Ankyra Sound they're lining up the prisoners and the guards are taking aim

He felt no guilt for leaving behind the wolves at Blacktail Deer Plateau.  If they took offense to him leaving, winter and the coming springtime would show them: wolves had no loyalty in this insipid world.  Survival drew them all to a common cause.  Bonds were made to be broken.  Perhaps one day he would be proven wrong... but he did not hold out for it.

He crossed the mountains towards the sea and took his time in getting there.  Though winter was on the horizon, he still had the full month of autumn to figure things out.  Waves crashed against the sound as he trailed across the sands, no destination or occupation in mind.

Struggling to find routine, Helix does what she does best: walk the borders. It gives her time alone, now that Lava is gone, and she can clear her head. Drageda has been quiet, lately, except for yet another missing child. This time, she doesn’t bother looking for them. If they can’t control their children, then it is for the better. The weak do not need to remain and it is how their core remains strong. She knows little of the litter between Heda and her mate, but given their leader shouldn’t have a family at all, she finds this easier in the long run.
 
She ventures out when she reaches the southern border, though, finding a fondness in the sound. It reminds her more of Seageda than the cliffs, as they border the northern edges and she finds comfort in the great wall backing the beach. Briefly, she wonders if the kid she ran into is doing okay or if he’s found his brother or maybe had any revelation in what he’s doing, but it’s short lived as a dark figure stands in the distance. Helix does not move forward, watching the aimless trot of the stranger as he continues to make a haphazard path of her general direction.

Shadow meets shadow beneath the leaking lifeblood of the sun.  The venomous yellow of his gaze finds her statuesque form, long legs altering their course to something more purposeful.  He strides in her direction with a neutral but self-assured posture and slows to a halt a cautious distance from the strange woman.  

She is not like the limp, waifish girls he is used to.  Even from here he can tell she is cut and hardened; it catches his eye in a surprising way.  He watches her silhouette for movement, and breaks the silence with a low chuff.

The moment he spots her, his strides change only slightly. Moving in a direction very clearly her, she keeps still and stoic as she’s been trained to do so for years. Each point of her posture changes from one tick to the next, hardening her muscles in anticipation without exposing much movement. When he’s close enough, her head lifts slightly with the point of her nose.
 
He stands long of limb with odd, battle worn features and carries himself well enough across the sand she might consider him a sea dweller. In fact, his scent offers little knowledge other than the distance between him and his last home. “What,” she demands of him when the silence settles between them too long.

Her tone is flat and demanding, but he believes himself to be Mister Slick.  He wonders what causes her to bristle so naturally, what has carved her to be the woman that she is.  He scarcely knows her, if he even knows her at all, but when he compares her to Quail in his mind there is a different kind of interest.  He had wanted Quail because she lived up to her namesake.  She quailed before him, and she defaulted to submission.  She was easy to break.

This woman?  Nothing.  Passing through.  The wind ruffles the jagged edge of his withers, and his tongue sweeps across his muzzle.  I'm hungry.  Do you have an issue with me hunting here?

He doesn’t act any much different, nor does he shy away from her… question, if we call it that. “Yes,” she instantly decides. Technically, no, but something unnerves. Or she thinks it does. She struggles to read his intent but she does not shift to hostility other than the slight ruffle of her fur. “There’s nothing further to pass through, you will only meet tooth and claw,” she warns him with a slight raise of her brow.

He does not want to move back towards the Plateau, and he does not want to move forward to be met with the woman's pack, especially if they are all as cut and dry as she.  He quirks a brow and thinks for a moment, before he queries, Would it be different if you hunted with me?  Perhaps if he were not just some loner hunting on these borderlands, she (or her pack) might think differently.  I will split the spoils with you, and you may take what we do not eat back home.

Any indication how she feels about the suggestion is met with nothing. She stares him. Maybe she considers it. Maybe she’s already made up her mind. Slow breaths, carefully expelling down the length of her nose.
 
Hunting with outsiders is often frowned upon, they take what they want and need and fuck the rest, right? But every turn, she’s had to adjust herself to the wilds, which she is not sure how to feel about. She is here as a diplomat instead of a warrior and those ways are hard to put down, especially when she feels the need to play both parts.
 
“Fine,” she finally says, licks her lips, and glances back up the beach but she doesn’t suspect they’ll find much on the sandy shore.

Barracuda believes himself to be generous in this offer.  He is saving her the effort of chasing him off, and depending on what they find, she could be bringing a significant portion home.  Still, she takes some time to answer him.  He nearly grows impatient, the venemous bite of his eyes hardens until finally she relents.

His eyes draw across the coast.  He is a noble fisherman, but this close to the shores his assessment is much the same.  He dips his head in acknowledgement and moves away from the coast, to the grasslands behind her.  We will have better luck this way.

When he moves, Helix follows at a distance. She watches the world ahead of them as well as each movement he makes. She’s only familiar with the part of the sound that’s close to the cliffs and the vastness of the sound is still under appreciated. Helix leaves no room for small talk, their distance too awkward for conversation, and trots behind the interesting brute. Less and less she looks ahead and finds her comparing yellow eyes lingering on him.
 
