Moonspear tŷ, nid cartref

It is increasingly clear to him, even if the rebellion in Mynydd had proven otherwise, that there is safety in numbers. Why else would wolves band together for reasons other than family? Loyalty plays a key part in this decision-making, too, but it is the primal need for safety that drives many to shelter within their own kind. Having a place to call one's own, a group to bond with, is not only a want but a need for wolves, who are, at the end of the day, social creatures.

Llewellyn is a proud man, but not proud enough to keep away from the edge of borders forever. He knows he needs somewhere to stay, safe from the clutches of Ioan and his gang of traitors. Alone, they would slaughter him, but in the mountains, behind pack lines? They knew not this land; they would not touch him, here. He does not wish to bring chaos to any pack, only to rest and to strengthen his skills--to provide whatever service a pack needed, whether that be hunting, fighting; at this point, he would babysit.

The golden wolf stops just behind the border, staring up at the mountain before him. It is a mystical place, fit for a prince, and he cannot help but to smile as he beholds what could become his new home. No. . .not a home. A house, but not a home. There was a difference between the two, and Llewellyn had a difficult time imagining anything besides Mynydd being home for him. Perhaps, with time, this place would become so. But he had to get in, first.

Taking a steadying breath, Llewellyn howls for the relevant parties, his melodious voice ringing across the alpine sky. He prepares his speech silently in his head, thinking of what best to say, standing at the border in a posture that suggested both submission and confidence.

Charon had a lot more time on his hands now that the pups were in the entire pack's care rather than primarily his and Ame's. He spent much of it preparing for winter though mentally noted he should explore.. check if blackfeather woods still existed after the war with the redhawks, see Potema and his daughters there... He hoped they were well. Visit the shore with Vela like he'd promised..

For now though, Charon was patrolling the borders. As the scent of another wolf drifted to his nostrils Charon tensed. His body carried more proudly than before now as he approached the stranger, head arched tall. Tail hung relaxed at his hocks, for though the rest of his posture showed his dominance, the alpha's tenseness soon vanished upon seeing that the other was respectfully waiting. For now, he did not seem a threat. Charon chuffed to announce his presence as he approached and waited for the stranger to let his intentions be known.

It is the very image of a warrior that comes to greet him at the border, which instantly brings him comfort. This is no pack full of weaklings, led by an ineffectual king; this man has the glimmer of intelligence in his eyes and the scars to prove he is no stranger to battle. Without volition, he bows his head, as if at court, then lifts his muzzle once more, blue gaze holding no secrets as he meets the other's gaze.

"I wish to join your pack," Llewellyn rumbles, sparing the white wolf from a rambling introduction. It is not his style, anyway; his father was the poet, but he is all bloody business. "I am a warrior and can provide strength and safety to your family. I am not afraid to die."

Perhaps that is a lie; else, why would he have fled Mynydd? Yet in this moment, a preternatural calm had settled upon him, a knowledge--no, more merely a sense--of things still to come. Death only claimed the body. The soul lived on, through the thousands of years left for the world. His family was dead and gone, his kingdom sacked. Why shouldn't he put his life on the line for this band of wolves? He has nothing left to lose: absolutely nothing.

His eyes trace up the vast slope of the mountain, lingering on the peak for a moment before settling back on the man, whom he assumed was leader here. He carried himself like royalty. "What is this place called?" he asks, no great urgency in his voice. He wonders if he has heard of it before, grand crag as it is.

Charon's first impression was positive, considering the man showed respect to him at his borders. He didn't waste time and immediately shared what he was here for; to join the pack. Charon waited for an introduction but he received only an introduction of skills, not one by name. He could only assume that being a warrior was more important to this wolf than whatever his name was.

"Moonspear," Charon answered to the man's question. "I'm Charon, and I rule here alongside my mate, Amekaze." He considered both himself and Ame to be warriors too but he knew he did not need share it. His own appearance spoke on his behalf and Ame... Well, if he would be accepted, he would find out about her being a warrior soon enough.

"Why this one?" he then asked. Many packs had come and gone around them but even still there were packs in the area to join but his. Maybe it reminded the man of a past home or maybe he just liked mountains. Who knew.

Llewellyn dips his head, eyes warming. "A pleasure to meet you, Charon," he rumbles. He is reluctant to give his own name, if only that he is unsure how much the wolves in these lands know of Mynydd. If they are wholly ignorant, then it is safe, but if they profess to have even the slightest knowledge. . .it could spell danger for him, should they be allied with Ioan and not his late father. He has come too far to risk being exposed.

