Ravensblood Forest i hear it beckoning

as @Conan is traveling with declan please let pompoko reply first (also slight pp, if you want me to change anything pom, let me know)! <3

[table width=85%][td][tr]

Declan cuts through the familiar path he has worn between Horizon Ridge and Teaghlaigh’s borders, assessing as he is wont to do. He knows that he knows Arturo Fearghal but he does not know this Teaghlaigh and the Commander is a strategist: he does his homework before he jumps into something. He has not spoken with any of the Fearghal’s new Family but he has taken everything that the borders has to offer him and brought it back and presented it to Conan. He does not have to gravitate towards what he suspects might be familiar to him but he does because he knows where his place is. It is not impulsive but rather extremely meditated. He is comfortable in routine, in the press of laws that he already knows and respects. In laws that he can enforce without hesitation because he understands them. If this pack is the Teaghlaigh that Arturo had spoken it would be before he took his leave of the Hollow than Declan seeks the sanctuary of familiarity.

Though he assumes that so long as Conan is at his side any place can become familiar. Conan is the only familiarity that he needs, the only companionship he has ever wanted or really, truly needed. His decision is made and he moves towards the borders with purpose, stopping when he is a respectful distance away. His amber gaze breaks from his path to seek his brother within irises set aflame before he tips his head back and lets out a howl meaning to summon the leadership to them.

[/td][/tr][/table]

This is perfect, thank you! <3

The two brothers had finally found it. Teaghlaigh, the Fearghal pack that the Cathán's had sought out for a few months. The smaller of the brothers, Conan walked a few steps behind Declan, the larger of the two. He felt safe at his brother's side, like nothing could hurt him. It'd always been that way, Conan and Declan against the world. He smirked as he though of their many escapades together, then shook his grey blue mane. He had to make sure he looked good always, it was his most favored quality after all.

When at last they reached the borders, Declan let out a howl for the leaders. Conan sighed dramatically being an impatient child and made himself comfortable, sitting down and grooming his multicolored pelt. He glanced up at his brother, his amber gaze settling into that of Declan's for only a moment before he returned to grooming.

Declan’s summoning howl struck the air at a rather inopportune moment.

When it came, Lotte’s teeth were buried deep in the scruff of a thieving fox who’d weaseled his way into one of Teaghlaigh’s caches — and his teeth were buried in her scruff. They were wily little beasts, foxes, and while she was willing to tolerate this one’s shyer brethren, taking food from her Family was an unforgivable offense. If she let go, he’d scramble away, free to steal another day — if he let go, she’d pin him with a broad paw and stop his burbling snarls by snapping his neck. On the other hand, if she yanked him free, he’d surely whip around and go for her face. He was free to do that now — but in the heat of the moment, he was more likely to simply hold on until he was startled into another attack. The howl nearly did it for him — Lotte felt the twitch of his musculature against her gums — but he held fast.

Banríon rumbled her displeasure, one small, triangular ear flickering in the direction of the howl, and considered her options. At last she gambled, dislodging the small blur of russet with a heavy shake of her head — but when he tried to curl in on himself and retaliate, she closed her eyes and whipped her head from side to side, disorienting them both. She recovered first, her jaws snapping vigorously once, twice, thrice; she missed the first two times, but her third attempt was a success. Alabaster fangs delivered the fatal blow with swift efficiency. She wanted the fox dead, but she didn’t want him to suffer unnecessarily.

Anyway, she had an appointment to keep.

With the fox’s body clutched tightly between her jaws, Lotte approached the borders. She set down her trophy with slow deliberation and drew herself up to face the two strangers without much care to her disheveled appearance. Blood spattered her black masked face and beaded upon the shallow scrapes that shone whitely across the bridge of her dark muzzle; she could feel its stickiness between her shoulder blades as well. Nevertheless, she felt exhilarated and powerful. “Rakeet, comrades,” she murmured cheerfully, clearing what blood she could from her muzzle with a careful sweep of her tongue. Her tail curled high and proud above her back. “I am sorry for my undignified state.” She wasn’t. Slyly, she turned her attention to Declan with mischief dancing wickedly in her moonbright eyes: “This is not your first time at Teaghlaigh’s borders,” she remarked mildly. “I know your scent. Tell me of your findings, and what you seek here.” She thought to test his skill, but was also genuinely curious about their intentions.

