldn’t cause a problem, but he doesn’t get the chance to really investigate because she’s already asking him a question.

Gavriel grunts a hearty mhmm with a nod of his head.

“And you must be Wildfire?” he asks with a light swish of his tail, shifting so he can crane his neck a little forward but her foot is down and he can’t see anything. “Foot okay?” he asks then, hoping it is small enough—the loss of their healer had been a big hit, even if he didn’t know about the situation. Big enough he might consider switch trades this late in his life but he doesn’t linger on that thought often, knowing Wildfire’s injuries aren’t significant enough to cause concern.

Luckily, she wouldn't have to feel stupid twice in one hour (although there was plenty of opportunity yet...). He confirmed his identity, then queried after her own. A gentle smirk curled her lip and she nodded. Her mouth opened to say something when he asked about her foot. Lips pressed together and brow furrowed slightly as she blinked down at her paw, then back up at Gavriel. She bobbed her head again.

"What gave it away?" she said first, jokingly referencing her name, then added, "I think it'll be fine. I stepped on a rock. I cleaned it and it stopped bleeding." She paused, then curiously inquired, "Why? Are you a medic?"

Gavriel had met a handful of the other wolves, and then those he knew are out of the process. Until this moment, he thought he’d met all the other females aside from the one that was meant to help him during the raid, but it wasn’t terribly hard to figure out the smaller girl. “You look like your namesake,” he decides to say with a slight smile on his features. It is small, and does not last long, but the swish of his tail goes a lot longer in the way of friendliness.  

“I am not. I know a little, enough to use something quick in battle if I need to, but I would hardly call it healing,” he explains. He could stop a wound from bleeding, he could give someone mercy, but curing ailments and disease were beyond his power. “I considered changing my speciality to it, since we no longer have one, but I am not sure I would be any good at it.”

She pondered his reply while peering absently at her foot, turning it over to inspect the small injury on its underside. There was a distinctive cut in the tough gray flesh, exposing a sliver of pink. There was already some dirt packed into the wound; it was rather inevitable. When Gavriel fell silent, her amber eyes wandered back up to his face and, after a short pause, she held out her forefoot to him.

"I could be your guinea pig, if you want? Is there anything else I can do, besides keep it clean? Maybe a... paste or something I could pack in it?" she guessed, thinking back on her limited experience with Raven's medical expertise.

He smirks when she offers herself up and shakes his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know much. You’ve already done what I could do. Keep it clean, though, and if it bleeds again, moss is a good way to help stop the bleeding. Just pressure to it. A better alternative to the ground,” he tells her with a shrug. Whether or not he went into healing would be something he could determine later. He’d have to find someone to teach him a few things, what to avoid and what to look for, so in the time being he supposes he’d stick to the things he’s already best at.

“Hungry?”

He told her to pack it with moss if it came right down to it and Wildfire pondered that a moment. It made sense. She nodded, though she doubted she would pay much attention to it beyond this discussion. She was such a klutz, she was used to sporting all sorts of scrapes and bruises all the time. This was just one of many in her personal collection. She probably wouldn't even feel it after this.

Gavriel distracted her with a single word: "Hungry?" The yearling's warm eyes flashed. "Yeah, actually. I was just heading in to hunt. I'm a small game specialist," Wildifre said modestly, subtly letting him know her preferences as she waited to her what he would say next.

They move on from healing, and he doesn’t mind, thankful to move to something he’s in his own skill set. Instinct often took in with his talents, and perfecting them over the years of training but his own speciality between each set was more of a broad spectrum rather than anything in particular. The quietness of Drageda, now that the war is over, might give him a chance to mold his skill later.

“Lead the way?” he offers with a swish of his tail, moving forward a few steps but giving her the chance to lead. “I don’t really… I am probably not very good on the mountain, though,” he states. He is used to unsteady and flat dirt and stand, rather than the random inclines and rocky terrain of the dragon.

He invited her to lead the way, then commented on the nearby slopes. Wildfire glanced at the dozing volcano, then quirked her lips at Gavriel. "I prefer to hunt on even ground myself." Who knew what damage she would do trying to capture prey on the mountainside? It was totally unfamiliar terrain and she was nothing if not clumsy. "Let's head this way," she suggested, pointing her smudged snout toward the grassland just this side of the Qeya River. Surely there would be some small critter or another to hunt, maybe even along the riverside.

"Hey," she thought out loud as they began to trot in that direction, "I guess we no longer have to worry about crossing the river, huh?" Wildfire let out a breath and nibbled at her lip. Although she was glad the Phoenix Maplewood wolves had gone and the lot of them had avoided bloodshed, she secretly worried about Saena and her pups. Hopefully they had gotten to safety somewhere, somehow. "I don't think we'll have to, though. Plenty of prey near water."

Not too much later, they arrived at the riverbank, Wildfire slowing to a stop to scan their surroundings before dropping her nose to sniff. She doubted Gavriel needed to be told what to do, so she began moving east downstream, combing for any viable scents and hoping he would do the same.

