Barrow Fields blood and wine

The opossum had evaded him, escaping the clash of his teeth by seconds by slipping down into a burrow made in one of the strange mounds that dominated Borrow Fields. A snarl of frustration rumbled up within the strong column of the viking's throat and wretched itself from between his parted jowls. He'd nearly headbutted the mound, and spent a few moments digging furiously at the burrow's hole to hear the accursed beast scramble deeper into it's hiding place. An angry gnash of his teeth was given as he swallowed his pride and admitted the defeat, albeit with exaggerated reluctance. For now, he would go hungry, although hunger was not an unfamiliar companion to the brute. Sprouts had begun to appear, he'd taken note of the sigh of new life though the palette remained the same: monochrome, for Kjalarr's eye condition only let him see things as if he were watching an old black and white film. The world of the day was bleak to him always, but the world of the night and his dreams were far from it.

He paced to and fro before the mound his prey had vanished into before he figured while he was here he might as well explore. The opossum clearly was not going to come from it's hiding spot any time soon and there was no sense in wallowing over his failed hunt. He had only been through the Barrow Fields in passing and before had never taken the time to discover the mysteries it held. There was a shift in the breeze — cool against the muggy morning as it moved through his fur like the caress of fingers — and despite himself he felt his hackles bristle. He was not an easy beast to spook but something about this territory left him feeling a little unsettled. Two ravens soared overhead, letting out loud caws, momentarily seizing the viking's attention. Huginn and Muninn. No doubt the two ravens had caught his failure and when they returned to Asgard so, too, would the Allfather.

As the ravens vanished into the horizon Kjalarr turned his attention back to the ground and sniffed at the nearest mound, wondering what made them and why.

Hey bro! <3

Rather than turn back towards Moonspear, Floki continued along the coast. He was forced to deviate when he reached the cliffs of Blackbeak Bluff; he didn't know their name, but he looked wonderingly up at their sheer, steep edges as he turned inland. The dry seagrass eventually gave way to new springs of green as a field opened up before him, and he felt his heart jump into his throat. Plants were returning to the Teekon, which could only mean that the herds would return soon.

He nosed at a mound of dirt that presented itself before him, but his attention was drawn skyward by the sound of birds. He squinted into the hazy morning light, watching as they circled, and in his peripheral vision he spotted movement on the ground. His gaze landed on a silver figure and recognition dawned on him immediately.

"Tevinter!" he called out without hesitation, loping towards his brother.

twinnnn <3!!

Concentrated as he was on trying to detect any scents ...familiar and foreign to him Kjalarr was unaware of the other until a voice called out to him. Even in the seconds it took him to process that Floki had called him Tevinter — briefly forgetting that he had yet to correct his twin as he had Whittier — he sensed the familiarity of his twin without even having to look at him. Yet, when he did turn his silver and caribbean gaze to his twin — different from him in what Kjalarr believed to be every conceivable way — the tension of ire left the Viking's shoulders and his failed hunt was forgotten in the jubilation of seeing his twin again. Kjalarr realized that in a way — hearing one of his “old names” again sparked the idle contemplation — he was sort of like the Allfather, Odin: he was accumulating quite the collection of names. Jorunn, Tevinter, Kjalarr, though he hoped Kjalarr would be his last. It was exhausting to try to remember to remind or let everyone know he had changed it ...and then there would always be those who called him by his birth name.

“Floki,” Kjalarr called back and loped quickly to cross and eliminate the distance between them. They had promised to see one another again but their duties and their differing paths kept them busy. Still, Kjalarr intended to not waste this time while it had presented itself to him. “How are you?” The scarred Viking inquired, holding back the brotherly nudge of greeting he desired to give his twin. Things were better between them but Kjalarr wasn't sure if they were good enough to greet each other like that or not and he was careful to let his twin set the boundaries of how cool with one another they were.

The stubborn moose stilled as she caught sight of the two wolves, and her ears went forward as she strained to hear their voices - perhaps test the mood and see if it was safe to pass. Safe for her to pass. She knew that her friend would make for a much more appealing hunt than herself. That in mind, she glanced behind her to make sure @Artemis was still following her.

"Stay low and behind me. Try not to draw attention to yourself," she suggested, beginned to edge around the outskirts of the area - giving the wolves a wide berth while attempting nonchalance. It wouldn't do to appear afraid, even if she was. Even if it was Artemis she was afraid for, and not herself.

