Ravensblood Forest it is the stones for altars

for @Vonn

wintersbane's recruitment drive took him back along the coast once more — he didn't linger longer than necessary in the hinterlands; though he had stayed longer than he'd initially meant to. he found himself subconsciously meandering towards the strath and spent some time at lotte's grave. it was where he'd spent the night despite that there'd been better sheltered places ...but it was as close as he'd ever get to spending time with his mother; and he'd almost regretted it as mallaidh's words came back to haunt him. your fault.

his fault.

he knows it's not true. or, at least, he tries to tell himself that it isn't because it stings less if he convinces himself that she was wrong and his disappearance had no relation to lotte's death.

wintersbane aims to cut right through ravensblood forest with no intention of lingering but the deeper into the forest he trudges the thicker the fog grows and forces him to slow his purposeful steps and to realize that at the risk of becoming disoriented by the thick fog — that he can barely make the silhouettes of the towering sequoias out as he draws nearer to them — is extremely great.

He'd had Sirimiri and her sister to thank, for show him the way towards the coast, as he'd planned. But sooner or later, farewells had been lent out, and they'd simply become more of the same he'd departed from. They may not cross paths in the future, but he would not forget their aid; in the off-chance they did, he would figure out someway to repay their debt. Just the same, as he'd done with Stigmata.

Now, he was in a part of this world where the hinters bled.

Great, thick globulets of sap oozed from puckered hurts and bruises of the darkened sequoias; mist and fog curled throughout the unending tangle of roots. Vonn found himself, at the moment, wandering through this dark labyrinth without much want for purpose. His purpose, originally, had been to see the shores like he'd dreamed of doing.

But now, it froze in his mind, just as he stilled in his paw-steps, peering at something... moving through it all. Kept as silent and watchful as a stag, nostrills flaring as he tried--failed--to properly scent. Wolven, or some other? 

wintersbane's steps slow a pace again, favoring a careful gait to guide him though now. he draws in a breath, noting how thick the ( always sickly sweet ) air feels as it settles in his lungs before he lets it out in a breath that almost sounds more like a sigh. he brushes against the rough trunk of a sequoia, making a face as he steps away with a bit if sticky sap clinging to the tendrils of his fur but otherwise does not bother to stop and clean it from his pelage. not yet, anyway. once he is free of the infernal fog cloaked forest that has suddenly become a labyrinth despite that he's navigated through it numerous times he will clean himself up a bit he tells himself.

there is a figure seen through the fog — an unclear silhouette that wintersbane does not realize is real until he draws ever nearer. the hackles at the nape of his neck bristle with the unease of coming across someone he does not know. except — ignoring the subtle differences in scent easily masked by the sickly sweet scent of sap — recognition dawns on him. aure? the tundrian calls out to the man that looks just like her — at least from between the fog that writhes yet between them.

’Aure?’

Time melded itself into the skulking fog, crawling slower and slower until it seemed to be going backwards. The Rhaesuian couldn’t breath, much less think, as all sense died within him. He simply stood there, wavering, quivering, feeling so much—too much. His stomach pitched, and he felt so numbingly faraway from it all, the theories and concepts of everything before him wrenched from beneath him, like stone, like the ice that had felled him.

With muted breath, he advanced, and said nothing, absolutely nothing but: ”How... in heavens do you know that name?” The foreign tone unnaccusing but strained, fervent; thick-tongued and face incredulous, as if half-dreaming. He barely allowed the appearance of the make before him to register as he, himself, came to view.

The masculine counterpart of Aure was there, yes, but her brother was also not. His eyes, though not unwelcoming, were more hidden, private; he had the stolidness to him that Aure lacked, but almost shared her under-height. Instead, he was middling, compared to most males in the Wilds.

But the scars were there, coursing about a star-dusted gaze. There was no mistaking it.

the figure drew nearer, materializing out the milky fog like a wraith and it's then, followed closely by the inquiry that wintersbane realizes he's mistaken their identities. but they look so similar it's like being struck by a bizarre wave of deja vu ...which is something he can only recall feeling once in his life when he'd unknowingly bumped into his mitten twin in a darkened cave ( and flirted with her but he hadn't known it was eiri ). the tone was not accusing — and that was good because wintersbane wouldn't have responded all that well to accusation — but there is an urgency that the tundrian picks upon with ease as his glacial gaze takes in the man's features.

because she told it to me. he tells aure's look-a-like, a bit more sardonic than he'd meant to. but then wintersbane becomes suspicious ...wondering if this was that rakk she mentioned. the consideration that this might be the pale sylph's stalker — she hadn't called rakk her look-alike but he doesn't remember her describing rakk physically to him at all. the hackles at the tundrian's nape bristle and his maned chest rises in an instinctual maneuver to make himself seem more intimidating.

word around the wilds is there's a man that's stalking her. name's rakk. you know him? there is an underlining to wintersbane's threat to words — a 'you better hope you're not him' — and a ferocity in the way that he studies the pale man before him that suggests he looks for clues that there is any familiarity, any tell-tale tick that might suggest that this is that demented wolfeater aure spoke of.