[table width=85%][tr][td]

Declan waits for the leadership, rolling his amber set aflame eyes at his brother as he hears the dramatic sigh spill from betwixt Conan’s lips. The feral’s ear closest to his brother twitches as his brother resumes his grooming. Declan sneaks a sly glance at Conan, his eyes admiring. Declan knows that his brother does not preen for him and as it is if anyone were to ever ask his opinion he rather enjoyed seeing his brother down and dirty pinned beneath him as they wrestle… his thoughts are snapped away from those thoughts the second the woman appears from the shadows of the bleeding sequoias and Declan finds himself annoyed though it vanishes as quickly as it crept upon him. Conan is clearly the more well kept of the two. Declan’s fur is windswept and coarse and salt crusted from the water bath he’d taken from the nearby shore: a small tufts of fur standing up every which way upon his white tipped cape. He isn’t seeking to impress any women, admittedly. He does not understand Conan’s desire because Declan does not feel it stir his loins until a woman is in heat because that is when they are fertile and even then it is only an attraction of hormones and little else.

Her apology is met with a soft grunt from the feral Cathán because he is not bothered by the blood that adorns her. Her moonbeam gaze seeks him and his gaze is level as she addresses him. She has caught his scent at the borders, which is not overly surprising to him. He made no moves to hide his presence upon them. As he took all the information that their borders had to offer him he left information behind as well: in preparation for their arrival. He left behind his interest for them to find and decipher as they saw fit. “Arturo Fearghal.” He speaks in his deep, guttural voice. It is not the answer she seeks but it is all she will get from the feral Commander. Declan's gaze then slides to Conan, expecting him to do what he did best: converse.

[/td][/tr][/table]

Conan waited patiently at his brother's side, his posture relaxed as he continued to groom himself. When he smelled a female nearby he looked up, content with his level of cleanliness he didn't return to his task, instead he shifted himself close to Declan and waited for her to enter his line of vision. When she did, Conan was surprised. Blood was smeared all over her face, so much of it that for a moment Conan missed its source. When he saw the fox that she laid on the ground he relaxed some and smiled in response to her own ghoulish grin.

Despite her bloody maw, she was a beautiful woman. He'd met many beautiful women in his life, but she was different. The coloration of her fur was similar to his, a bluish grey, except the markings were much different, they shifted to black at her face and extremities like a chickadee. Her eyes were a soulful silver that seemed to match what he'd seen so far of her cheerful personality. She was clearly in charge, he could tell from the way she held herself, so he dipped his head as a bird gesture of respect.

Before Conan had the chance to answer the woman's question, Declan did so with two simple words. He wasn't wrong, but it seemed a bit demanding and intimidating, not the way Conan would've done it. He glanced to his brother for a moment, then back to the leader. I'm Conan and this is my brother Declan. We're from Quicksilver Hollow, heard about Turo's new pack and thought we'd stop by. We'd like to join you if you have the space. He said, running his salmon pink tongue over his lips when he finished, a half smirk on his face.

Lotte could appreciate that the larger of the two males was a wolf of few words, but his level stare in addition to his brusque tongue did not suit her. “Look well upon me, vaitelias teräs,” she murmured tartly, the mischief in her eyes stilled by a sternness rarely seen in the jovial rogue, “and then look down.” The young mother-to-be was instantaneously defensive at the utterance of her mate’s name; there was simply too much at stake, what with losing their primary ally, gaining enmity from a pack of assassins, and having two pregnant females within Teaghlaigh’s garishly painted walls. Her coal-colored tail flicked testily as she evaluated the wordsmith — Conan, she learned — and caught the molten amber of his gaze.

The smaller male’s topcoat was not unlike Lia’s or Lotte’s in color, but the warm, honeyed gold beneath it set him apart. He was a beautiful specimen of a male, as was his rough-around-the-edges brother, and they bore a sharpness of feature that was faintly reminiscent of the wolf they sought. “It is Ceannasach you seek,” she offered quietly, “but Banríon you get instead. A bad deal?” She cocked her head to the side, a glimmer of her jovial nature still lurking there beneath the fierce lines and planes of her black-masked face. “If you are from Quicksilver Hollow, Conan, Declan, you know the rules of Teaghlaigh.”

