Lost Creek Hollow forfeited

They had roved ahead without him, with their lean legs and slim, dark bodies that were built for flight as much as they were built for fight. Any other would have envied them, or aspired to reach such physical prowess, however Mengu was a simple beast. For as little as he had in the way of athleticism (or freedom for that matter), he had his life, and for that he was thankful. The Luk clan had granted him this much, and the boy was wise enough to not waste such a gift.

So when his master's daughter had rebelled and went against the tradition of their pack, and the man had put on a display of rage that rivalled even the fiercest of storms, the slave disappeared with the wolves she had taken along with her in exile. For as much as he owed the clan, Mengu was also a coward; he knew the beatings from his master would be severe. The pack had splintered. His life would be of far more use to Tashkent and her siblings. So he followed.

Their scent led into a wild land so unlike the plains that they had called home; he hazarded a guess that they would be seeking out territories similar. So he pushed on past a river that cut through a dark, shaded forest, ignoring all distractions and keeping to his path. The thought of simply turning tail and running from his indebted slavery never even entered his mind.

He'd come across the scent of wolf a few days ago, and while that itself wasn't an oddity it was the strangeness of the scent. The foreign quality to it. These wolves, whoever they were, came from somewhere vastly different from all that he knew; so he followed after them, his mission temporarily delayed for the sake of curiosity. Tulimaq could be stealthy if he wished to be—his heritage demanded as much. So he took to following the roaming horde until they crossed in to the wilds, and then did what came naturally, and waited until one of the weaker individuals split off from the rest.

In this case, he ended up following Mengu until the pair of them were alone together. He could not tell how old the stranger was as he tracked them, but they seemed somewhat healthy. When a river cut across his path he was waylayed for a few minutes, hunting for clues and scents and whatever else he needs, and crosses the lazy river so that he can continue his investigation. The forest looms around him, but he doesn't feel comfortable in the thick dark of it all—no, Tulimaq is much more at home among the mountains, or in the open space of the north.

He sighs and grumbles to himself, something in some other language. Cursing the target of his interest, or maybe his own curiosity, but he doesn't delay for long—soon he finds a trail, and begins to follow it fresh.

He is steadfast in his mission — to find — but that does not mean he is unaware. The boy remains alert as he travels, tattered ears swivelling in every direction as he picks out the sounds of the forest; the scampering of tiny mouse feet in the underbrush, the flutter of wings in the boughs above, the sound of water rushing over stones. He pauses when he hears a twig crack, though where it came from he wasn't sure.

Drawing to a stop, Mengu lifts his head and tests the air, dark eyes glancing around the darkness of the woodland that now seems to loom over him, threatening to engulf everything in sight. His heart begins to thrum, and the slave begins moving again with a nervous speed to his step.

Tulimaq does not mean to cause alarm as he prowls the woods, but he is also not entirely mindful of how his pursuit could be percieved. His mind is set on the singular purpose of hunting. Even if his target had slipped from something edible to something entirely different, the methods are the same. One could argue that his stalking of the wolf took more skill; it did not matter in the long run. The wolf was curious, and the forest's darkness gave him ample opportunity to catch up and observe.

He overshot the target's position, and didn't notice until moments later when their steps no longer sounded among the trees. Tulimaq paused his own strides, and thereafter was silence save for the rustling of the wind in the trees. He wanted to keep moving. The prospect of sitting still for any length of time never felt right to him, but to move now could betray his position. Tulimaq might not have meant anyone ill-will but he knew how groups like these operated—he had been born in to Tartok, after all—and so he expected backlash from hidden foes.

Quicker now, Mengu loped through the forest, nearly breaking into an all out sprit. He tempers his gait, however, knowing a gallop would only draw more attention to himself, as much as he wanted to flee. One would think he would be used to this, to being watched, but he was a nervous sort; and never did do well in forests. The unfamiliarity of this new land didn't help, either.

He pauses again when the trees fall silent, quirking an ear as he listens to only the sounds of a faint breeze. He wondered for a moment if this was any of the Luk siblings playing a game of cat and mouse; they loved to toy with their victims. Taking an unsure step forward and squinting into the tangle of foliage, Mengu lets out a single, hesitant demand, voice strained from disuse, show self.

He finds the stranger's path easier to follow when they pick up speed, because they begin to grow careless in their haste. The game is entertaining. It gave Tulimaq purpose, and so far had been more successful than his previous hunts for edible beasts; he knew he had a bigger purpose than these things, but he had always been ready to deviate from the expected. 

When they finally stop, he stops just in time so that he remains hidden. But there is a voice, and the sound strikes at the trees, demanding answers. Tulimaq knows he shouldn't find this as entertaining as he does, but he cracks a small smile. Thin and tense. This creature he has been tracking is hardly a wolf, and would never survive within Tartok, he thinks. He wonders what their purpose is within the horde—

Ah, but he could just as easily ask these questions rather than speculate. So he does as he's asked, taking on an easy stride as if he's been minding his own business the entire time. His silhouette creeps around a copse of young trees and then he stops, the sunlight glinting around him; but he levels his moody golden gaze upon the stranger, and lets out a bored chuff.

There. The man finally reveals himself, though his approach is subtle and understated — a clear difference from his last master, Olzii, who had made a show of every appearance. He slinks from the shadows of the trees in such a predatory way that Mengu shrinks back slightly, his thin tail immediately wrapping under and pressing up against his stomach. He lowers his head, whatever courage that had coaxed him to call out to the stranger now failing him.