Almost, she misses the movement behind a few trees once they reach the forest. Her head jerks and she lifts her snout, searching for the origin. Her trot speeds up and she closes the distance, coming around to the stranger’s side as she hears the tale-tell gobble nearby.

It would have flattered him to know that she was paying more attention to him than their travels, regardless of her intent.  Unfortunately for him he has no eyes in the back of his head, and he is more used to intimidating the sixth sense into others than feeling it himself.  A tattered ear swivels, lip curling to reveal an incisor as he tips his nose to the air and sniffs as the turkey-gobbles echo through the trees.

Over there, he whispers with a gesture of one of his long limbs, Sounds like three or four.  Suggestions?

Turkeys are about the only birds she’s ever been able to catch but there aren’t too many further north. The few times they’ve traveled south and run into them, they’ve proven kind of dumb. Strong and vicious up close, sure, but that’s the only hard part.
 
“Dumb birds,” she determines, pointing her nose to two off to the right, just breaking away into a clearing. They’re distracted with something on the ground and an easy target to separate from the other birds.

He accepts her explanation with a short nod, chin ducking down before he trains his gaze on the two birds that have separated themselves from the others.  They had not noticed the wolves yet... and if they were lucky, they wouldn't.  If they were incredibly lucky, their necks would be snapped and that would be that.  He strides the long way around them to hide in the shadows and settles down there, then waits for the woman to get into position.  He seeks her gaze before he launches, nods again, and comes after the bird with his fangs.

The two they’ve settled on gobble quietly, pecking at the ground, while the two predators kick into gear. Her feet itch to move forward, eyes flickering between the two turkeys and occasionally to the stranger. As soon as he throws himself forward, she leaps into action. Legs propel her forward, only putting distance between the two of them so she can center the birds, bettering their odds to at least catch one of them. Her teeth snap as the lurch forward, scattering them every which way as they close in.

She moves quickly, as she propels towards them a turkey veers towards him.  She skates to the side and makes an attempt to grab it, its giant wings battering against his chest as he begins to duel.  Its claws are sharp and its beak is too, and the feathers that beat against him conceal his vision.  He snarls viciously and aims at its face, hoping that his partner will come in clutch.

In the sudden influx of feathers and claws and snapping teeth, one of the turkeys manages to get away. If a large wing hadn’t blocked her view, she might have tried to go after it but the male drives the other one right to her. Angrily, it flaps its wings and shrieks, squawks, and makes more noises than she’s heard anything to try and deter them. Thankfully, the bird is focused on the other wolf as she launches back an lands on the bird, taking a mouthful of wings in the exact moment, cracking it, an seizing its neck all in one fell swoop of a bite.

She is impressive.  She lands on the bird's back and grabs its neck; though the bird is large there is not much room for him to do anything other than watch now.  He takes a few steps back (unsure if she will become possessive of the kill now that it is dead) and regards her with his yellow stare.  The other birds are gone, but they did a good job.  You've earned this, he rumbles, Take it home.

She waits until there’s no movement to let up, dropping the limb bird to the ground. Her ribs rise and fall with vigor a few more seconds, slowly calming down as her head swings to him. For a few seconds, she is protective despite his offer to let her keep it. Instead, she takes a step back and exposes it. “You did enough work taking the beating,” she jokes, spitting out a own feather or two. If the bird hadn’t been distracted, he might not have done so well in taking it down, but birds are delicate creatures once you find the weak spot.
 
“You could bring it back with me,” she suggests to him, an inviting lift of her brow.

Intrigue settles over his features, his head lowering a few inches.  He considers her offer for a few beats, and eventually dips her head.  Back towards the coast, then? he assumes, taking a few steps in that direction.  Do you need help carrying?

“Not quite,” she tells him, looking back the way they’d come. It’ll be a bit before they’re out of the forest with the cliffs in view, but at least the way they came from Drageda had been in the background. “We are on the cliffs further norther. Drageda,” she tells him. He’s a capable body, showing her already what he’s capable of doing (even if she’d dealt the killing blow), and no scent to carry with his name that belongs to anyone else. She points down to the felled turkey with intent and then beckons him to follow. “I am Helix.”

A small smile crosses his lips.  Drageda.  It has a nice sound to it.  He wonders if it means something but he does not ask just yet. Barracuda, he says, before picking up the bird and beginning to follow her to the cliffs.  His questions will go unanswered for now — he cannot ask them with a mouthful of turkey.

After he introduces himself, Helix doesn’t say anything else. She leads them back to the cliffs where she calls for @Blixen. She informs him of their situation, a little bit about their law, and asks him questions about his purpose so she has it when the commander comes in question. Perhaps even with her blessing, he still has a test to pass when Heda returns, but for now she can at least speak first hand to skill they need in Drageda. When the red haired woman arrived, they exchange introductions once more, their purpose for being here, and ultimately the decision for the brute to stay in exchange for his work.