Meadowlark Prairie whatever's lost cannot be found

She didn't know where she was going, nor did she care about the fact that she did not know. It didn't matter, did it, because she could take care of herself. she was young, and blind to much of the world around her, and thus she could take on anything. So it didn't concern her when she found herself at the edge of an unfamiliar plane, and only the sight of a looming wood in the distance. She paused, squinting at the distance, the darkness that made this forest different from the one behind her. It was this curious wood that had her continue forward, wondering at whatever might play between those boughs. 

The sun began to beat down on her, white-speckled fur seeming to soak in the heat. It was the type of warmth that leached the strength from your limbs, made one listless, unmotivated. The day for out of place for late summer, but the heat came all the same. Cassiopeia did not stop, however, for that would entail weakness, and if she was anything, it was not a quitter. 

Midday, however, found her parched, and the wood seeming no closer than before. She cast about for water, tongue lolling and ears roving atop her head, searching, intent, on finding the gentle whispering of a steam, of the thunderous crashing of a river, but finding nothing but the heavy stillness of the heat-soaked day.

NOTE: Forward dated at least a couple of days when some of his wounds are healed. But his face cut would still be open prolly

The vision in his right eye has returned to him, for as it were, had Hydra's claw struck him only centimeters closer he would be without it completely. He was thankful that was not the case, but it measured nothing in comparison to the rage he felt towards the woman who had attacked him with the intention of doing so, and for what reason he still did not know. However, it was their scent, the three of them that he engraved within his memory, recalling the key to their identity several times a day while he healed in contempt, simply to ensure he would not forget. And he didn't, not when that singular piece of data wafted past his nasal cavity from a distance not too far away.

Despite the risk of re-opening the scars that were yet to heal all over his body, the mere idea of neglecting to inflict his retribution upon any who bore the same scent as those who did him in was unfathomable to Vaati. Revenge was an unfamiliar motto to him but one that he would take up nonetheless, for the boy turned man is out for blood. But it is the sight of innocence, opportunity, that struck him back, forming a much more articulate plan as he watches silently as the girl wanders from afar. Her tongue hangs out her mouth, the tell-tale signs of exhaustion etched into young features and he dares to think that perhaps... this was meant for more. The scent, oh that scent, it is unmistakable. He strolls forward, unthreateningly, friendly, and unused vocal chords crack a quick remark, "Thirsty?"

Her head hurts. It's a pounding, and ache that stretched down her neck, an early sign of dehydration and brightness combined. She squints, not missing the pale shape that appears, but she doesn't pay too much attention until it's suddenly close, and words fall from it. Cass twists to face it - him - and words that are driven by her current status fall from her muzzle. "Why do you care?" 

She sizes him up fearlessly, noting the wounds and scars with a twinge, but betraying nothing. Wounds, in her mind, are the mark of a loser, and this boy had a great deal of them. Paws are planted firmly, stance unyielding, even in the face of the thirst which burns at her throat and pounds in her skull, and the exhaustion visible in the droop of her spine.

He is unsure if he plans to kill her just yet. He could, if he so cared, snap her neck in his jaws for physically he has the power to do so. But there are other benefits to her survival, particularly the kind he could hold against the Cerberus if they dared to hunt him down again. It was almost a certainty they would, and while that thought in itself did not fear him, he grips to his mortality like a madman to a knife. They will not drag him to the void while his time is not yet up, but he can only wait patiently until the day they try again. "I would prefer you didn't die so close to my home, which you will eventually, or your parents my think I did it," Half of what he says is true. She will perish to her own condition eventually wether or not Clavicus sticks around — but he is unfazed by how her guardians would react, should they find him in interaction with her. By now, he likely is black listed — metaphorically, a dead man walking. His enemies surround him at all angles, in plain sight and just next door. Blackfeather Woods is not safe anymore, not when those said enemies are fueled by not only his actions but that of those who have come before him; those who he now realizes, will not stop until his head is upon a pike.

She isn't sure just what this boy is, but he certainly isn't like anyone she'd ever met before. But she does not allow the festering uncertainty to hold in her thoughts, and her poison-green glare does not soften. "I'd hate to ruin your day with my death, then, so I suppose I'll just go die someplace else." Sarcasm drips from her tone, certain that bluster will get her through this situation easily. She isn't quite as naive to think things could not escalate; she remembers the time the sisters almost watched her drown. She does not doubt the potential for violence but instead believes herself invincible. She moves then, planning to go past him and continue on. Surely this place must have water somewhere, or the life around her would cease to exist. She doesn't know what she expects from the boy, but letting her leave would be preferred. No matter how much she denied it, she dearly needed water.  

