Blackfoot Forest rippling out through his past and future

for @Slavik

the tundrian does not stray too far from the dark woods. two or three ...or was it four? ( he'd long since lost count ) ...territories away wasn't terribly far. and as it stood, he was more than capable of finding his way back. what surprised him the most, perhaps, was the fact that he would go back. there is a deeper appreciation now for things he only scoffed at as a child. perhaps not a solid belief in otherworldly deities — he is still weary and hesitant as far as all that goes — but there is a newfound respect and that is a start.

in the daylight the blackfoot forest is nothing short of something out of a fairy-tale. the stench of fox lies heavy in the air and there is a soft noise of distaste that leaves the tundrian's lips as he shrugs through the bramble and ducks beneath low-hung spindly branches. he wanders today with no purpose other than to wander, glad that he has the freedom to do so without having to answer for it. he is alert, ears cupped forth atop his skull and glacial gaze continuously scanning the untrodden path he forges for himself through the forest.

Slavik had finally tore himself away from the meadow, and found himself wandering south, and back towards the mountains. He wasn't sure exactly where his feet were carrying him, only that they were. That was enough for him at the moment, the fiery thrill of the adventure had reignited inside of him and his weary bones had grown strong in that flame.

The sunray child found himself in the midst of a forest, a very thick forest. It was somewhat otherworldly, the forest which he walked seemed seperate and ethereal from the rest of the world. It was brimming with flora, both the beautiful and the savage kinds. He stopped to sniff at a toadstool, wondering whether or not it was the kind of thing wolves could eat. It smelled acrid, the stench was so strong that he could physically feel it storming his nasal passages. His lips pulled back in disgust and he backed away from it, wondering why such a thing even existed.

it does not take the tundrian long to realize that he's not alone. of course it strikes him as a bit ridiculous to assume he's alone in the entirety of the territory itself, but there is another somewhere in the general vicinity of him. there is not much wind, the thick forest does it's best to temper it and as it was the scent trail — fresh — was almost missed entirely by the stench of fox, even stale as it was. wintersbane doesn't intentionally follow it necessarily ...their paths were bound to cross eventually being in such relative proximity to one another as they were.

but when their paths do cross a curious appraisal is given of the other male. they are of a similar build. tall, bear-like. stalwart. but their pelages... their pelages could not be more opposite. where the tundrian is cloaked in the blue-black shadows of night accented by silvery moonbeam mane and mittens his counterpart is draped in colors of the sun. yö ja päivä he thinks as he moves through the shadows and lets out a low chuff to announce his presence, judging the stranger for a reaction.

Perhaps it was because he was so caught up in the putrid scent of the toadstool, or perhaps it was because he simply wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings, but for some fools reason Slavik hadn’t noticed the other male’s scent. The chuff surprised him, and a low snarl escaped his mouth at the sound. It was an instinctual reaction, and hopefully wouldn’t be taken as anything more by the other male, who Slavik turned to and analyzed quickly. He was built very much like Slavik, and he was likely close in age. The significant difference was their pelt colors.

Slavik notes that the moon toned male did not appear threatening, so he relaxed his posture to his usual amiable one, letting his thick golden coat lie flat again. Sorry bro, you surprised me, he commented, offering the other a friendly look.

he doesn't mean to surprise the sun-bright male ...but intentional or not wintersbane does surprise him and his chuff is answered by an instinctual snarl. it is answered by a quieted growl that rumbles deep within the soturi's chest. a warning sound he might use on a child that bites a little too hard, or becomes overly rambunctious. ...though he would back up the warning with force if the situation called for it. though, he does not think it will come to that. at least, at the moment. the frosted hairs at the nape of his neck bristle following his own instinct, though it lacks the certain aggression it would've once held. with age comes wisdom ...and apparently in the tundrian's case: a dampen on his natural hostility and aggression.

winterbane's suspicion is proven right when the other's posture shifts and an apology breaks the verbal silence held between them. bro? "you don't have to apologize," the tundrian brushes it away. he understands as well as anyone that it's dog eats dog ...and frankly, no one was bound to hear him apologizing for acting as nature and instinct intended. the soturi peers past the other male then to look at the toadstool that had evidently been the golden stranger's interest upon winterbane's arrival. "i'm no botanist but i'd stay clear of that. looks like it might be poisonous." the only poison he's familiar with is hemlock ( ironic if only because it was his step-mother's name ) but only because it guards his mother's grave. still, he instinctually wants to stay away from the otherwise inoffensive toadstool and wintersbane has always been one to trust his instincts.

