Barrow Fields this house is covered by your bloodsport

the facade of grimnismal was expressive in its rigor. tensions within the pack were felt, and Lycaon himself could feel unease stir in his belly the longer he stayed in its marches. he wasn’t aware that Chusi had been cast out of their pecking order, or that Ingram’s flame was now nothing more than a charred wick. though had been up to speed on current events he probably would have been in more joyous spirits than he presently was. 

following his usual path up the valley, Lycaon found himself in the fields he often returned to. he liked it—few seemed keen on the atmosphere, but he was drawn there by some untraceable force. it meant there was no scarcity in voles and shrews, which favored the soft grasses, and deer were less cautious.  spring brought forth tender new life in the sward; the does that nibbled the thistle seeds would soon be joined by fawns, hidden amidst the grasses, and rabbits would get up the nerve to venture beyond a tree limb’s reach. 

his paws left slurry impressions the snowmelt as he plodded along the meadow’s edge, ears pricked for any activity in the expanse.

do you mind if we bring this to the present? :D

despite how he had mocked the butter-toned girl, mahler oft looked toward the sea, wondering if he himself could drag one of the great toothed beasts onto the sand. the thought both repulsed and interested the musiker; he decided at some day in the near future, he would locate some undisturbed stretch of beach and attempt it, if only to state that he had done it.
springtime's hand was painting the landscape these days of late; mahler paused to observe the warming air and the twittering birds as he loped along whatever trail his subconscious had chosen. that the pathway emptied into a meadow brimming with snowmelt and featuring the willowy boy of ash who served as wylla's co-leader perturbed and amused mahler.
slowly he approached, clearing his throat and pacing into eyeshot of the beta male. not given to unseemly shows of submission, mahler nevertheless kept his posture in check as he swept the surrounding white swathe for movement.

np! thanks for joining.

perhaps his ear wasn't as keen as he first thought, for he didn’t hear the man’s approach until a glottal bid for his attention prised him from the daydream he was in. the pallid boy turned to address his company, and was struck with a sense of deja vu—the resemblance this fellow bore to his sister was hard to overlook, though they were possessed of some distinctive dissimilarities in appearance. regardless, it took him a second to recalibrate his mental analogizing. 

Lycaon didn’t mind the lack of submission put forth by his subordinate; he’d never been overmuch receptive to such gestures. he chuffed companionably towards the grizzled man, following his gaze out towards the expanse. ”it’ll be rife with fawns come april.” he remarked, optimistic about the boon this year’s vernal season would issue.

<3!

mahler had become belatedly aware of how similarly he appeared to wylla — he knew it at the borders, but it had gone forgotten until the eyes of the other wolves lingered on him when he arrived in their company. not knowing how he should regard the development, and deciding he did not wish to grant such contemplation in this moment, mahler nodded at lycaon's words.
fawns. the tender flesh from slim bones would be a welcome richness after the hard edges of winter hunting. and april would be upon them in just over a fortnight. mahler too, found pleasure at the idea, and swept forward his dappled ears. "grimnismal will hunt?" he questioned in his heavy accent of the boy, wondering if a pack foray would be organized to greet the dawn of springtime by stuffing full their larders.

his ears strived effortfully with the accent laden with unfamiliarity. regardless, he was able to infer what Mahler meant and answered as if he hadn't noticed the man's foreign tongue. "well, those of us able." Caiaphas was with child, Kierkegaard was feeble with age, and Ingram had an impairment following their blows with the Drageda wolves, so he would need to take it easy as to not reinjure himself. though the beta was sure his brother would scoff at the idea of missing a big hunt.  "we will have young ones to feed soon." Lycaon divulged, unsure if the newcomer had yet met the nefarious wych and beheld the unmissable bulge of her waist.
"nothing keeping us from getting a head start on the season, eh?" he proposed, stepping forward and aside in an inviting gesture. the fawns were safe yet in their mother's wombs, but the field was well-heeled with other fauna to satisfy their diminishing caches.

that there were to be children born in grimnismal surprised mahler, but he did not evince this. his one meeting with the brinewitch had left the man shaken;he could not aptly recall any detail of caiaphas beyond the ferocity of her gorgonlike glare. giving lycaon a nod of assent, that there would only be what able-bodied hunters to forage the fawns, the musiker paced forward to the beta's side.
there was energy always within him for a hunt, for a spar — there was no heavy trudge in mahler's step when he came forth, salmon tongue darting across his jaw before he lowered his mottled head and began to search the snowy ground for spoor.