His eyes narrow ever so slightly — there is a fire in her he can appreciate, one that mimics that of his sister. But she is cautious about him, rightfully so — he did not earn his scars for doing nothing — and she seems to sway as she walks, both her and him knowing she would not make it far before her feet collapsed beneath her. He turns, facing her rear as she attempts to leave him where he stands. "You could, or I could show you where the water flows," Perhaps, he thinks for a moment, he is being too gentle. Was there a point in delaying the inevitable by offering her life? Perhaps not, however, he had learned from the slaying of Rannoch and what followed and knew that a hasty decision was best made in comfort. If he was to slit her throat, he had to be absolutely sure that he needed her dead, not because of what emotional toll that would take on him (it wouldn't) but the potential aftermath of that action.

She paused, her swaying steps almost halting completely. He obviously knew this land better than she did - unless it was a trap, and he'd lead her to his family and they'd skin her pelt. She hated needing to rely on this stranger, and her shoulders stiffened, shooting a glare over her shoulder. She was silent a beat longer, then finally said: "Or you could just tell me."  No matter that the pounding in her head was growing worst, she was stubborn as a mule when the situation called for it. Continuing on had crossed her mind, but truthfully, she needed help. Getting her to admit that to a stranger, however, would be near impossible.

She halts, and he takes it as a cue that her overriding thirst is at the forefront of her desires, and he turns on his heel in the direction of the river. She speaks but the words do not meet his ears, instead, he walks ahead but not too fast to ensure she can keep up without knowing exactly where they are going. Yes, he intends to take her to the river, but not long after she has taken care of herself, she will become a prisoner of the night alongside the fire-haired girl until he decides what to do with her. "Come along!" He calls over his shoulder, indicating for her to follow or face the threat of wandering the flatlands until divine power spontaneously leads her to the water.

"You're an ass! You know that, right?"  perhaps not her best nor brightest wordplay, but to be fair, she is angered not only at him, but also herself, and her headache impairs her decision-making process. The poison-eyes girl twisted, loathsome irritation dripping from every move, and followed the pale boy, to which was very likely a flaying. It didn't help that she immediately hated her weak words as soon as they left her maw, but she followed at a distance, anyway. It was not long, however, before the sound of water surprised her, and she rushed past the boy the lap greedily at the cool waters, wading in to her stomach, focus completely on filling the void in her. The heat seeped from her bones in a glorious cool wave as the water smoothed over the desert in her throat.

He watches her with cool amusement, entertained by her mannerisms which remind him only of the women in Blackfeather Woods. Perhaps she was meant to be captured, to become part of the dark woods, but he quickly reminds himself that her presence still breathing is only ensured by the guarantee that he can hold her against the Cerberus, should they come to take his life. But then why did he suddenly —uncharacteristically — feel the slightest twinge of guilt when he launched at her, wrapping his powerful jaws around her throat. He passes it off as a simple weakness towards someone who reminds him of a both his mother and sister combined. Pulling her down to the dirt, he eases up his grip just a bit if only to make sure she can still breathe before holding her there, making sure she does not resist or endanger herself even more. He needs her alive if this is to work the way he plans, and what a waste it would be if it didn't.

The water seemed to clear the mugginess of her thoughts, though her headache still pounded. She lifted her muzzle, dripping - and movement uncoiled behind her. She started, but she was too late before she even moved, and jaws fastened around her neck. Her body fell, suddenly heavy and cumbersome, her head splashing into the riverbed. She snorted, writhering, but stopped short when fangs scored her scruff and her windpipe scrambled for air. She is suddenly hyperaware of every movement, of what this boy could do, given the chance. Still, she can't help the curse that slips through her lips. Suddenly she twists, desperately, not going to lie down and die. Or be skinned. Or eaten. Her back limbs buck upwards, looking to deliver a kick to the stomach of the brute and get the maniac off her. Terror is strangely absent, perhaps drowned out by shock and a frigid cold that spread through her from nose to tail.

She wriggles and squirms under his pressure, but in her only recently rejuvenated state, she does not yet have her bearings and he fends each assault off with another bite or shove. They struggle like this for what seems like hours, him, earning a few more nicks in his hide to add to the collection, but for now refuses to do much in return. It is almost comical to watch as she defies him despite the notable size difference, and he must admit, she has balls. However, he tires out of their game quickly and releases his jaw's hold on her neck, still standing above her so that she might not escape. "Come with me now obediently and I give you my word no harm will be laid on your head. If not, I have no problem drawing blood and leaving you to bleed out and die, alone," Now that, was a lie. There was simply no way that was going to happen, regardless if she came quietly or not. But the tone in which he held was one that was grave, threatening and all together deathly serious, but fair. It was trustworthy, for now, and he meant every word.