Drawing her tongue across her lips, Lotte added an inquiry of her own. She didn’t personally need to know by which circumstances the pair had arrived at her borders — but how could she be sure that the two wolves weren’t lying about their associations to her husband? “Each of you will recite one of Teaglaigh’s cardinal rules,” she decided. If information for information was one of Teaghlaigh’s tenets, surely outsiders wouldn’t be privy to the Family’s inner workings. “Then you, Conan, will tell me what rank you can expect to hold until the Fearghal deems you worthy of more.” It seemed that the honey-and-steel brother was Doe to Declan’s Szymon, and Lotte would not pick on the social battering ram or fault him because of it. Satisfied with herself, Lotte grew silent, small, triangular ears pressing forward upon her skull.

[table width=85%][tr][td]

The Commander draws in a breath, this one more audible the others as he is addressed and chided for staring. Declan does not quite grasp that she, perhaps, takes it as a challenge of her authority. Declan’s gaze slides from the woman that greeted them to catch Conan’s for the moment that it lingered upon him. If he is not to look at her then how does she know that he is even listening to what she tells him? he wonders for the briefest of moments as Conan makes the introductions and Declan relents, allowing Conan to take the spotlight from him. The shadows was were the feral Cathan felt the most comfortable and there was never any animosity against his brother for shining …like the brilliant sun that Declan’s shadowed planet revolved around: sucked in by the gravity so close that he thinks that he might actually burn from time to time.

The Banrion speaks of Teaghlaigh’s rules: that each of them would recite them for her as all she had to go on was their word. It was not much, admittedly, but without Arturo’s voice to confirm their claims — if the coywolf king would remember them at all — she is unsure. Declan does not see the need for uncertainty for it is as they say: they seek the Fearghal monarch and that they are from Quicksilver Hollow. “Ceannsach’s Word is Law.” Declan’s lips part as the first tenet of the Family spills forth in his deep, guttural voice, leaving the second tenet to Conan as she desired before he falls to his observant silence once more, his gaze flickering from her to rest upon his brother where the amber flame soften.

[/td][/tr][/table]

Conan's golden eyes shot to Declan when the Banrion asked him to look down, and he gave his brother a warning look. Sometimes Declan was a little thick headed, and he didn't always respect authority, Conan often had to remind him of his manners. He then looked back at the leader, her words made him smile. No, not at all. You- He started to continue his sentence with a cheeky comment along the lines of you're a lot better to look at than Ceannasach, but reminded himself that she was pregnant possibly with Arturo's children, and also that only a moment ago he had scolded his brother for a similar lack of manners. So he closed his mouth a pursed his lips, realizing how hard it was to hold his tongue.

She asked for proof of their words, which was completely understandable, then wanted Conan to tell her what place he should hold until deemed worthy. Easy enough questions, and Conan had an answer. His brother recited the first, and Conan bounced right off the end of Declan's sentence with the next one, and the family before anything else. He said, then shrugged. And I guess we'd be Comhlach, though back home we were Caenn. Is that proof enough for you? He finished, his gaze resting just below the woman's eyes on the black fur of her cheek.

Lotte softened at Declan’s sullen acquiescence; she did not want to lord her authority over these males, both of whom were older than she. “I have done nothing to earn your trust or respect,” she uttered frankly, “but I have earned Arturo’s, and I have embraced his culture as my own. You are my Family now. The task and advancement of rank I will leave for Ceannasach to do if he so chooses, but there are things you must know before then.” The smoke-and-shadow female allowed her head and tail to assume a more neutral carriage, stepping boldly towards the newest recruits. If he would allow it, she made to rub one shoulder against Declan’s outside one, sharing the scent of the blooded sequoias with him. His communion with his brother seemed a precious, coveted thing, so she did not walk between them but made a leisurely circuit. Lest the darker male be annoyed with her walking behind him, she retraced her steps after her perfunctory gesture, then circled around to Conan’s outside shoulder to repeat it.