Artemis had scented the wolves a moments before Jenabbi made to react to them, she moved to stand at her friend's side as she gazed at the pair. Males, both of them, and almost freakishy alike. Twins, she realized, or else close brothers. They had an odd pelt, with legs the colour of sand. One wolf was not problem for the travelling pair, it was simple to scare them off. But two, and in the midst of such a famine, made the coyote worrysome. Her friend whispered a suggestion to her and Artemis nodded, keeping one ear flicked to the wolves in order to hear if they suddenly noticed the pair. Jenabbi seemed to be giving the wolves a wide berth, which was probably the smartest plan. However, a single moose walking through a skeletal forest bare of movement was sure to draw attention, Artemis could only hope that they were not seen. 

Artemis shot occasional glances at the unfortunte creatures, wolves were rather thick, in her mind. With their scars and missing limbs and bulky bodies, they could never hope to achieve the finess that a coyote possessed almost from birth. Poor, stumbling, oaf like creatures.

Don't mind us, just a couple of meals moving through

He was pleased when Tevinter reacted to his greeting. He could almost see the tension leaving his brother's shoulders as he turned and made to close the gap between them. In no time, they were standing face to face, and Floki experienced a moment of hesitation that was similar to Tevinter's, although he did not realize it. Had it been Charon he was interacting with, there would have been a physical touch to accompany their words, but both refrained. Although they worried about the strength of their bond, it was just an example of how truly inseparable they were.

"I'm doing okay -- as good as can be expected, I guess," he replied truthfully. He felt better now that he had laid eyes on Tevinter and knew that he was surviving; they were each leaner than they had been before, but that was to be expected in the midst of a famine. "Is your pack nearby...?" he started to ask, but stopped suddenly when he noticed movement in his peripheral vision.

When he looked away from Tevinter, he spotted a moose in the distance. His eyes widened; it had been much too long since he had laid eyes on such a magnificent and potentially delicious beast. "Look," he hissed in a whisper, gesturing sharply with his snout towards the animal. And then he noticed the coyote skulking around the moose's legs, and his hackles bristled. There was no guarantee that he and Tevinter would be able to make a meal out of the elk, but they were more deserving than the rangy scavenger.

“That's good,” Kjalarr conceded when Floki responded to his question. The most important thing was that Floki was alive and that except for the gauntness that the famine had left in Kjalarr himself, he looked well. Although, Kjalarr suspected he would feel if Floki had departed the land of the living — midgard — in favor of the Great Halls. Their strange and celestial connection to one another was one that would stand the test of time. It did not know , nor acknowledge their disagreements or the distance between them. “Just north of here, actually.” Kjalarr responded, an offer to take Floki there dying on his tongue when he noted the change in his twin's posture. Floki hissed a word at Kjalarr and the viking followed the sharp gesture of his twin's muzzle, his mouth gaping open in equal parts shock and awe as his monochrome gaze flickered to the moose in the distance. Saliva began to pool in his mouth at the sudden desire to sink his teeth into the magnificent beasts' tender flesh. Kjalarr licked his chops to collect the drool that had begun to dribble from the corner of his lips at the thought, as unbecoming as it was.

“The Gods have smiled upon us today, brother,” Kjalarr chuckled lowly to Floki, careful to not disturb the moose, though his mirth was quickly snuffed out when he, too, noticed the coyote lurking around the moose. A low rumble of muffled outrage resounded within Kjalarr's chest, his first thought that the coyote was going to steal the twins' meal from them. Yet, bizarrely, the coyote did not appear to attack the moose, neither did the moose appear at all frightened of it. “Why is it not attacking it? Why is the moose not afraid?” Though Kjalarr expected no answer from his twin. He couldn't wrap his mind around it but perhaps Floki could offer some better insight to the baffling sight that had unfolded before Kjalarr's eyes.

It didn't matter, Kjalarr decided a moment later. Though admittedly, the two of them weakened by the famine probably wasn't enough to bring down the moose, and whatever chance they had decreased dramatically with the unexpected and unwelcome presence of the coyote. “What do you say, brother? Do we take our chances?” For as much as Kjalarr wanted to charge into the hunt, into the battle, he sought Floki's council so naturally that he barely recognized it's significance.