She wears out quickly, and she is left staring up at him, breath coming quickly, as he stands over her. Her glare is returned, hate spewing from her gaze. "Your word is shit. Besides, you're the one who should leave. There's a whole pack that'll hunt you down. My-"  But something faltered, her bravado slipping for an instant. Who would come? She was an outsider, and Charon had a whole family to take care of. Her father was gods-knows -where, her siblings were distant memories, and her mother- her gut twisted. Her mother was a breath of wind, something loving and strong and yet so fragile, too. She wanted to delay the inevitable, she could see half a dozen loopholes in his promise (if her head was safe, what about the rest of her? he never promised not to chop off a limb) and wherever this boy came from was a place she wanted to avoid. Her gaze was steely, but her bluff had already chinked.

She spits in his face, raving with anger but falters, failing to finish a sentence Vaati already knows the answer to. But he does not press her further on the subject of her guardians, it is clear that had she had any, she would not be in the state that she is. Neglected, perhaps, in the way he was by his father; he pushes those protruding thoughts away as soon as it enters his mind. But with every scornful work cast his way, he does not grow in anger, but in frustration. He knows his word means nothing to her yet, but it should — he has never willingly given it to anybody in his life. "Your pack already wants me dead and yet I have not killed you, even when I could have... what do you have to lose, truly?" He questions her with diligence, set on avoiding living up to the promise he made regarding what would happen should she refuse. Does she not see that? Did he himself even understand what he was doing and why, beyond the base function of revenge? These questions are left unanswered as he steps off her, backing away slightly to give a space he does not need to grant, but close enough that should he have to, he could easily bring her down once more. Make no mistake, he will kill her if he must; it is simply unlike himself to second guess whether or not he should.

She had always wondered at a poisoned thought. She, for her mother, was the last vestiges of a life failed. She knew the basics of her mother's story, lost a pack, a child, a mate, and then another child. She perhaps was a reminder of that; with her gone, could not her mother leave her fractured past behind for good? It was a thought combined with guilt, and anger, that she was wrong, that her mother loved her, needed her, and the pack needed her. But they didn't, did they? "Fine." She moved to her feet, neck rolling and hateful gaze not leaving the boy's face. There are half a dozen things she could say, but Cassiopeia is silent; trudging at the side of the boy and fantasizing just how she could attack, should she have been, perhaps, a good foot taller and a great deal heavier. Even now, though slowly coursing fear and bitter anger, she is stubborn; this turn of events must only be temporary.

She agrees, begrudgingly, but agrees nonetheless to follow and he lets out an inaudible breath of air he wasn't aware he was holding. It would have been a shame to be forced to hurt her, when he didn't necessarily care to do so. Indicating her to follow, he nudges his head in the direction of BFW, turning his back to her and trusting she does not attempt to flee. The gash on his face burns with pain; he has reopened the wound once more in his attempt to hold her down and he snarls at the mere memory of why he bears the disturbance in his once overall unmarred appearance. The anger returns to his every step, forceful and possessed, and for a second he almost considers ending the girl right then: she smells all too familiar to the three women who placed a manhunt on his head. Roughly and unexpectedly, she shoves her into the water. "Get in," Vaati demands, though there is little she could do to stop him; he cannot concentrate when she carries the scent of his enemies, those who wish him dead.

She is not ignorant to his anger, the change in his step, and is wary, and yet doesn't expect the shove that comes quick and fast. An effort to keep her balance is futile, and she reels into the river, the cold not entirely unwelcome in this heat, but the forceful way she is propelled into them has her hiss. She gains her footing quick, silently, refusing to give the brute the satisfaction of her words. She stands there, dripping wet, burning eyes asking the question her tongue will not. "The hell?"  She supposed that the concept of acting normal was completely alien to this idiot, but what was she to expect from a kidnapping, murderous bastard? The thought suddenly makes the situation all the more real, and more a moment her resolve falters. How in the hell had this happened? Her head seems to spin, and terror takes hold like a hungry leech in her mind. But this sudden slip has the stubborn, hot-headed piece of her surge forth, and she stiffens once more, green gaze a mask of scorn and hate.