Winterbane’s reaction was only to be expected, and that brief moment of natural tension lasted merely moments. The other male dismissed Slavik’s apology, and the sunlight boy nodded. They’d both reacted in a similar manner anyhow, and neither of them had meant harm by it. It was truthfully nothing to be sorry for, and certainly nothing to dwell on further. Slavik watched as his company’s eyes drifted to the toadstool that he had been checking out, and then he was given a warning.

Me either, but your probably right. Have you smelled one of those things? he asked, glancing down at the rotund fungi with distaste. Like Winterbane, he was not well versed in the book of botany, but he found that sensory details had a way of filling in the pages for you.

a second look is given to the toadstool for a few moments before wintersbane's eyes flicker back upon the stranger where they rest. "no," the tundrian responds to the question, and offers a slight wrinkle of his muzzle in distaste at the idea. "and to be blunt, i've got no desire to." wintersbane pauses here to draw his salmon tongue across his jowls. "besides, it must smell pretty putrid to be able to discern it from the rancid stench of fox that lingers all over this forest." he makes a disgusted noise in his throat despite that he's begun to grow desensitized to it. he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to live in this territory for the simple fact of the smell alone, mentally adding that the foxes would no doubt be aggravations and competition for local food sources. "it's not a very pleasant territory, in my opinion." but it was good for cutting through if one wasn't looking to traverse the mountains north of it.

Slavik could only agree with what Winterbane said, about this forest being rancid. Though he didn’t exactly feel the same way about it as a whole as his company did. He thought it was rather mystical, and while he too would likely never settle here, he found it quite exciting. He shrugged at Winterbane’s final statement, and glanced around him, I don’t know, it’s not that bad. It’s definitely unique, he said. There was a light pause before Slavik decided it was time for introductions, he dipped his head as he did so, a sign of friendly respect back at his home on the plains. I’m Slavik by the way, he said, then waited expectantly for a response.

the sun-kissed stranger speaks up with his own opinion of the forest that differs from wintersbane's own. their unshared opinions of it make them as unique as the forest itself but the tundrian can't help the soft snort that escapes his black, leathery nostrils. "ah, but the forest by the dark of night is a different beast altogether." when the foxes come out to play and their eerie wails could be heard through every inch of the forest. "there is old lore that the forest is haunted but it's just the wails of the foxes." although ...who is he to claim that there are no such things as ghosts? though he always believed himself to be a realist he has experienced impossible things and with each new experience brings about with it a question as to which he has no answer. nevertheless, the tundrian gives a casual roll of his shoulders. "to each their own." he eventually surmises.

slavik, the male introduces himself as. "wintersbane." the tundrian offers his companion with a soft quirk of the corner of his lips and a twitch of his tail against his hocks. "you from around here?" he didn't smell of any pack, not even one he didn't recognize and thus the tundrian is left to assume that slavik is a vagabond.

Slavik hadn’t heard the lore, as he was a lone traveler and he had yet to spend the night in these woods. So he took Winterbane’ word for it, and listened with intrigue. Haunted? He hardly believed in that sort of paranormal activity. Slavik’s family had raised him staunchly to believe that when wolves die they become part of the earth, and are reborn anew in some other life form. As a tree, or a dragonfly or so forth. He’d been told ghost stories as a youngster but only put credibility towards what his parents had taught. Now though, he contemplated being a ghost; what horrible manner of thing must a wolf do in their life to be denied the natural cycle of life and death?

He figured that Winterbane was trying to express another reason for not being fond of this forest, but he’d only induced more awe from Slavik. To each their own, said the grayscale wolf, and Slavik nodded thoughtfully. The other was introduced as Winterbane, a name that Slavik immediately thought of as badass. When asked if he were from around here, the young male let out a light snort, not at all. I used to live in a pack way down south of here. The Kendry’s, he shared.

there is a silence that hangs between them for several moments. he doesn't feel the need to break it. he's already shared his opinions on the forest they both occupy at the moment and it's unlikely they're going to change anytime soon. he's not fond and his companion is; and reminiscent of a conversation he'd had with a woman called speedy a week or so ago ( or was it longer? wintersbane could no longer remember ) differing opinions made the world go around; and while wintersbane enjoyed being right more often than he liked being wrong he acknowledged the fact that the world might irritate him more if everyone agreed with him all the time.

the tundrian's suspicions are proven correct with slavik's response to his inquiry. he mentions a pack way south of here and calls it kendry's ...but of course the name rings no bell to the tundrian. "never heard of it," he admits. he'd spent a bit of time outside the teekon wilds but it'd been very brief and it wasn't long before he wandered back here. he'd initially sought out enok tundra, driven by a curiosity and a desire to feel closer to his deceased mother ...but he felt closer to here, in these wilds, while he working on preserving and carrying on her legacy. "what was your natal pack like?" he asks out of his own curiosity, though he will not pry if his companion does not wish to share.

