Honeyed Pasture one false prayer wielding blasphemy

He had stumbled across the felled bull elk by accident—it had been the coyote that Solpallur had been stalking. The fact that the mangy little cousin had led him to the remains of a kill was only a bonus, though the elk hadn’t been taken down by either set’s brethren. Gouge marks were deep in the fur and flesh, the corpse mostly picked clean. Something else had done it, though he did not ascertain if it were feline or ursine. He only watched the coyote scavenge.

Lying low in the weeds of the pasture, Solpallur was not the sort to blend in on an overcast day. His dark coat stood out too much against the yellowing autumnal scene, so it was with a great distance that he watched as the coyote circled and scrounged. He watched him pick and pull at what he could, and the obsidian rekkr weighed his options in charging him.

If it would not have startled the coyote off, he could have easily summoned @Stjornuati.

But premise of fresh meat kept his voice silent.

The scent of the elk had pulled her down from the glacier—a mixture of curiosity and the possibility of a free meal to bring back to the pack enough to make her abandon her exploration of the icy peaks. 

It took some time to climb down into the valley, but she had done it many times before and she made it down without any issues. The scent was stronger there, and she followed the trail, realizing as she got closer that it mixed with the scent of coyote; it wasn't enough to deter her, though, and she continued through the grasses, curious still about what she might find on the other end of the trail. It wasn't until the strangers scent mixed with that that of the elk and coyote that she froze. Her heart raced and her muscles tensed. Her gaze searched the area around her until she saw the dark of his coat against the browns and yellows of the dying grass. She watched him, her original target momentarily forgotten until she could be sure that this stranger wasn't like the last one she had met.

The minutes went by; he watched the coyote tear a strip of flesh off and begin to work at it, chewing furiously. That was the moment of distraction that he waited for—he erupted from his cover with alarming menace, a snarl building in his throat as he charged his perceived enemy. The coyote, startled, choked on the meat before bristling and rising to action to defend its find. Its lips curled back to reveal yellowing, cracked teeth, and its head dropped to protect its throat.

Solpallur sneered at the coyote, it was too perfect. The coyote was old and just as ragged in appearance as he was but the wolf had size and strength and the follies of youth to back him up. He kept him cornered against the elk, pressing in close and earning warning snaps and snarls. An insane creature, clearly in wanting to have its life ended and only failing to find a way out that didn’t result in the wolf chasing him.

Which was the inevitable outcome when Solpallur finally went too far in one direction than another. The coyote saw its opportunity and bolted, and the wolf immediately seized him by the tail with terrifying results. A scream pierced the unfolding chaos as Solpallur dug his heels in, and he held the canine cousin tightly as he tried to squirm away.

The coyote cried out in the common tongue for him to stop, but he did not.

Mirth glittered in his gaze instead.

for my own ref: rolled 1d2 where even was success and rolled a 2.

i used the same rules and rolled a 1

The stranger didn't even seem to notice her, and it wasn't until the movement of the coyote out of the corner of her eye caught her attention that she realized why. Before she understood what all was happening, the man was dashing towards the scavenger and they were snapping and snarling at each other. He had the coyote backed against the large carcass, and she waited for him to make his move, but then the sly animal found an opening and took it, sprinting away for its life. Its victory was short-lived; the stranger clamped down on his tail and the creature's screeching filled the air. Then it spoke, pleading for the man to stop, and that was about all Simmik could take; at least put it out of its misery. 

She sprinted forward then, teeth bared and ready to clamp down on the coyotes neck and end its suffering. But the thing was fast and even in its panic, it managed to shift away and snap its teeth in her face, barely missing her cheek. She snarled and jumped back, waiting for the right moment to jump back in or to see if the distraction had given the other wolf the in it needed to deal the killing blow.

Another wolf rushed in from his surroundings—he thought it Stjornuati until he saw that it was most definitely not his brother. The aid bewildered him, speaking volumes that he had been far from alone in this stretch of the world. The coyote struggled against them but managed to fend them off and not a moment too soon, as Solpallur’s grasp began to tire and slip on the tail.

There was cursing being had, the tail of the coyote waxy and unclean and willing to let go of flesh and hair alike as it slid from between his teeth with a resonant click. The force of his teeth clacking together sent a flash of pain as the coyote lunged after the second wolf, but Solpallur ignored it in favor to continue his charge after the smaller canine.

He would dispatch this unsavory kin first, and deal with the other later if he had to.

rolled a 1 too haha

rolled a 2 this time

The stranger was unable to use her distraction to his advantage. She watched his teeth slide down the coyote's tail with a look of disgust; she did not envy the creature. But her pity stopped there—it wasn't enough to make her want to spare his life, especially now. He was better off dead at this point. 

The coyote's panicked attempt at escaping gave her an opportunity, and Simmik took it; she lunged forward and snatched the canine by the back of its neck, her teeth sinking into flesh. Once she was sure she had good hold, she threw her head from side to side, the animal's screeching filling the air as she injured it further.

She was a deft fighter; he saw how she nimbly sidestepped the lunge to seize the coyote again and this time it was a better connecting strike. Held by the scruff, the creature delved out of his words and into feral screeching. The cries of fear and pain, the anger that rolled out of him in unseen waves only propelled Solpallur to grab his back just behind his shoulders.

From there, he could force him down, much larger and heavier and stronger—he was the superior canine in this situation, rending flesh and muscle from bone with only the pressure and pull of his dark maw. The renewed taste of blood was akin to ritual and he rumbled until a snarl squirmed its way out of his horrid mouth from between clenched teeth.