”She... she lives?” It was further bafflement that furrowed his brows, not fury, at both claims given. This was someone his milk-sibling had met? This glacial male who shivered out his mane at him, a widened stance, as if... in anticipation?

But then Vonn heard the words stalking and Rakk, and he had to wrest down the snarl that wrinkled his muzzle. He said as much to the one before him, ”I only now dream to know him — so I may have his heart in my jaws.” He turned away, then, voice hoarse and low, and his own hackles unfurling of their own accord. Yet he stopped, and then made to return to this stranger—had he cared for Aure, in some way?

The look of withering wrath molded itself into something more despondant, perplexed. Hesitant, but he did finally turn about and confess, ”I am her hanar. Her brother. I...” His throat and jaw worked, as if unable to get the words out properly. ”I... we...” Eyes shuttering as they filmed with searing tears, wouldn’t let them fall, reopened regardless. ”I am Vonnaruil; Vonn, if you’d prefer.”

the pale man seems very surprised that aure still draws breath and still undecided on whether this man was the infamous rakk or not wintersbane's eyes narrow with unfettered criticism. the response to his casual drop of aure's wolf eating stalker appears to strike a chord within the pale man; quite a vicious one at that. the words are merciless as they leave the other man's lips and yet ...it is not quite enough to soothe away all suspicion. anyone could say those words, could speak them in a rough voice that belays anger. words are easily deceptive — this is what the ex-dark brother took away from his time as a snitch. lying, cajoling and hoarding secrets as a dragon hoards gold and treasure had been his purpose under the rank after all.

it was believable enough — that this man was her brother. surely, if rakk was related to her by blood she would've thought to include that ...but then again, perhaps not. he knows well enough that estranged siblings do not like to speak of one another. very rarely does he ever speak of mallaidh. vonn, wintersbane repeats the name, testing it out. there is an expression on the pale man's visage that finally clears away the last remaining vestiges of the tundrian's suspicion.

something that makes wintersbane feel that vonn is being sincere and isn't aure's demented stalker. yeah, she's alive. wintersbane finally replies, realizing that he hasn't addressed it. you look like her. the tundrian points out, as if mistaking him for aure hadn't been proof enough of that. i wouldn't worry, wintersbane ruminates in a way he meant to be comforting. seemed like she could take care of herself just fine. if anything, she's plenty resourceful. he says with an admiring snort. briefly contracting him as a bodyguard? had been smart. maybe she hadn't needed him but she obviously knew it was good to cover her bases.

i would like to put a stop to this rakk's tirade, of which served as a reminder. sorry about earlier... but i couldn't be sure you weren't him. and i wasn't about to let some demented lecher slip from between my teeth.

Murmuring to himself as his strength failed him, Vonn allowed the traveler to continue as he declined onto thickset haunches. Still trying to shiver his quieted mind awake once more, he simply nodded at the acknowledgement of his looking-alike. They were twins, of course.

As the dark male before him went on a tirade about his sister’s antics, Vonn let out a gentle, chiding scoff of, ”Her wits, that she has; she is always unaware of ze genius that tends to strike her.” His snowy gaze tossed back into his head as he shook his skull once more. ”I suspect she made her way for ze coast?”

And then he held his tongue again, whereas his ears curled forward to allow the information of whoever this ‘Rakk’ was to lie on them. He’d started to nod along once more, but shook his head for the thrice time at the beginnings of an apology, ”There is nothing to forgive, though it is appreciated. I would be just as cautious as you have been, just as readied... I simply hope that this fiend has not reached my sister yet.”

narrator: he did

lmao sorry for my lame writing, sleep schedules suck but at least i’m crashing before 7am this time 8’)

wintersbane gives an errant nod at vonn's chiding scoff. he's already commented on aure's ability to be resourceful and he doesn't wish to be disrespectful by acting like he knows her on any sort of personal level. he met her once and though they spoke it wasn't enough for wintersbane to feel comfortable making assumptions. observations based on the fact that he had was one thing ...but that was as far as the tundrian would comment. that's the directioni sent her in. i didn't escort her the full way there. he admits with a lofty rise and fall of his shoulders.

as for if rakk reached aure or not wintersbane also couldn't say. no one trailed me ...and i travelled with her through a few territories. but that didn't mean that rakk didn't eventually catch up with her. wintersbane did not pretend to know the mind of a madman ( despite having one as a father ). but i can't say for sure. if he did though ...he's, well, very dedicated. spoken in a way that made it clear wintersbane did not admire that particular type of dedication.