Gavriel is thankful she admits to hunting on flatter ground. He’s sure he’d slip or fall over something, tumble down half the mountain, and break his neck if he weren’t careful. Guarding the borders have been the closest thing to flat and steady ground, where he spends most of his time. It gave him a little ease while he worked on steadying his new, rebuilt legs for the mountain. Without objection, the large male moves forward and follows along with her.

“Do you know why the agreement was put into place in the first place?” he asks. Thuringwethil had only told him not to cross, that there had been agreement, but the cause he’d been left in the dark. “I mean, I understanding keeping separated from the others, but something had to have happened, right?” he questions, with a slight tilt of his head. Perhaps, if Wildfire didn’t know, he’d ask someone else, but it no longer seems important.  

The large male puts a little distance between them once his question had been answered, nose to the ground, and begins his own search.

She honestly didn't know the answer to his question, so she shook her head lightly. She knew that if she asked the commander, Thuringwethil would surely explain the reasons for the conflict. But Wildfire neither needed nor particularly wanted to know, if she was honest. She was glad that it had ended without violence. She hoped her sister and her wolves were somewhere safe and that Drageda would be left in peace.

A dutiful silence stretched between them as they covered ground with their noses. It wasn't long before Wildfire struck the scent of a muskrat. She hadn't hunted many of them in her day, yet her mouth watered as the pungent odor filled her nose. She tracked it to the waterline, frowning thoughtfully as she scanned the nearby shallows. There were some cattails and other tall plants here. If she hid herself, she might be able to ambush a muskrat as it swam past or came onshore.

Woofing lowly under her breath, Wildfire tried to capture Gavriel's attention to inform her of this plan.

Wildfire isn’t able to get him an answer, and he considers—for a moment—he might inquire about the reason. He hadn’t necessarily been compelled before and it is over now, free to cross the river if they pleased, but the curiosity lingers in the back of his mind. It takes over his mind for several moments as they separate, nose to the ground, searching for a trace of something.

Her chuff, however, catches his attention and he swings his large head in her direction. She stands at the bank of the river and he pivots back, lazily trotting back in her direction. He stops nearby, feeling his toes sink into wet soil, and casts a sideways glance to his companion.

I know this is pre-BWP3 but I'm going to steal the dice for the outcome (for my next post). Evens = success. Roll: 1

Soon he moved to her side, allowing Wildfire to communicate her plan with a mixture of spoken word and body language. "Muskrat," she informed him in a hushed voice, sure he would have picked up the scent himself by now. "Going to wait and ambush. May take awhile." The get comfortable was implied as she rolled her shoulders and slung her belly down low, slithering in between the fronds of the cattails. Her eyes flicked over to see if he was doing the same as she grew still, then her chestnut eyes patiently began scanning the nearby shallows.

Gavriel understands quickly and he bobs his head a few times, back pedaling until he’s in a comfortable enough position beside her. He buries himself down onto the ground, though she has the better advantage of hiding than he does. His large form peaks out a little more than he’d care to for catching small game and he tries to shrink himself as much as possible. He buries his head low between his paws, mimicking the position of the smaller wolf, as he waits. The water disrupts every now and then and he feels himself twitch with anticipation each time.

Wildfire did not look at Gavriel as he settled beside her, sparing him a glance only when he fell still. She arched a brow and smiled as he tried to make himself look small and inconspicuous, then refocused on the water. She let out a low breath as she, too, hunched down as much as possible to wait.

It was literally more than an hour before the water began to ripple. Wildfire's vague gaze sharpened suddenly, her body tensing. She watched with bated breath as a muskrat paddled toward the nearby bank, saliva already pooling hot in her mouth. It made landfall perhaps six feet to the wolves' left, the would-be trapper's chestnut eyes tracking its every movement.

At the most opportune moment, she lunged at the wet, overgrown rodent. Wildfire aimed for the tail, which was its closest and most graspable appendage. But the darn thing was a lot faster than she had anticipated. With an indignant squawk, it splashed right back into the water and disappeared. The she-wolf could only stare at the rippling surface, then scan further outward. The muskrat did not reappear.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath, digging her heel into the moist bank and pivoting around to face Gavriel. "No dice," she stated the obvious. Wildfire's head tilted as she seemed to consider something. "And I don't think it's worth it to wait around and try again. Let's find something else to hunt," she suggested, brushing past him and shaking some moisture from her fur as she waited for Gavriel's rejoinder.

You can fade/conclude this if you like! :)

Gavriel has little patience for sitting still but forces him down into one spot. On the borders, he could keep moving, but here he sits only watching ahead of him, letting the time tick by in silence. There have been times his patience has been tested and he's able to put it took of use here, feeling only a little edgy as it goes by. Silence remains between them but he doesn't feel any discomfort in the process. Occasionally he'll glance away, for half a second, to see Wildfire focused on their target. 


It all happens in quick succession. There's a ripple but Gavriel is oblivious and Wildifre takes charge. He bursts through the grass onto wet, muddy ground and nearly slips and falls. When he catches himself, he realizes they lost this round. Wildfire gives them another alternative and he nods his head, and flinching as she shakes water from
her fur, and turns to follow behind her.