"They've seen us," Jenabbi said quietly to her companion, her ears flickering nervously. Should they run? It might provoke them into giving chase when they might otherwise give her up as a bad job. Oh, protect us, Cat. Deliver us, Calf. Get us through this safely, she prayed, leaning down to touch her nose to the little coyote's head. Maybe in comfort, but maybe in farewell. She didn't know. "Run or walk?" she asked, unsure how best to protect her new friend.

She could see the hungry blue of their eyes glinting from across field. Even if they could not yet make a meal out of her, there was no garuntee the same would be true of her friend. If they attacked, Jenabbi could see no way for both of them to come out unscathed. She had half a mind to try and send Artemis away, and distract them with her tantalizing rump. "Maybe you should slip away, and when you're out of sight, I'll try and outrun them?"

Maybe they were too hungry to follow her very far. Maybe they were too hungry to let her escape. "Cat and Calf, deliver us," she prayed, knowing that she would be heard by her deity. Still, while the Cat and Calf was merciful and fair in His ways, Jenabbi knew He looked after all creatures - wolves included.

Artemis fixed the wolves with a stare. She simply stopped, spun, and fixed their gaze, listening with one ear of what her friend was saying. She evaluated, pondered. Much as she loathed to split up with her friend, it was perhaps the best option. All the wolves were starved, weak, and had minamal chance of pulling down a moose. A coyote such as herself, however...

She nodded briskly, half listening to Jenabbi's odd mumbles, but not paying much heed to her prayers. "We seperate, friend. Wolves are weak, no food. No catch us. If we together might make easier us catch. We meet at ocean. Yes?" She did not speak hurriedly, but her gaze was still fixed on the two brutes. She brushed against Jenabbi briefly before setting into a loose trot, sending a worried trot back at her friend as she made to put distance between them.

Like the twins that they were, attuned to each other's senses, the two wolves focused their attention wholly on the moose and coyote. Floki listened quietly to Tevinter's musings as he assessed the situation; even his first comment drew a smile from the non-believer. Whatever the case, fate did appear to be on their side -- whether it was by the grace of Tevinter's gods or by some other entity.

They were both perplexed by the odd pairing, and the fact that the creatures seemed to be traveling together. The elk showed no fear of the coyote, which raised Floki's suspicions. But as time ticked past and the standoff continued, he gave a slow nod in response to Tevinter's question. "We do, brother," he murmured, even as the strange couple began to move.

The coyote trotted away from its long-legged companion, and Floki watched it go with a disdainful eye. He was more concerned with the moose. "Let's go, but keep an eye on the coyote," he said, wrinkling his snout even as his paws began to carry him forward, his body slung low to the ground as he loped towards the moose.

Kjalarr decided that, in the end, the bizarre friendship that appeared to be between the moose and the coyote didn't matter. The perplexity still remained, of course, but it was hardly the time or the place to puzzle it out. That could come later after Floki and him and feasted themselves full on the supple and decadent flesh their prey had to offer. Though the moose was the more tempting of the two — it meant more meat — Kjalarr would not be so picky as to turn his nose up at the coyote. He had supped upon the flesh of wolf before and did not see much difference and was not opposed to settling for the lesser of creatures.

Kjalarr's grin stretched from ear to ear when Floki confirmed that they should take their chances, exposing his sharp, gleaming teeth in the process. There was little better to bond over than the adrenaline, thrill and the familiarity of hunting together. The trust and silent communication that it took to properly orchestrate it and the advantage to being twins was that at times their communication could be wordless: nothing more than a feeling, simple in it's complexity but just as effective as if something would be spoken. The unlikely pair began to move and hungry eyes followed them. The coyote parted from the moose then, but Kjalarr was inherently too suspicious to believe that it had truly departed the scene for good. Surely, it would come rushing back to the rescue of it's friend when the twins made their move.

“She would be wise to not interfere.” If she did...well then the consequences would be her's alone, Kjalarr thought. Floki began to move and Kjalarr mirrored his brother's stance, slinking low — though the lack of tall grasses and their pallid fur color no doubt gave them away. Stealth was not truly an option, for no doubt the moose was aware that it was being stalked. Kjalarr broke away from Floki then, veering as to position himself so he would have easier access if the moose attempted to flee. Effectively, he was attempting to flank her opposite of Floki, herding her to where the twins could grab the upper hand. His grin easy where it remained upon his lips at the promise of a feast fit for king's. There was a chance that the moose could evade them (and he was not so arrogant as to pretend it wasn't a possibility) but for once he allowed himself the rare favor of positive thinking.