He ponders the man's question for a moment, trying to think of an eloquent answer, but eventually gives the search up with a shrug. "To be honest with you, Charon, I simply need a home," he answers, hoping the response is adequate. "Your mountain called to me, and your borders are marked strong. I hoped--still hope--that I could contribute to a pack with such a fine territory, such strong membership." If this Charon chooses not to accept the response, then he will go elsewhere. Nothing will be lost; it simply means a few more days of wandering.

Llewellyn cocks his head, finally choosing to drop the question to which he needs an answer, desperately. "Tell me, what have you heard of a kingdom called Mynydd?" he asks, the slightest bit of trepidation in his voice. All the while his toes curl toward the ground, praying for Charon's face to stay blank and unknowing on this front.

It irritated Charon greatly to receive only a 'pleasure to meet you' and not a name in return. He asked, the frustration seeping through to his voice audibly and not an ounce of politeness in his voice that time: "And what is your name?" Age had softened Charon somewhat, but he still had little patience for this kind of shit.

Had this stranger said 'your mountain called to me' without first saying 'I simply need a home', it might've struck a chord somewhere with Charon. He used to believe -- on some degree, still believed -- that he was chosen, that his mountain was special, that it was no coincidence he would command a mountain so tall it could oversee everything. He wanted to rule the valleys still, on some level... but now it seemed almost like a cheap trick to get in, to say something nice about the mountain, after he'd already disclosed that he really just needed a home.

Charon shook his head. His stare remained blank, though he didn't look one bit impressed. "No, I have not. Why don't you tell me about it." Clearly this stranger knew about it -- maybe came from it -- and there was some sort of dark past there. Charon needed to know the details in case it'd ever come back to bite them in the ass should they accept this man into their ranks.

The vexation in Charon's voice does not escape him, and the first question sends him spinning off into space, a blind panic gripping at his limbs. None of his names would suffice--they all would give him away, if Mynydd was familiar to this man. His name, his father's, his family's. . . Llewellyn grasps for something, anything, to say, and is finally relieved of the burden when Charon speaks again. . .and is ignorant of Mynydd, albeit questioning.

A placid smile comes to his face. "'Tis my father's kingdom," Llewellyn says. "My name is Llewellyn. I only wondered if anyone here has heard the name; I have traveled quite far." He dips his muzzle, looking abashed. "I meant no offense in secrecy," he explains. "A man's name is his greatest weapon, a weapon that can damage him most, when used against him. I have been trained from birth to. . .take great care of mine."

He understands, though, Charon's frustration. Any dancing around in Mynydd drew scrutiny, especially in times of war. He remembers well, though he was only a yearling then, the bloody days after the first Gethin rebellion, when Rhys's supporters--the ones that did not take back their treason, anyway--had been put to death. To be silent was an indicator of guilt; to use flowery words, even more so. The ones who had stood firm and truthful had always been the ones Gwynedd had been most sorry to put down.

Though his questions were answered to some degree, they weren't really answered. All Charon got was a name and an explanation of what the place was, but not really what it was. Llewellyn, what a strange name. Judging by his name and the way he spoke Charon judged he must really come from far, then.

There were, of course, many reasons that a wolf would leave their father's kingdom at some point. Korei Julia had left, too, and maybe she would spin a dramatic tale about him wherever she would go too. However, since Llewellyn had been so secretive about his name, Charon needed to know more. "Why is it so important no one of your father's kingdom finds you here? Why did you run?" he asked, his voice a little less unkind than it had been before, though still filled with scrutiny. Many wolves came here running from their past, and rarely it caught up with them, luckily, so Charon didn't worry. He mostly just wanted to know how Llewellyn reacted to his questions.

Luckily, his answers seem to have placated the pale leader somewhat, though he is, understandably, still wary. At his questions, Llewellyn's mouth draws into a frown. "There was a. . ." He struggles for the right word in the common tongue for a moment, before giving up. "In my language, we call it gwrthryfel. My cousin stood up against my father and killed him. Killed my mother and sister, too, and those most loyal to us. Everyone else turned against my family."

He shakes his head. "They would kill me, too, if they found me. I had no way of knowing whether you were loyal to my father or the traitor. Better still that you are completely unfamiliar with Mynydd." Llewellyn blinks in slight apology at Charon. "Perhaps one day, I will go back," he says softly. "Return, to reclaim my father's throne. But I am empty, these days, with no land to protect and no souls to guard.

