The Tangle i’m in trauma it’s got me singing-

All welcome <3 just tryna keep it vague atm
Setting Late evening. (12/31-1/5) A week after the assault on Drageda, & after having returned from her excursion with Tux.
Place The Tangle, southern part.

The kru needed to breathe. After the vortex of violence that had whirled through Drageda’s encampment, she’d barely had time to compose herself before the tide for healing had come. During the war that had been waged, the pallid she-wolf had sequestered herself away with the simmering Opkepa.

Tending to Rose’s stores had proved an invaluable reprieve from her own terror. Had helped to keep control over her mind, rather than allow it to run away with all those apprehensive and sour worries that roiled through her mind like stormclouds.

Aside from ascending to skayona, the moment she’d arrived to the coast a mere week-and-half ago, the far-northerner had wanted to pursue the trade of rauna. If anything, it was simply a justified means to continue to search for her brother... had he truly survived.

But now, with the injured and ailing, she found herself... absolutely perplexed. Thin-lipped. Almost unwilling, her heart’s desire yanking at the rigging that her mind had turned to—to the trade of opkepa. Exactly the entire opposite of what she’d longed for. Even though her heart aches for finding Vonnaruil, she knew that she had to stay. Weighed them like medallions in her mind, peered at them, to see what she could gain out of it—aside from the appreciation of others and proving herself.

As such, she’d broken away from the sea of redwoods, and had made for the more denser part of the Tangle; a tad wary of her bright pelt within the deep gloam of timber’s night; but nonetheless picking her way for the winter river, flitting through twisted, ashen trunks.

Isleña was starting to get used to being alone, as much as she hated to admit it. It was an unwilling thing; most unwilling! The woman did not want to admit that her solitude might persist  [for even if she relented and joined another pack within which to weather these dreary winter months, she would still be alone because she would be like a body with no soul; a vein with no blood; a Luk without her family.  This was her new reality, and though it had taken her a while to reach such a conclusion, it dawned on her now all the same.

So, finally, the banshee’s priorities shifted from frantically scouring every nook and cranny of the winter-bare terrain to find her lost blood to… well, surviving. For now she survived alone, because at this point, being around other wolves just seemed superfluous. At moments, she even wanted to die. 

Eventually, Isleña decided she did not actually want to die, because life was much too fun in too many different ways to forsake so easily. This might have been the first true test to have befallen the girl, sheltered and apparently coddled from a life with a deep and expansive family, but was she not a warrior princess of the flames — fire untamed? Was Isleña not a trained assassin, skilled in the ways of subterfuge? Oh, the cocoa woman was all of these things and so much more beyond that. She would be fine, and maybe one day, the gods would reward her good sense with the return of her loved ones. In the meantime, she must persist.

The tiny woman had taken up residence in the tangle and felt quite proud of the decision. If she were going to be a grouchy old maid now, destined to always be alone, she might as well do it in a place that offered decent protection. She, herself, was small enough to weave her way through the mess of brambles with ease and she felt quite safe here. Sometimes the endless thornes even combed through the fur of her back, and it felt so eerily like the touch of her mother, that Isleña could almost fool herself that she was home.

Such a pretty picture was ruined one day, when a large white wolfess came traipsing clumsily though her home. How annoying. Isleña immediately jumped to the defenses. “Ummm,” she questioned indignantly, letting the word [one that was understood in almost any language] carry her meaning.

After her little trip outside of Drageda, she finally feels ready to return. Most of it had taken time since her shoulder was killing her but when she reached the tangle, she felt comfortable letting her guard down a little and settling back down. Once, the place was filled with stray scents of comers and goers and now it’s all familiar wolves and the strength of claim.

The scent of another wolf is one she does not recognize but it carries Drageda enough and, up ahead, she can see the smear of white against the dreary look of the day. She doesn’t see the dark woman at first but she hears the umm which causes her to turn quickly and seek her out. A low growl vibrates in her chest and she grits her teeth, prepared for the pain she’s about to incite on her wounded shoulder.

With swift feet familiar to the tangle, she crosses the distance easily and comes to stand near the pale woman, facing off against the dark wolf.

“You are on claimed land,” she warns, flashing her teeth. “Leave.”

If anyone bigger than her had strode up to Aure, deemed her ‘large’, and went on their way, the pallid lunatic might have been flattered; or at the very least, taken aback. Alas, she was just as undersized as the dark female—who so vexedly made her presence known, scorching as it was. “Da?” A tone of utter boredom.