Vonn shook his head in distaste, lips pressing thin even more so. ”With any luck, she has found security in a pack by that time,” he mused, eyes roaming the fogscape all about them as he left them both to their thoughts for the moment. ”On ze subjects of packs, actually...”

”Is there one that you belong to?” Vonn leveled his silvered gaze to that of the male before him, brows stitching in contemplation. When he’d dispersed, it wasn’t truly to find a new calling of his own to dub “home.” “Home” had always been at his sister’s side; wherever she went, he followed, for her sake more than his own. ”Until I find her, I drift without purpose, without wont to live.” The words were plain, but not unkind or a plea; simply fact, to him.

Diaspora... he still didn’t know how to feel about it. Vonn couldn’t deny their hospitality, debt repaid as it'd been, he’d been wandering for most of his life. It simply didn’t seem logical to continue doing such after so long. Perhaps he may fall into Wintersbane’s good graces—without the actual falling. Twice was enough.

wintersbane gives a casual and soft nod of his head — non-verbally communicating 'yeah, i hope she did too' but he has a feeling that vonn doesn't need to fret and fuss over aure as much as he does. from the few hours they'd been companions wintersbane is confident that she's seen to her own safety. for a moment the tundrian chooses to regard the pale male before him with unfettered curiosity and though the inquiry of a pack do not go unacknowledged he briefly lingers on the devotion vonn has to his sister and the fact that it rouses within him this feeling of ...great sorrow conjoined as it was with jealousy. he could've been close with eirlys like that ...he was supposed to be. he supposes that there might be times when they still feel one another in that telepathic-twin-magic thing. but they are so far apart and haven't seen one another in so long that he wonders if that link can be severed. he isn't even sure if she's alive. even so, the sister that he knows is in the wilds for sure, well ...him and her are no longer on speaking terms with one another and he doesn't know about mallaidh but wintersbane was more than willing to write her off as 'no longer any blood of mine'.

lotte would be furious at him for it. or deeply disappointed in him.

what it must be like to love your sibling so much that you felt you had no purpose without them. maybe, someday, if he ever had children, wintersbane thinks, they'd know that kind of love for one another instead of the deep seeded hatred felt between mallaidh and him.

breaking himself out of those contemplations and locking them far away where they belong in the 'do not touch. may bite' file of his brain he introduces the foundling pack, i call it the vartija, wintersbane tells vonn. in my mother's tongue it loosely translates to 'the wardens'. the vartija is going to operate a bit differently than a 'traditional' pack. inspired by stories of my ancestors, it's going to be a 'war clan' where regular spars are encouraged to keep skills sharp ...but wolves don't have to be warriors or rogues to join. i just feel that it's beneficial to know how to fight even if it's to defend one's self. pretty much what i've seen of the packs i've ran with are that ranks are unchallengeable. you claw your way up and hope that if you're ambitious enough you reach as high as you want to go. there's nothing wrong with that but i like the idea of ranks being decided by contribution, yes, but also by one's own ambition. all ranks in the regular hierarchy should be challengeable but the pack should get it's say, should be allowed to interfere if they don't agree especially if it comes to leadership. wintersbane gives a pause here, glacial gaze studying vonn for reactions.

”Vartija,” the specter murmured, the foreign token trailing from his tongue rather loftily. Plush ears curled forward, drawing in all that Wintersbane had to tell. A gentle, hoarse chuckle left his lips at the mention of the pack getting its say, for once. ”So it is essentially a kind of guild, no? Oh... it makes me reminisce of my Rhaesuial.” His shoulders rounded, drawn down by a surge of weight. ”Perhaps I may become a bard, so that I may sing of the splendorous quarrels of our people,” Vonn jested without thought, a crooked simper curling his lips.

But then he started again, having realized he’d made this situation inclusive. Passing tongue over teeth in thought, he continued, ”The Vartija sound intriguing. Deviating, thrilling... hm.” With a slight pout in his lips — a quirk he and his sister bore — he nodded faintly, eyes drifting from the proposer and into the most about them. ”You make a singular proposition. I have one of my own. Perhaps we may come to some accord?”

Reclining back onto stocky haunches, Vonn tipped his chin, if only to gaze into the piercing blue of the north he’d long since missed. ”At the moment, I roam to repay a debt of life to, well, one that I am indebted to. As such, I will remain on the coast for some time. However, the moment I have fulfilled my payment, I will make my way to this Varitja and pledge myself to your claim.”