"To protect and guard your mountain, your family. . .that is all I need, for now," the golden wolf rumbles. "I cannot ask for more; I can only hope that you take me at my word, which I assure you is honorable." With this, he dips his muzzle again, in a sort of half-bow. He will kneel for no man save his father, though now dead and rotting. But Charon deserves his utmost respect, and gratitude, as well--if he is accepted into the fold at Moonspear.

As Llewellyn told his story, Charon felt a strangely mixed feeling. On the one hand, he could sympathise with the man's story, for he imagined what if it were Hydra or any of his other children in Llewellyn's stead, if someone would ever kill Charon. On the other hand, the man was Charon's age rather than his daughters' and he seemed to hold onto the past very strongly. It was imaginable if he had lived his whole life on his father's territories, but that time was gone.

"You should move forward rather than holding onto the past," Charon said. "I could give you a place in my pack, but I want you to be loyal to me and my family now, rather than holding onto your old home and thinking you should return there one day. We have known betrayal too..." The tip of Charon's tail twitched as he thought back to Rannoch. He wouldn't let such a thing happen again. "Some of my wolves whom I thought loyal left for a different home and took half my pack with them. You can imagine I am not too keen having someone who intends to leave some day in my ranks... Especially someone who could use a fighting team when he does go." He looked earnestly at Llewellyn, cards on the table. Charon contemplated making an offer but then he did not, waiting for Llewellyn to make him an offer he could not refuse instead. Right now they could use another wolf, but it wasn't worth it if he would leave by the time the next batch of pups arrived and take half the pack with him, too.

Everything Charon says is true. Llewellyn listens intently, letting each word soak into his pelt like summer raindrops, warm and heavy. He knows that the story he brings and the past alongside it is not the most appealing to a ruler, especially one who has held this mountain for so long. A son of a deposed king, seeking refuge? History did not smile on fugitive princes.

But he is here, and alive. And for every argument Charon makes, Llewellyn has a rebuttal. . .or at least something to say on the matter.

"I am sorry you have not escaped the bitter taste of betrayal," he begins, staring with empathy clear in his eyes. "I can understand why you would not be so keen to accept me into your ranks." He looks to the north, where the waves beat harshly against the seaside cliffs. Is that faint rushing simply the blood in his ears, or can he really hear it, even in the bosom of the mountains? "My home will always be a part of me. I cannot, and will not, change that."

His gaze, twin shards of sapphire, cuts back to Charon. "But that home is forever changed, and my family is dead. The only family I can protect now is the one that chooses to take me in." His eyes flit up the mountain, lingering on the peak. What secrets, what bounties, lie there? "Honor is important to me. I am not one to break my word. And even if I were to return to Mynydd--whatever is left of it--I would not dare to rip your warriors from you. This fight, if I choose to undertake it, will be mine alone."

Llewellyn bows his head to the pale-furred king, closing his eyes as if in prayer. "The decision is yours, syr," he murmurs, awaiting his fate. "I will accept your verdict with grace, whether it suits me or not."

A lot of pretty words followed. Llewellyn seemed genuine enough, but there was never any real guarantee that anyone truly was. Rannoch and Liffey had seemed genuine too, after all. Charon remained wary, though the man gave his word -- but what good would his word be should he choose to leave and take part of the pack with him after all? Charon still felt that he dwelled too much in the past, figuring he should move on. Like Llewellyn himself had said: find a new family to defend rather than lingering in the past on thoughts of revenge for what had happened to his family.

Anyone's word was all Charon could do with however. Gannet had stayed, the good side to that coin, like he had promised. Charon knew he could not forever keep worry that others might betray him again, or his life would be lonely and withdrawn. He would just have to give it another try.

"You can join us," he decided after a silence of maybe a minute in which he thought, following Llewellyn's words. "I will hold you to your word. And please tell me if you ever start to feel the itch to leave." If he knew a bit longer than now in advance, then the pack could prepare and make sure that they were able to take the loss easier. "Most wolves on this mountain are a part of my blood family. My mate Amekaze is my queen, our Beta Hydra is one of our daughters -- many of our daughters and sons are still with us. We have young of a few moons old at the rendezvous site who need tending by the entire pack. Some are showing great interest in becoming warriors. You can teach them." Charon then asked: "Do you wish to rest first, or want to see some of the important parts of the mountain first?"