The permafrost of her marrow shrieked in answer, in defiance; stirring at the fire that emanated from the lurker. But the she-wolf eased the protestation within her frigid veins, and looked towards the source of whoever she’d disturbed with a heavy-lidded, impartial gaze. A slight notch in her jaw flickered, wreathing the red that marred her ivory face.

She didn’t need to growl, or say anything, because a Drakru she scented as Mallaidh rushed alongside her, bristling over them both and asserting Drageda’s claim. Aure said nothing—weary, now harried and without reprieve—and continued to gaze at the cocoa stranger impassively. The only response elicited from the white she-wolf was a raised brow; hackles that disheveled like fronds shaking frost. She did, however, scent old blood on Mallaidh; and an eye of concern flickered to her.

These two wolves, they had to be telling her that these lands were claimed, right? Why else would the one act so vehemently towards her, a lone female just trying to hide out somewhere? Perhaps Isleña shouldn’t have been so testy upon lands that weren’t actually hers — or perhaps she should have been more vigilant in the picking out of her hidey-spot — but the fact that these lands were claimed came as a true surprise to the banshee. She always had relied too much on her strength in numbers, after all, and let the sheer mass of her family flatten any would-be dangers into the dust. If she didn’t notice something, then an uncle or a brother or a cousin would, and they would all be better for it. Isleña cursed at herself, silently, for fucking up so badly. 

“Yours — also for me,” she tried. Maybe by simply saying this one tiny enclave was hers, might it become true? Isleña had always been indignant, and it had always worked out for her before, but she didn’t know about these fiery newcomers. At another time, Isleña might have welcomed the company and delighted in a nice repartee, but she was feeling quite vulnerable and scared — which was why she had taken up residence in the tony brambles in the first place. “I need more.” — than you she might have tacked on if she had been fluent in the common tongue, but she tried anyways to make her meaning known. Then, Isleña curled back in on herself and tried to bury herself deep amongst the bushes.      

Mallaidh holds her ground despite the tension that aches her shoulder. At most, she is aware of it, but they have something to protect now and until their borders are secure, they have wolves like this to face. She speaks and makes no sense, as if she’s answering a different question, but she does back up against their presence. She strains not to look to her side at her pack mate, keeping hardened green eyes on the stranger.

“Ours,” she insists. “Not yours.” Does she not understand the question? She thinks, for a moment, maybe it is a Trigeda wolf but there’s nothing else to back it up. “More what?”

There were many sides of Aure - so much that it seemed innumerable, unexpected at times. Currently, on one half, what little patience and energy she had left was stretched thin; one the other, she wouldn't condescend to release her frustrations on another. So, she dialed it back; her presence making a frosty retreat, taking it into a sigh that was exhaled gently. Right now, it wasn't easy for her to relax, to be lenient... but she would try; even through a slight ache behind her eyes, with an unending temperament that now flared short and frigid.

Instead, her cold gaze softened, but only just so; the snappish vulnerability this loner showed reminded her of herself, once upon a time. That, and how she made do with her accent and what Common she knew. Perhaps it was both of these things that made her express to the gona, with a tip to her, "That she has more use for ze Tangle than we do." Her own voice was hushed, worn, but didn't raise it.

Her muzzle twitched, inhaling carefully again, before turning her focus to the loner who crowded back into the brambles. "A ‘storm’ has just passed through our lands," the kru continued lowly, a bitterness on her tongue, "As it stands, we do not take kindly to strangers such as yourself; now more than ever.”

With a flourish of her tail, she smoothly reclined back onto her haunches, although her hackles had begun to shiver to life. Again, her eyes flickered to Mallaidh, and then back again, wondering how the cocoa-cream gona would take all of this. ”Is there not some non-claimed territory you may dwell in?” Personally, there was something to this loner that drew her attention, something that wasn't about a lonesome life or bitterness - perhaps she, too, carried an actual death-wish inkling with her, as the porcelain kru had? Still did?

Her attempt at usurping a small part of the tangle did not work, unfortunately — though a sliver of her heart really thought it might, and she experienced true disappointment. Now she’d have to leave, and now she’d have to be exposed, and now she’d have to go and deal with the cold when the cold was so very uncomfortable! Isleña was tired of the chill, tired of constantly shivering. Even here she had created a sort of ignorant bliss, and now that it was being torn away from her, all the fear rushed back.