I keep wanting to call winterbane winter'sbane for some reason :')
edit: WAIT THAT'S BECAUSE HIS NAME IS WINTERSBANE AND I'M INCOMPETANT MY BAD LMAO

Slavik wasn't surprised that Wintersbane had never heard of the Kendry Plains pack. Even if the moonshadow male had been down into their region, it was likely he would've missed them. The plains they lived on were a wide expanse, and every year they moved around it, setting up new camps where the pack would sleep. They had one allied pack due north, but other than that they kept to themselves. Slavik could feel the question brewing in the pregnant pause, and so when Wintersbane asked what his natal pack was like he had already formulated his answer.

Medium sized, family oriented, got a couple strict rules and traditions but pretty laidback I guess, it really was a guess since he didn't know much about the rules and traditions of other packs and thus had little comparison. My parents were the alphas, they wanted me and my sisters to step up, but I wasn't sure I was ready or even wanted that. So here I am, he said with a tepid smile. He wasn't sad about leaving, for he'd had a blast exploring and meeting new wolves. Though he did often feel a tug of guilt deep in his chest, for leaving his sister and family behind.

What about you? You smell like a pack, Slavik said, wondering if his darker counterpart would be willing to share as well.

heck, i'm always getting his name wrong, haha. sometimes i write it 'winterbane' and others i write his old name 'drogon' and i frequently have to go back and fix it. xD

wintersbane, admittedly, wasn't sure there was a 'standard' for how packs worked but he rather thought that if there was it might be something like the pack slavik described to him. wintersbane's memories of teaghlaigh were vague at best but he knew it wasn't traditional: there'd been a lot of laws that his mobster father had tried to instill within him and his siblings from an early age. protect the family at all costs, the family before all else ...strict and uncompromising rules like that. and when he'd been in blackfeather woods the first time he'd been a rebellious cub struggling to deal with the trauma of losing his family. thus, he'd been too busy scoffing at all their ideals of religion to really care much for their rules. moonspear sounded like, out of the packs that wintersbane called home thus far, it was the most similar to slavik's natal pack. ...and honestly, it sounded boring to the tundrian. he needed to be challenged, he needed to be challenged with the knowledge that he would gain at the end of it. he was ambitious by nature and following the rule of another had never actually been his style. he subjugates himself to it only because it is necessary. he is young and has never led a pack in his life. lack of experience might only see him failure.

"hmm," the tundrian offers the contemplative noise quietly. "yeah," wintersbane replies, drawing in a breath and letting it out in a soft sigh. it hasn't escape his notice that he could attempt to recruit but he isn't so sure that slavik would be an ideal fit for the dark woods... or vice versa. "they're called blackfeather woods, about two or three territories south of here." wintersbane makes a casual gesture with his muzzle in the general direction. "i wasn't born there, though. i only recently joined their ranks." he clarifies and then thinks about what he can tell the man about a pack whose affairs are meant to be secretive.

"we've got a bad reputation and for good reason," he almost wants to call them a band of misfits but that's far too light-hearted for what they are at the core. "very inclusive, with loose moral compasses. their some of the deadliest wolves these wilds have to offer." to him that sounds like a good way of describing blackfeather woods without giving away anything the rest of the teekon wilds didn't already know. there were things that were not meant for the ears of wolves outside their ranks ...things he hadn't been aware of as a cub. his unique position of leverage from being within their ranks does not go unnoticed by him and yet something stops him. not necessarily loyalty ( at least not yet ) but curiosity. he is curious and ambitious enough to see how far he can go.

lol! My phone always autocorrects Slavik’s name to Slavic, and I have to go back and correct it before I post from mobile

Slavik got the feeling that Wintersbane wasn’t too interested in the Kendry Plains pack, but he wasn’t surprised. What more was there to say about them? Honestly the sunlight wolf was glad to move on from the topic of his natal pack because talking about them made him think about them, and thinking about them made him feel both guilty and longing for them. When Wintersbane spoke Slavik pushed his family out of mind, and back into the electric embrace of adventure.