Cat and Calf, deliver me, she prayed, one last time before he cleared her mind completely. The wolves were slinking toward her, now, but she had to stand tall and still until her friend was out of sight, out of mind. She just had to wait a little longer, stall a bit more, wiggle her flank just-so...

And... now! she thought, darting off with a frightened warble. She ran as fast as she could, her back legs kicking viciously whenever a bit of grass or stiff breeze brushed past them. Wolves can run faster than moose, she knew. Still their limbs, Calf. Protect me. But even as she prayed, she waited for sharp canines to bury themselves in her flesh. She might be able to kick them off, in their famished state, but there were never garuntees. And even if she did loose them from her, the damage would be done - she'd have serious wounds, if not outright missing limbs. She'd be weak and vulnerable - so much that even Artemis might want to eat her, no matter how kind she'd been.

She desperately hoped she could evade them entirely, but even so, she readied herself for a fight.

Going to go ahead and post since Artemis is inactive. :)

The two wolves trotted in tandem, moving opposite one another to position themselves on either side of the moose. Floki cast a final glance at the coyote, but deemed that it would not be a problem. It was necessary now for him to focus his full attention on the potential meal.

He accelerated as the moose did, though he was far from exerting himself just yet. His eyes roved hungrily over the creature's body, examining it for any signs of weakness. It was worried; he could smell its fear and his ears turned at the sound of its anxious lowing.

For now, he snapped harmlessly at its heels, perhaps enjoying the chase more than he should have. With prey so scarce, he needed to buckle down and focus, but he was giddy and over-confident. He exchanged a grin with Tevinter as his teeth clicked together sharply, feeling the ripple of air from the moose's nearby hooves.

short post is short :c

 

The opossum might have evaded him but Kjalarr was determined not to let this magnificent beast evade him. If Floki and him could catch it...why, they would eat like kings. Granted, he understood the possibilities weren't overly high — on a good hunt day it usually took a whole pack to bring down a deer which was significantly smaller than this moose. Still. Floki gave chase to it when it darted away and Kjalarr went into position, launching himself forward into a run, mirroring his twin's given grin before his brother snapped harmlessly at her heels. Kjalarr intended to keep his momentum, snapping his teeth at the air close by her flank. The famine had seen that he was not as strong as he should have been and this frustrated the viking but he deigned to keep pace and not fall behind where it would be possible to fall victim to her hooves.

Get your nicks in now if you want, because I'm just going to have her run off here. This thread his been going on for too long!

With a bellow of frustration, Nab pumped her legs harder, determined not to fall prey to these poor, hungry wolves. She felt for them, really, but that did not mean she was going to lay down and die. The Cat and Calf decided when things lived or died, and right then, she heard no little voice telling her that she was at an end.

And, while she hoped the wolves weren't hearing it either, she it wasn't really her problem.

Nab ran, and didn't stop until the Barrow Fields were long behind her. Only then did she feel safe examining any wounds she might've gotten.

:)

Floki's arrogance would be his downfall. He was already imagining the taste of the moose's meat on his tongue when he lost his footing and unceremoniously stumbled. He tried to recover, legs flailing beneath him, but he was unable to stop his forward momentum and he ended up slamming his chin into the dirt, which elicited a grunt and a frustrated cry of, "Shit!"

By the time he untangled his limbs and righted himself, their prey had a hefty lead on them. The brothers would have to exert themselves to catch up with her, and in their weakened state from the famine, it just wasn't plausible -- no matter how much Floki wanted it.

He called out after his twin, shaking his head ruefully. "Tev -- ugh, I'm sorry. Guess I'm out of practice," he apologized with a wince. He squinted; the moose's silhouette was shrinking the further it got from them.

The moose evaded the twins — weak and slower from the famine — and though the bullheaded part of Kjalarr very much wanted to push himself to keep going his muscles were aching and his stomach was protesting and he knew that if he pushed the issue, if he pushed his body to the peak of it's limits he might be signing an early death, and there was nothing honorable in dying because of obstinacy and stupidity. He slowed to a stop, snorting at the moose's retreating form, panting from the exertion, bowing his head and swallowing the bitter pill of defeat. It did not go down smoothly but he accepted it and let it go with a roll of his shoulders. Two prey in the same day had gotten away from him, and it angered him and his failure combined with his hunger made him a bear (ha).