He lets out a quiet breath as Charon speaks, accepting the golden male into his pack. Llewellyn nods; it is an easy enough thing to agree to, advance notice of departure. He listens intently to the leader's description of his family, smiling at the mention of pups. He has always had a soft spot for children, and is glad that Charon is willing to give him the opportunity to be a mentor, though he is so new here. At the query, Llewellyn purses his lips, thinking for a long moment.

"A short tour would suit me fine," he rumbles amiably, gaze straying over the crag once more before returning to meet Charon's. "Plenty of time to rest, yet." He is tired, but he does not want to deny such an offer. Some would not have extended it, after all. And after having to prove his loyalty to the man, he is determined to remain on his good side. Charon struck him as a wolf whose bad side was brutal.

He, too, knew brutality. But in the wake of the recent conflict, all Llewellyn wanted here was peace.

Charon would've been fine letting Llewellyn rest first. Then maybe he could've given the task of showing him around to one of his children or another pack member instead. However, as he had offered and Llewellyn accepted Charon nodded and lead the way through the forest, into the territory. The slopes of the mountain were covered in forest, a forest that ended at the borders of the pack on most sides of the territory. Wordlessly Charon started to lead the way, assuming that Llewellyn would follow.

"The rendezvous site starts here," he said eventually as they passed a narrow creek with trickling clear water. They continued along the pathway through the forest until they broke out of the forest and continued on a steep path that lead up the mountainside. "The pups are usually around here somewhere." Charon didn't sound as if he was actually trying to find them, rather just instructing Llewellyn on their usual whereabouts. "There's various caves further up the mountain. It's a tall mountain, though I've never reached its actual top -- the tips are jagged, so even in summer it can be an ordeal to climb." Some day he would reach the top, so that he could find out if he could reach the stars from up there.

Charon nods, and the golden wolf follows close behind as the leader heads up the slope, snowy form cutting through the trees. Llewellyn relishes the exercise, the cool mountain wind through his pelt. It is a beautiful day, and a gorgeous place to call home. How could he be anything but content, right now? More than content. . .happiness should course through his veins, keeping pace with the blood. [

But Charon was right. He needs to forget Mynydd and all that happened there, or at least push his old home to the back of his mind. Because for every landmark they pass, Llewellyn thinks of a comparable one by the sea. For everything Charon mentions about Moonspear, it brings up memories of the complexities of his kingdom. It will forever hold him back, if he continues to live with one paw in the past and one in the present.

He must find a way to move on--or he will suffer.

"How close is the nearest pack?" he asks, looking over at Charon, only puffing slightly as he tackled the steep incline. "Do we have any allies?" He wonders about the standing of Moonspear, and the politics of these lands. Is this as prestigious of a pack as he had initially thought? What is their fighting force comprised of? How full are their caches? Question after question rests on his tongue, but he waits patiently for Charon to answer his first two, and then he will decide where to go from there.

In time most of the territory would have to be discovered by Llewellyn himself, for there was only so much words could show. The questions that followed were directed at the outside of the pack however.

Once Moonspear had had allies and enemies both but currently Charon knew little of what went on outside. Many nearby packs had left the area. "Various packs have moved away in the last year. Allies and enemies both. Currently.. We have no allies or enemies near. I think there's some packs near the coast, but we tend to leave each other."

This answer surprises him more than he lets on; truthfully, he would have been happier with a list of names. No allies or enemies near? That simply meant that their enemies were waiting just out of sight, out of reach, ready to strike again--or there were tensions brewing, not quite bubbled over. One misstep to upset the balance, and. . . Llewellyn swallows, nodding brusquely at Charon's answer.

There is much to ponder. Much to think about. He pushes the remainder of his questions to the back of his mind, saving them for a later time.

"Thank you for accepting me into your pack, and for showing me around. I am indebted to you, truly," the prince says, dipping his muzzle appreciatively to Charon. "I will repay you this debt with my strength and loyalty. I am yours to call upon when needed." The day is growing long, the sun beginning its gradual descent beneath the horizon. "I will leave you to the rest of your duties, unless you require anything else from me." His brows lift in quiet query, blinking gently at his new leader.

After showing Llewellyn around the territories quickly the newest member to Moonspear's ranks said his goodbye after a long-winded thank-you. Charon smiled, grateful for the words, and nodded appreciatively. "Nothing for now. Get some rest, eat something, drink something." Charon nodded at Lewellyn and then turned around in the direction of the borders, fully intending to get back to aforementioned duties.