— but instead of lashing out, as a normal-minded Isleña might have done, she did something else. As the darker wolf and then the lighter one spoke word after word that she did not understand, and as Isleña fully steeped in their sour energy, she could not stop the tears that pricked at the back of her eyes and flooded over her lashline. It was very much like the banshee to have emotional outbursts, but one produced from an amalgam of pure sadness and wretchedness? Not in a thousand years.

But losing one’s family was one of those instances that drove wolves to extents they wouldn’t normally. So Isleña hung her cocoa crown and let the tears fall from her eyes to dot the dry earth below. With a voice that felt of nothing but hopelessness, between breaths and sobs she muttered “have hungry.” There were no more solutions that she could think of, only problems and the sheer amount of them grew by the day. Maybe she was better off dying of hunger or cold or because these two hostile enemy women killed her — anything was better than this, being alone in a world where she was meant to be surrounded by many.

Aure speaks up and Mallaidh turns to her, listening. A quick glance back to the stranger really sets the tone and she blinks, feeling something akin to guilt. The last wolf that trespassed their borders had been killed but he walked with intent, made demands, and well off. This wolf, that does not seem to understand what she’s trying to say, doesn’t seem like the other in anyway. Still, she has her territory to protect and if wolves do not know of their presence already, then they only need to work harder.

Mallaidh straightens her shoulders and clears her throat. Aure has done well to settled the anxiety in her mind and she feels appreciative but she’ll address it later.

There are plenty of places for the other to go but, maybe, she doesn’t have to, but she doesn’t know how much the other can understand. She’s lucky the wolves in Drageda speak the common tongue well enough that she is not often left out of conversation. “Your name?” she questions, trying to find somewhere to start, to figure out what exactly the other knows so maybe they can get somewhere.

Mallaidh wasn't only one who had something like guilt tugging at her thoughts; Aure beheld it, too, finally seeing the shine of tears and frightened gaze, and her hackles unfurled subconciously. She hadn't noticed the frightened state up until now, and her tail feathered uncertainly at her coltish hocks. All the same, tears or no, the loner was on Drakru land; the only way she would be able to take respite would be to join. But... could they trust her?

Distantly, the gona's inquiry of the she-wolf's name pulled her from her grumbling thoughts; again, and eye flickered to Mallaidh, but soon returned to the one before them. In the meantime, she pulled the apparent conflict written along her facade back, back, back behind the frosty cover of impassiveness that was more comfortable. Observant, quiet, patient. For now.

Their hostility quickly faded away and, though that had not been her intention behind her tears, it was a welcome contingency. Isleña was quite used to facing a wolf’s anger — and often times claws and teeth, too — but she had the strength of her family behind her, always watching, always waiting to support her. But here, the banshee had none of her back-up and she felt the weight of that heavily upon her shoulders. She was helpless here, a victim, just waiting to be eaten by the first monster to find her.

If Isleña had anything going for her, if not her strength in numbers, then it was her wit. If she had made the mistake of residing in their territory, then Isleña must try to get herself out of this situation unharmed. Perhaps making friends of these two was her only option; then, she might have allies in this cruel, lonely world. Time to turn a sour situation sweet. 

She stared at them, wide-eyed and wondering. The tears, which had not been voluntary, ceased to come as rapidly but continued to glaze over her eyes and obscure her vision. The small woman lifted a paw to dab at the corner of her eyes with her wrist, wishing to do away with an evidence of her emotional shortcoming. She was not weak — she was a Luk. With a small voice that gently grew in momentum, she answered the only question she could ever understand in the common tongue. “Isleña,” she stated, but wasn’t sure how to turn the question around on them. Piecing together a word here and a word there, she inquired “You — friend?”

She offers her name easily enough and Mallaidh straightens her shoulder. She turns her head as Aure introduces herself first and then she nods and assures her. Friends. At least, for now. “I’m Mallaidh,” she finally introduces and clears her throat. She can’t make the official decisions on who stays and who leaves but she can at least find someone. They could use the extra numbers as they begin to build their empire.

Eventually, they find Antumbra and after a brief, albeit difficult exchange, they allow the wolf to stay as long as she contributes and they’re certain they’ve gotten it across.