It didn’t occur to Slavik that the pack Wintersbane described was one he’d heard of until he mentioned the bad reputation. His thoughts drifted back to his meeting with Liri, alpha of the plateau. She’d spoken of a pack, southern in the flatlands, a pack of wolves who marked they’re borders with ruin and death. He recalled the seriousness in her tone and warning, not to venture there. His eyes narrowed a little at the thought, and he wondered bitterly if Wintersbane took part in those grizzly activities.

I think I heard about your pack, a wolf named Liri warned me to stay away, he said, testing the waters.

the corners of winterbane's lips curl, not quite a smirk, not quite a warning ...not quite much of anything, really. it's an absent gesture. one he makes without even thinking about it and the absent gesture lingers briefly. he takes slavik's words at face value: that he was warned away from the pack by a stranger named liri. the name rings no bells, but he tucks it away because it might be useful in the future. because wintersbane is well adapted to being what he needs to be. spy. warrior. caregiver. a jack of all trades with no true allegiance except his own. he serves what serves him, in the end. not unlike the man that sired him.

he doesn't instinctually keep her name with the intention of using it ...but knowledge was power, after all. "depends what you're into," the tundrian shrugs his broad shoulders carelessly. "we're ...soldiers of fortune, i guess you could say. our services are given to the highest bidder because we can do their dirty work for them. the world is not as black and white as it may seem. just because someone does what others are too afraid to do doesn't make them evil." and he liked living in the grey between. that tentative land of neutrality between the alignments.

Slavik listened skeptically as Wintersbane spoke, he watched the way the other male rolled his shoulders and spoke so nonchalantly. What Slavik took from it was that they were soldiers for hire, but something the other male said struck Slavik as off. A snort escaped his nose before he spoke, an empty sound, Sure, they’re not evil for ‘doing the dirty work’, but personally I don’t connect pacifism to cowardice. In some ways I think it’s braver to avoid conflict than it is to insight it, he returned, not meaning to offend but simply speak his mind. Such was his instinct.

Though he didn’t agree with Wintersbane’s thought process, Slavik wished the other no ill will, and hoped to move on quickly. Your pack wouldn’t be for me I guess, but I’m glad it suits you,   he said as a light breeze blew past him and ruffled his thick coat.

feel free to archive as is or archive with your post. :-)

"but is it truly pacifism, is it avoiding conflict if they contract someone else to fight their battles for them?" wintersbane counters, canting his head ever-so-slightly in a bird-like manner. "war is still war regardless of who fights it. a true pacifist would work it out with diplomacy as opposed to contracting a mercenary pack to fight for them." he offers a lofty shrug of his shoulders. on that matter it is clear to the tundrian that they do not see eye to eye...and he will not attempt to sway the sun-kissed male's mind. he hadn't thought he would make a good fit for blackfeather woods but wintersbane knew that looks could be deceiving.

wintersbane will always be a soturi and his thoughts on battle and war would likely always oppose someone who has a more diplomatic approach to life. he is a brawler — it runs in his veins heavy with tundrian ancestry. "it has it's pros and it's cons, like any pack." wintersbane offers vaguely. "good luck on your pack search." the tundrian offers, taking a step back to take his leave. he expects that they had nothing left to talk about, especially as he has seemingly already made up his mind about blackfeather woods and the wolves that live there.

he waits until there is a comfortable distance between them out of instinct before he turns his back to slavik and disappears deeper into the woods.

thanks for the thread!! :)

Slavik was prepared to stay steadfast by his words, but he found that Wintersbane had a point. Slavik wasn’t a stubborn male, he wouldn’t push his point when it was no longer relevant. Wintersbane was right, there was no peace in hiring a mercenary, that was just extending the fight where it needn’t be. Yes, that was cowardice. You’re right there. I’m just not one for violence, and I can’t imagine being happily willing to fight someone else’s fight for them I guess. Unless it was for someone I loved, he concluded with a dour expression.

Wintersbane offered him luck on his journey, and Slavik gave him a friendly smile. Though the two wolves had different views, they were both diplomatic and Slavik felt that there were no hard feelings. He also felt that he likely wouldn’t see the other male again any time soon. See you round, he said anyway, before turning to make his path through the magical forest alone.