He rounded and padded back to Floki, having felt the ghost of his pain when his brother had taken the tumble. “Are you hurt bad?” The phantom pain wasn't enough for Kjalarr to determine the extent or what had exactly caused it since he hadn't actually seen it happen. Only felt the aftermath. “Let me see,” Although, his monochromacy didn't make Kjalarr the poster child for a good medic, admittedly; and not to mention his knowledge on healing did not extend beyond sea water to cleanse a wound (very much like Ragnar) he was concerned and wanted to assern for himself that Floki would be alright. Kjalarr's brows furrowed when his brother apologized and took the blame for the moose escaping them. “Why are you apologizing?” Kjalarr inquired softly, unable to understand. “Don't be ridiculous Floki, we're both half starving from the famine. The moose got lucky, that was all.” Kjalarr rounded his twin then and bumped his shoulder gently against Floki's own. “There will be other mooses...meeses? Moose?” Kjalarr's brow furrowed as he tried to decide which was the correct word and then let out a snort. “This famine can't last forever.” At least Kjalarr desperately hoped that it wouldn't.

"No," Floki replied, shaking his head. It didn't feel like he had sustained any major injuries -- the biggest blow had been to his ego. "I'm okay -- my pride's just bruised a little." He smiled at his brother, then chuckled as Tevinter wondered aloud about the plural form of "moose."

He gazed wistfully in the direction that the animal had gone. "I hope the famine's over sooner rather than later," he commented as his stomach gave a hungry twist. It was difficult to fathom that they had been so close to securing a huge meal -- and it had just slipped between their fingers. Had they both been in peak physical condition, that moose wouldn't have stood a chance against them.

"Anyway. So your pack isn't far from here?" he asked. This would probably be his last stop before circling back and heading home, but the day was still young and it would have been silly to depart from his brother's company without catching up first.

Floki assured him that the only thing that was hurt was his pride and Kjalarr offered him a reassuring smile. Kjalarr knew how hard of a blow one's pride could take and understood that it was a bitter pill to swallow. The trick, Kjalarr had learned, was not to let it seethe beneath the skin, to accept it and push to do better the next time. “I might eat until my stomach explodes when it does end,” Because since the famine started all he wanted to do was gorge himself. The little bits of food he'd been able to hunt for himself hadn't been enough to truly sate his hunger, just enough to keep his stomach from digesting itself; and the time when he had feasted it had been upon the flesh of another wolf, though for reason he emitted his from Floki for the fear that his twin would find it unworthy, that he would cease to talk to him again and losing Floki again wasn't something Kjalarr thought he could deal with. Some things were better left unsaid.

“Yes, it's close by,” Kjalarr responded and gestured towards it with his muzzle. “I can show it to you, if you'd like?” At the very least he could show Floki where it's borders were so that his twin could come visit him, if he wished. Kjalarr doubted he was welcome to visit Floki else he would do so more frequently. The grudge against Charon might have been a dissolving thing — though his dislike still lingered from their past transgressions with one another — but Kjalarr doubted Charon would be eager to forgive and forget.

Want to fade with your post? Or you can just archive, if you want! Floki will come visit again soon and we can have an updated brother thread! :D

Floki laughed aloud at Tevinter's comment. "Me too," he agreed. He couldn't wait for the day when they would be able to stuff themselves with fresh meat; the famine only made him realize that he had taken their previous life for granted. He used to spend hours hunting small game with Wildfire on the slopes of Moonspear, picking off the seemingly endless supply that kept their bellies full.

His brother's offer to show him the physical location of his pack was met with a nod. "I'd like that. I have to start heading back towards Moonspear after that, though," he replied. He was regretful that their time together was coming to a close, but he knew that it would be beneficial to know the exact location of Tevinter's pack -- that way, next time he found himself on the coast, he would be able to stop by and check in. Although the relationship between Charon and Tevinter might never be repaired, he was certain he wouldn't let his own bond with his twin lapse.

"Lead the way," he instructed as he fell into step behind Tevinter, paying careful attention to their path so that he could remember it.