Ankyra Sound five nights

Tunerk knew of the conflict between the mountain pack and their own, though she had yet to directly involve herself in it. Caiaphas had requested she remain home to man the lands as they went to retrieve one of their own, stolen away by their enemy, and that she did. Her packmates returned (except for one, though she had never known them) looking worse for wear... but alive.

Without the wolf they went to retrieve, but still alive.

The Northerner was not one for conflict. It was more for her lack of experience than anything else. She had felt bolder when Rusalka first marched... she had even wanted to go with them. But in seeing their state upon their return, she was relieved to have been asked to watch the borders, keep them marked. Relieved, too, that no trouble had come her way in the meantime. She did not feel guilty, but she did feel badly; Tunerk supposed there was one way to right this wrong.

She would have to learn some measure of what it was Caiaphas had set off to do with Rusalka that day. How to go about that, though? She did not know. Tunerk was contemplating this as the sun began to rise, her nose lifting to the sky to catch wind of the way the weather would behave. Tunerk sensed snow would soon come, and her heart lifted.

it was true that the war had not gone well. they had failed to bring rosalyn home with them, and they had all managed to leave the cliffs with troubling injuries. their failure had inspired a wildfire inside of the young ghost; he was prepared to better himself so that he could take on the curs if they should ever show their face near his home. what fueled him more had been seeing the sandy coat of his brother; to know that he had sought a home with the enemy and that he had decided to fight for their side. the thought caused him to fill with rage, and he forced himself to cast the image from his head.
 
the early rising of the sun had also brought the rising of the wildling. he had stepped out of the grotto and into the bare chill of winter’s grasp. the fur along his neck and shoulders seemed to rise at the touch of it, but he pushed himself through it and onto the beach. he thought it would have been wise for an early morning patrol of their borders. so, he set out toward the entrance of the sound and only barely caught sight of an unfamiliar figure.
 
the girl seemed to carry the scent of rusalka on her coat, so she did not get the violent greeting that would have been reserved to the bold trespasser. instead, the savage ghost drew his crown upward and canted his skull to the left. “who’re you?” he asked in a gravely voice. the sharpness of his hawkish yellow gaze was latched to her face boldly and without social grace.

She nearly missed the approach of the boy, but she had heard him as he drew nearer; one ear cupped in his direction before she turned to look at him. Though the color of her eyes was a deep and dark blue, there was a welcoming sparkle that presented itself in them as she regarded the other who came toward her as a wolf. The breeze revealed that he was of Rusalka, too, and instantaneously Tunerk saw him for what he would become to her: a new friend!

Her tail waved despite the scrutiny in his gaze; she did wither some, before it (accepting her place beneath him in the hierarchy), though it changed nothing of her mindset. She had made it up, and that was that. She was reminded very much so of Caiaphas, but his build was entirely different. Far more similar to her own, in fact. His inquiry was answered promptly: Tunerk! came her voice, which revealed she was glad to meet him (though lacked the social grace to say as much). Who are you? Her tail had yet to stop in its gentle, left-and-right tandem, ears pricked as she watched and waited. Her attention was entirely for him, that much was clear.

the boy's expression was likely permanently going to remain surly. he'd found a natural comfort in it, in spite of how it made others feel. he considered it a test to see who could withstand his sullen demeanor. if they were unphased by it, they were likely good to keep around. besides, illidan was fairly certain that his mother would have liked him to have more positive influences in his life. he spent enough of his time around wyatt the weenie and the mangled firefly.

the girl seemed to shrink for a moment before she returned his expression with a swift wag of her tail and a welcoming glint in her gaze. the boy's expression did not seem to change, but he did offer her a small wag of his tail between his hocks. she introduced herself as tunerk – a name he was unfamiliar with. then, she inquired about his own. “i'm illidan. how long have you been here?” he offered her and then asked in the same breath.

More than the subtle and strange nuances that were facial expressions, she understood the language he expressed with his tail. He was receptive of her, and that was all she really wanted to start with. His name was interesting, unique like the name 'Caiaphas' but entirely different: Illidan. She liked it, she decided swiftly. It fit him, as names sometimes could. His next inquiry was met with the thoughtful scrunch of her brow as she contemplated time. The day that everyone sang. I sang, too, and then Caiaphas found me, she informed, and her tail waved. She did not think to ask him the same question in kind; it did not really matter much to her, just so long as he was pack. Which he was.

That day that everyone went to fight—I was told to stay here, and to keep watch, Tunerk began, although he had not asked. It was not that she expected him to, either, but that her day had its purpose... and maybe he could help her. I am not a very good fighter, she admitted plainly, before asking with the tilt of her head, are you? Nevermind the injuries he might have earned, which she intentionally did not look for or stare at (as though he had not been touched at all by their apparent enemy)... she knew he knew more than her, by being there at all.

the boy's face was certainly not an open book. while there was a wild array of different movements and expressions that crossed it, there was very little that relayed what was taking place beneath the surface. though some had taken years to perfect the image of a mask, he seemed to have inherited one and had it fully fledged in the trauma that had occurred in his early months of life. there was a great deal that could have been determined by the small motions that were made by the young ghost, but not enough – never enough.

the girl explained that she had heard their claiming howl and had joined in. she then went on to say that when the war had taken place, she'd been instructed to remain behind and guard the pack. illidan thought that was the reason why he hadn't seen her yet. she admitted she wasn't a good fighter, but asked if he was. the dark-hooded young man frowned thoughtfully. “i'd like to be, but there's a ways to go yet,” he then admitted.

then, “come on, let's go patrol the borders.” they could talk more along the way.