”I tire of travel, and I tire from being kept from the north. Although I must find Aure, it would be pleasant to remain in your company.” With a tip of an elegant head, Vonn regarded Wintersbane further, more than content to withdraw and allow the male to process this. ”With what you have told me, I am sure it is well kept,” another impish tug of the lips.

he'd never heard the word 'guild' before and he ponders it for a moment, wondering how barbaric it might sound to say 'no, it's still a pack just different'. sort of, he hesitates. in reality i expect it to operate like a regular pack when leadership isn't be challenged and it don't really expect that to be happening every other week. in truth, that sounds like it'd be rather exhausting; but he does expect it to happen. the two 'normal' leadership ranks beneath him will undoubtedly be up for grabs as a 'you want it? come get it'.

well, someone's gotta do it. wintersbane chuckles lowly at vonn's jest and something squeezes tight in his chest for a moment. lotte'd been a bard and speaking of the trade specialty makes him think of and miss her. when the mention of a proposition for a proposition arises wintersbane's left ear twitches and his right brow quirks but he offers vonn an encouragement to name his proposition with an 'alright, go ahead' gesture of his muzzle.

a debt of life is mentioned and wintersbane is quickly able to put two and two together with the particular season at hand. vonn has stud services to contribute, he assumes. are you telling me because it's a possibility that a woman very pregnant with your offspring might show up at our doorstep one day? ...which was always a good thing to have a warning about, wintersbane supposed. the tundrian regards it for a moment, letting the anticipation build just because he could.

regardless, proposition accepted. you do what is necessary to repay your debt. we're claiming a territory called permafrost hollows in the taiga, a gesture in the direction is given. it's in the northern region. between a mountain and a glacier. you can't miss it. i don't know if i'll be back from my recruitment drive when you head that way. if not you'll come across either a woman, valkyr or a man, derg ...possibly others. just tell them wintersbane recruited you. although, at this point, there wasn't much reason to be territorial and the wolves he'd already gathered would no doubt be on the look-out for recruited and potential recruits alike.

ah, well, ...i have my moments. wintersbane preens beneath the compliment with a coquettish quirk of his lips to answer the impish lift of vonn's own lips.

wanna fade? :big eyes emoji:

He allowed Wintersbane’s information to settled within him, situating itself in the more lax places of his mind so he may draw them out in rumination later. As for his mind, he couldn’t help but return back to the previous assumption of the debt being impregnation; the tug of his lips fully waned, a slash of moon-white fangs as a low, rasping belly-laugh shone from between them.

”Oh, I have no doubt that it has happened before. You flatter me, mi señor! Regardless of the season, I have yet to feel the touch of a female,” still chuckling to himself, he opened gleaming eyes to peer unabashed at the mauve male. ”Mm, it is better to wait until this heat fades. Getting burned does not suit me, as much as I adore a simmering embrace.”

Gods, he missed sex. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been draped over—or under—another. It’d had to have been several weeks’ time, at least; the closest he’d gotten had been with the Diasporian general, and snarled at how, more often than not, Stigmata’d been right.

For a moment, he considered the male of gloom-and-gloam before him with a slow blink. There was an appreciative glint in Vonn’s eye, but... no. As much as he flaunted the concept of lying many kings, he knew it might as well give him a lain throat when he’d only just struck a bargain. In the meantime...

”Good, good. As it stands, I will also be aware of any word of this... lovely Rakk you have brought to my attention. Otherwise,” with a courtly nod and an extravagant flair of his plumey tail, Vonn grinned with newfound amiability as he drifted along the route that Wintersbane had emerged from, ”I will chance upon the Taiga, lest my jewels drop from frostbite. Winds guide you, my friend!”

wintersbane's question earns the sotaherra a laugh and a correction. ah. by 'life debt' vonn does not mean children but recruitment to whomever he owes the life debt to. velveteen ears flutter back to rest at half mast as he considers his mistake with a sheepish expression stealing across his face. apologizing wasn't really wintersbane's style ( though it is known to happen on very rare occasions ) so he lets out a contemplative hum and says, and here i thought that the season wasn't affecting me. as more of a wisecrack than anything else. of course the season was going to affect him — he was finally of the age to produce children and being a father had been on his mind when he regarded the future for some time now.

the vartija was his priority; those other plans he had for his future would have to wait. the timing was just bad at the current moment: winter, breeding season and trying to get a foundling pack to plant it's roots; and wintersbane was dedicated to it, eager to allow it to consume all of his time and energy. it was a process that he would not see rushed simply because the temptation of the season called to him like a siren out at sea.

...i certainly hope you don't lose your jewels from frostbite, wintersbane snickers as he speaks the words, assuming that the lighthearted way in which the other man speaks means that it can't possibly happen ( can it? yikes. ). see you soon. the tundrian calls after the pale man as he disappears from wintersbane's sight. left alone to his own devices the sotaherra continues on the path he'd been pursuing, cataloging vonn in his mental list of 'recruited'. today, thus far, was a success but wintersbane's a pragmatic man and as he veers south he knows that there is still much work cut out for the vartija.