He almost laughs at her in her state; frazzled and furious, dripping wet and angry. But he doesn't, his motive for pushing her in was something much more serious - his mortality. Vaati doesn't bother with explaining himself, he feels no need. She is at a disadvantage regardless of her fiery spirit; he is much bigger, stronger, and with a motive on his shoulders. His eyes roll slightly, and he nudges his head in the direction of the dark woods, indicating for her to return to the path ahead. They have a very limited time slot for him to be able to slip her in without those within the dark woods noticing, for now she is his back-up plan, his secret, something he intends to keep hidden until her value is lifted.

He motions toward the wood that whispers of darkness, but she doesn't budge. She stubborn, firm, anger a ticking bomb now, that he has had the gall to attempt to kidnap her and push her into the river like she's a pup in need of a bath. "Why does my pack want you dead?" she asks, tone furious and head held high, even though she's sopping wet and the river drags around her paws. The statement hadn't sunk in till now, and if she was to be some sort of hostage, she was affronted. "If you want a hostage, I'm a pretty crappy one." she delivered in the same tone, debating just how much faster she might be than him. She suffered multiple disadvantages, but she'd heard that panic and adrenaline could make one capable of amazing things; perhaps outrunning some murderous kidnapper was one of them.

Vaati halts, turning around to meet her cole gaze once more, having not moved from her place in the water. She is stubborn, and it angers him, not simply because she is defiant but because she is idiotically so. To not bite the hand that feeds you is a lesson Vaati learned quite young. It is evident the girl did not, but the last thing on his mind was her upbringing, but the purpose she and her many questions hold. And for once, a moment of frustration, he allows her the grace of an answer. "Because they have nothing better to do, I assume," He shrugs with mockery in his tone, casting her a foul glance as if blaming her for the actions of those that carry the same scent as her. However, truly, he could not think of a reason why the three women had cared so much about his fatal interaction with Rannoch. They were not his followers, he knows this. As far as he could tell, they were neither his wives nor his siblings so the concept of simple loyalty is one that is very foreign to him. He doesn't understand it; not when self-preservation domineers his ideals.

But he does not fear what they may do to him so much as what rash actions they will bring to his home and those within. His sisters, his brothers, and his siblings yet to be. Perhaps he would not have made the same choice again, could he go back knowing what he now knows, but the scar below his eye reminds him that such a possibility is impossible. He can only prepare for what may come, and if that means slaughtering the entirety of Moonspear picking them off one by one, he will do just that. He has the means to, the drive, the hunger for vengeance to do so. Perhaps he is right now.

But he shakes his head when she disagrees, attempting to convince him that she is less valuable to them than she truly is. "They will stop in their path once they realize I have you, they won't dare to make a move," He spits in return, almost angrily. However, his kidnapping of one of their own is not the only reason to stop the Cerberus where they stand. Unbeknownst to Vaati, the relation between his sisters, his mother, and the father of the woman who attempted to murder him is something quite fickle, dangerous, damaging. But perhaps it was good fate that he remained unaware of this fact, for one sole reason.

Had he known his own sisters were the byproduct of the Alpha of his enemies, he would have threatened to kill them too.

She considers this for a brief moment. She knows the Cerberus is dangerous, but she doesn't see a reason why her whole pack wants this boy dead. It is a confusing situation to suddenly find herself in, but she knows that this boy, or one of his pack, has to have done something. Something big, to warrant the Moonspear wolves wanting him dead. Fear courses through her as her bubble of surrealism pops. This is not a game, it never was. This absurd situation she had suddenly found herself in the middle of was real, and it was dangerous. It was then that she couldn't doubt that the boy could kill her, seriously hurt her. She wasn't one of them, not one of their family. She suddenly felt very alone, and while the boy counted on using her as leverage, she could not share in his faith that her pack would care. 

What if they didn't? What if she followed him to wherever he had come from, and even if he didn't harm him, someone else did? For surely this boy could not come from a normal pack. And here she was, going with him without even a struggle. She stood, silent, and then she charged, feeling the reason and words wouldn't help her, but violence stood a chance. She rushed for a forelimb, chin tucked to her neck, wanting to hurt him and flee, knowing that if he fled now he would catch her. Her last chance was to somehow, best him and flee as soon as possible.

In a foolish instant, a momental brief lapse in judgment, she girl strikes with a false pretense of hope but her attempt is futile and he knocks her to the ground in a counterattack, shattering any potential for escape. She struggles, kicking and biting, but ultimately forfeits to the fate she is tied to after minutes of sheer defiance. He lifts her, dragging her scruff towards the Dark wood and then within, stowing her away in the darkest reaches of a cave littered with the bones of their former captives.