“Teaghlaigh has known misfortune these past months,” the rogue stated, gesturing with her muzzle that they could walk and talk if they wished, instead of standing awkwardly at the territory borders. “Our Póilín is heavily pregnant, and her mate recently suffered a head injury that caused him to lose his memory. He is improved, but during his fugue state, they trespassed — and the pack who they committed the crime against is known for its savagery. Arturo, Chusi, and I have been working to double our efforts marking and patrolling the borders and stocking the caches, as the pair’s injuries were…extensive.” Quirking a humorless smile at both of them, her silver eyes grave, she quipped dryly, “In other news, comrades, Teaghlaigh has somewhat recently become home to two of your own from Quicksilver Hollow — Lia Raurc and her mother Neasa. The news is not all bad.”

She wracked her brain for anything she’d left out, and now she did smile. “My brother Dagfinn has permission to visit as he wishes; he is a tall, black wolf with a cream-colored star on his chest and pale blue eyes. He is the other half of my soul and is to be treated as Family. Lastly, there is an odd little female with black fur and blue eyes who comes to treat Olive and Dakarai’s wounds.”

Huffing softly — that was a huge amount of talking, even for Lotte — she asked, “Any questions?”

[table width=85%][tr][td]

Traitors. This is the word that the feral Commander applies to the two wolves that the queen speaks of. The pregnant second in command — definitely not a rank she should hold, he thinks with a twitch of his lips — and her mate. To endanger The Family was as good as causing them harm with your own tooth and claw. His brow furrows as his burning amber gaze seeks Conan wildly, as if his brother might be able to explain to him why this is even relevant to Teaghlaigh. The second they returned they should have been cast out of The Family. They should not even be a problem to Teaghlaigh. Declan knows that his brother does not hold the answers. The coywolf king has gone soft and this disappoints the feral commander. He barely acknowledges her slip of news that familiar faces could be found within the borders of Teaghlaigh for there are currently inconsequential to Declan as he attempts to puzzle out the Ceannasach’s mind and why he has not cut off the cancerous growth of traitors, why he allows it to remain and fester.

He is soft. He is weak. Declan would have long since thrown them to the (ha) wolves and watched as they were devoured for their crimes. The feral Cathan’s tail lashes behind him like a irate tiger’s, the fire in his amber gaze low and hot. “Why?” Guttural and deep timbre spills forth from betwixt his lips. His voice is pleasant in a rough way but it is so rarely used that it sometimes surprises him that he has a voice at all. “To endanger The Family is to draw your own teeth to it’s throat. Why have they not been dealt with?” The Commander cannot understand and knows his brother can not answer so he must resolve himself to make his quest for the answer known to Teaghlaigh’s queen.

[/td][/tr][/table]

Banrion seemed satisfied with the brother's answers, for she began to welcome them with a speech. She spoke of Ceannasach's task, to which Conan nodded in understanding. He wasn't excited to do such a task, but he knew it to be necessary. The greyscale beauty stepped forwards and walked past Declan, rubbing her scent onto him then past Conan to do the same. He didn't mind that, not at all. She went back to where she stood in front of them, now in a more neutral and relaxed position.

She spoke of misfortune, and Conan knitted his brows at that. He didn't like learning that the pack he was joining was a bit of a failure, and from what he heard he wasn't too impressed with Arturo's leadership thus far. He could tell that Declan really disapproved, by the expression on his brother's face. He glanced at Declan as Banrion spoke, silently hoping that he wouldn't speak on what he undoubtedly was thinking, but when the Banrion asked if they'd any questions, Declan didn't hesitate to ask. If not for the slight politeness of his tone, Conan would've mistaken it for rudeness.

Conan thought about correcting Declan, though honestly he had the same question, so instead he turned back to the woman and awaited her answer. Then he added, I'm not sure we caught your name either. He said with a smile, his grey blue tail swaying behind him.

It was weakness to admit uncertainty — that much Lotte knew. So, “They will be,” she said simply, her vague reply delivered in a dark and silky murmur that implied Conan and Declan would know it when they saw it. In truth, she didn’t know why Olive and Dakarai hadn’t been dealt with more severely. She didn’t know enough about Quicksilver Hollow to know what actions would normally have been taken. What she knew was Arturo’s love for children and his deep-seated affection for Olive — something that didn’t altogether please the rogue given the druid’s swiftly advancing pregnancy and her own mounting jealousy. These little frustrations were things she kept to herself, though, and her expression was mild and untroubled as she turned to face both brothers. Lotte sought to be the picture of strength — and with crimson slashed across her face and cresting her shoulders like a bloody mantle, she exuded a confidence she did not feel.