He was similar in build to the wolves of his former master's clan — cutting a tall but lean profile. A hunter. When he stops, Mengu steals a glance up, catching sight of a sharp, golden gaze, before he lowers his own back down to his feet submissively. Who you? The command this time was delivered even more tentatively, his voice nearly catching in his throat.

He takes his time in sizing up the target, although now that he's been found out the wolf has stopped being such a thing and, in fact, doesn't have a single pleasing aspect about them. They're distorted. Perhaps they were born a runt — or they've been put through some form of torture, leaving a build up of scar tissue. Either way they are an ugly thing that Tulimaq doesn't have the heart to stare at for long. They seem healthy enough for a lone wolf.

Just as he's watching and studying the stranger, they are doing the same to him. He cannot read their expression beyond nervous fear, which may have boosted his brother's ego but does little to nothing for young Tulimaq. They speak—if you could call the sad excuse for a voice speech—and the wanderer introduces himself with a slight lift of his head.

Tulimaq. He does not have a true name yet—this is his mission, to go across the land and quest, and return to his people as a new and powerful creature. He thinks of this as he speaks, licking his lips after thoughtfully, and adds—Where are your people going?

There is a quiet moment where the two size each other up, though Mengu tries to keep his gaze focused more so on the ground. Eye contact from a slave was not tolerated in the Luk clan, at least not with Olzii. These lands were foreign, filled with beasts of differing beliefs, but these habits had been long since ingrained into his psyche.

He tries to withhold his surprise when his query is met with an actual answer. Tulimaq. It was unexpected, accustomed as he was to his questions being met with tooth and claw instead, but welcome nonetheless. The scrap of information he squirrelled away to relay back to Tashkent later. North, he answers after some hesitation, before swallowing the lump in his throat anxiously. They had no true direction, not yet, but they all had a single sole goal in mind. Seek a home.

North. Says the ruined boy, and this catches his interest. It tells him these wolves have been moving from the south, from the summerlands, which is surprising since the seasons are transitioning. Why would they leave some place mild and easy? Tulimaq may be thoughtful internally but he does not voice any of his questions, and his attention evidently drifts away from the boy.

The warrior paces closer, looking over the body as he nears for signs of illness or injury beyond the scars and ugliness he has already seen; he considers lashing out and maybe that hostility flashes in his eyes, he has never been very good at hiding his intentions, but he chooses not to. There is no point in testing the fitness of this stranger. If Tulimaq wants to do that, it would be better — at least more of a challenge — to seek out this boy's people and test them instead. A game for another day, perhaps.

Are you hungry? The young man asks without a shift in his tone, and while his gaze drifts from the boy to the soil, he kicks at some dry leaves, paws at them lazily. I am new to these wilds myself, but I am an avid hunter. You will need your strength if you are to survive the north, with winter coming.

As he stalks forward with unknown intent, Mengu stiffens, ears flattening and head bowing even lower in compliance. For a moment, he's convinced the man is about to attack, and braces for the sting of teeth or the brunt of a shoulder charge. It never comes, however, and he risks a peek up at the tall male's face. He had missed the fleeting look of malice within his burning gaze, but still keeps his muscles tense. Ever ready.

His question caused a single ear to swivel towards him, and Mengu shifts his weight in trepidation. It was not often he was shown kindness, or offered the chance to hunt with another. He was not a skilled hunter at large game, though often watched from the sidelines as the horde took down the giant beasts who roamed the plains of the Khorasan. Smaller creatures, however, were his specialty. Those easy to fool with traps and lures. It was how his small pack — before the Luk clan had raided their lands — survived.

Interest piqued by Tulimaq's comment, Mengu glanced back up, only for his attention to be stolen by the leaves the man now idly played with. He did not doubt the stranger's hunting abilities; the slave had seen just how capable even those with lankier forms fared. He would be lying if he said he wasn't hungry — their travels had been arduous — but habit forced him to give a small shake his head. "No, sir," he said. To reveal hunger was to invite a beating. I'll give you something to complain about, was Olzii's resounding reply if he had ever expressed as such.

"Will hunt," he added, however, with a lift of his head. "For clan."

Tulimaq wasn't sure what to make of this wolf. He was being given an opportunity — at the same time, was beholden to those of the horde. It was curious to the explorer and a part of him wanted to know more. How could someone like this exist within the world? But he was impatient too; the boy was afraid and Tulimaq couldn't tell if he was nervous of him, being a stranger, or merely because he existed. He did not want to push the boy, so he murmured, I could help you please the clan. Bring them an offering, keep them fed. I won't take anything from you — and I will be gone before they know I was here. A deal, then, to make the boy look good for his people.

Unexpectedly, he was offered a deal instead. One that Mengu paused to consider for a moment. Again, he was perplexed by the man's kindness, wondering if his motives weren't quite what they seemed. He had a sharpness to his features that suggested a certain type of shrewdness, that he was more calculating than he let on.

However, the chance that he was, in fact, one of the rare selfless few was what spurred Mengu to accept his deal. He gave the smallest of nods, and squeaked out a reply, "for clan." It was his life motto; to please those in the horde came before anything else.

So with a wordless nod, the two set off deeper into the Hollow in search of a gift for the clan.