“I am Lotte Ansbjørn Fearghal,” she uttered with a regal serenity that belied her disheveled, ruffled state. “Lotte.” Lotte the Fireforged, she thought to herself with a measure of bemusement.

[table width=85%][tr][td]

The coy wolf’s king lack of punishment on the wrong doings of the star-crossed lovers disappoints Declan more than he knows how to communicate — short of a direct challenge for Ceannasach — but he stows it away. The queen assures them that they criminals would be punished. Declan would see if she and Arturo delivers upon her assurance. If they did not then he would do what they could not: he would enforce the laws and punishments of the Family without mercy regardless of what it meant to his place in Teaghlaigh. Leaders had no room for weakness, he thinks, but for now he bestows upon her the benefit of the doubt. He listens to her name, tucking it away as he tucks away all information: to be extensively analyzed at a later date when he is alone. “There is a woman,” His guttual voice breaks the silence that Lotte leaves in her wake. He speaks of his newest obsession @August, wondering bemusedly if it will linger or if it will snuff out like the flicker of a fickle flame.

With no other words Declan turns and vanishes into the trees to find their …follower, gaze of aflame amber seeking and resting upon her where they have left her. “Come.” He commands of her, bidding her to follow him with a gesture of his muzzle as he makes his way, the journey taking all but a few minutes to where he has left Conan and Lotte. From here is up to either August to Conan to fill Lotte in on the details for all that they were likely to get from Declan were his usual grunts or huffs.

[/td][/tr][/table]

August had listened to the chat with slight interest, but she was lost when it came to the names and the odd language that was used for the.... ranks? She assumed that was what they were. The maiden was shaken out of her thoughts by a deep voice that came in an order. With a deep breath, she left the safety of the trees and approached the three wolves. Her head lowered in a bow and her posture was, as usual, submissive. Normally she would not speak for fear of punishment but there was another woman here. What was weird to her was that both Declan and Conan seemed to respect her. Who had ever heard of a woman being respected by males? August certainly hadn't. All females in her pack had been abused and were the lowest of the low. They had to respect the males. What was different about this grey-pelted wolfess? She spoke in her sweet voice, but she found herself unsure. She was still baffled. "H-Hello?"

Her eyes met the ground and she stood still, waiting for a response or introduction from one of the two brothers. She had been told never to introduce herself - the males would do it. They didn't want her babbling on about who she was or why she was there.

Replying since Conan has gone inactive.

Lotte was far from pleased to hear that there was a woman involved. A natural sense of heightened dominance claimed her, causing her head and tail to lift proudly as the skulking creature made her cowed approach. Her argent eyes were hard and glittering as they fell upon what appeared to be a weak-willed woman, and her impatience flickered when not a single word came from any of the trio. Small, bearlike ears pressed forward upon the Banríon’s skull, but the woman seemed to be waiting for something — and her attention was trained on the ground before her. Lotte had no use for spineless females, and her black-masked visage was stern as she finally snapped, “You see that I am here before you — why do you whimper a greeting as though you are alone in a wood, wondering if someone is out there?” She didn’t much care, at this point, what Conan and Declan thought of her harsh treatment of the older wolf. She threw down the bloodied carcass of the fox and advanced a step toward the girl. She just…couldn’t understand it. The strength of the females in the Teekons seemed so…diluted.

Apparently, the girl needed to be led into conversation — but Lotte didn’t have the time or the patience for such frivolities. From the scent of her, she was an adult female and old enough to use her words. She simply waited for the girl’s reply, her gaze fiercely pinning down each of the Cathán brothers with alacrity.

When a reply did not come immediately, Lotte lifted her lips in a snarl of derision. “You will explain the tenets of Teaghlaigh to this girl,” she commanded at last. “For now, she will be Comhlach — but know that if you get her with child, I will chase all of you from my lands.”