The coyote’s strength was waning, his fate on the cusp of being accepted as an eventually. There would be no one coming to save him now, not with two wolves upon him; his kin would be wise to avoid him just in the same way had he been a wolf. The tunnel vision was powerful; he shook at the loosened tenacity of skin, his emerald eyes almost flashing in the way they met the she-wolf.

Finish him, he seemed to suggest in that moment. End him.

rolled a 2

rolled a 2

She was also focused, determined to end this right now and refusing to relinquish her hold, not even when she felt the coyote slump to the ground under the weight of the other wolf. She glanced over and saw that he had also grabbed a hold of the creature's flesh. At this point, she could tell the fight was almost over for the coyote; it was growing weaker, its attempts to fight back almost non-existent with both sets of teeth tearing into it. 

She did finally relax her hold but only so that she could change her position. This time she bit into the creature's throat, her jaws tearing through muscle and cartilage as the force behind them crushed its trachea, rendering it unable to take in air. It gurgled and twitched for seconds only before going limp beneath the two wolves. 

Simmik released her hold and stepped back, unsure what the stranger would do now. Blood stained the snowy white fur of her cheeks and chest, and she panted from exhilaration as her fiery gaze watched the man's every movement.

And then, it was over.

His grasp held for long moments afterward, even when the last throes and fits the coyote could make had ended. Only when the she-wolf released and stepped away did he loosen his grasp and do the same, though the ferocity of his gaze settled on her much in the same way he had looked upon the coyote. He took in the sight of her properly now, wondering what her next move would be and how he would have to respond.

“Veiðimaður,” he addressed her with a crude rumble. “Þetta er þitt,” he went on, gesturing to the coyote. She had made the killing blow and he would not chase her from it while it was still warm. In spite of the acrid wash coating them, he could smell others upon her. Multiple, at that. She was not some hunter of the wilds left to roam and survive like he or Stjornuati, and he knew it would have been unwise then to try and drive her off if others easily lurked nearby.

He could scavenge from the elk, to which he looked at then.

“Ég mun taka þennan.”

Just a smoothly, predatory, he looked to her again.

A fair trade, he thought.

They stared at each other for a few silent moments, the intensity of his gaze making her uncomfortable on many levels. She straightened up, her expression stern as if to tell him that if he planned to attack her, then it wouldn't be an easy fight. 

And then he spoke in some unknown language, motioning towards the killed coyote as he said more things she couldn't understand. He said something again, this time directing his words towards the elk carcass. She stared at him with suspicion for a few long moments, her jaw tightening painfully before she finally found it in her to speak. I don't know what you're saying, she finally told him. For all she knew, he could be challenging her for the spoils of this fight, in which case, she would pass; she had no interest in fighting him. Sure, she'd like to bring food back to the pack, but not at the risk of serious injury. They were far enough away from her forest that she didn't deem it necessary to chase him out unless he forced her to do so.

Right—he had forgotten himself, knowing full and well that outside of Stjornuati, these wolves didn’t speak their tongue. His brow furrowed in a moment of aggravation, but it wasn’t wholly directed at the pale hunter. He grumbled, that low growl in his chest only there as a means of passage as he tangled with an uncooperative tongue that did not want to speak theirs.

“This one lets you have the coyote,” he managed out, the words stilted and suffering.

Yet his gaze did not waver from her, wondering if he could unsettle her further all the same. There was just the faintest trace of it in the gentle shift of muscle beneath her pelage, perhaps even in the features that contoured her face. She put up a good front but the stern lines of her face were unnecessary. He knew she was capable much in the way she knew he was, and through that he had a modicum of respect.

“You earn, you kill it,” he went on, pushing it with his nose. The corpse did little but roll in place; its foot shifted limply, almost comically as though to say he wanted to go with her too. Solpallur backed off then, stepping away with disinterest in a tail flick. An extension of trust to follow—he turned his back on both coyote and wolf, focusing on the remains of the elk to appraise it.

At first, she was unsure if he understood what she was saying, which would make it pretty difficult to tell what his intentions were. But the fact that he hadn't yet attacked her had her wariness wavering just a little. 

What he said next were all words she understood, but it took her a few moments to understand what he meant. Realization crossed her face, and she looked from the dark stranger to the coyote and back again. He went on to state that since she had killed it, then she had earned it, nosing the deceased animal towards her a little. She watched him with curiosity this time, not immediately answering.

When he turned to walk over to the elk, Simmik finally moved from where she was standing. But she didn't stop at the sad-looking coyote, instead, she walked past it and over to the strange man. She looked over the elk too before resting her curious gaze on his face. That's okay, she told him first. You can have it, she added, lifting her head towards the coyote. She wasn't going to eat something that looked so similar to a wolf, and she wasn't sure her pack would either. Since it didn't seem to creep this guy out at all, she figured he ought to have it. No sense in wasting it, especially since it had not been exactly easy to kill. 

I'm Simmik by the way, she offered next, unsure if he would return the gesture.

She said something else, but he didn’t hear it or her approach; he was far too taken up with just what to salvage from the elk. The best parts were obviously gone, but the bone was still there. The meat wouldn’t be as tender but it wasn’t that old of a kill. A day or two, maybe, not quite entirely set in to rot. He had eaten worse and so had his brother and any other number of wolves out in the world. But once the meat fully turned… the elk carcass would be useless.

He had been about to make another stride forward to begin his own work at it when the she-wolf turned up alongside of him with an introduction. He growled, this time more sternly and vocal than his standard fare of grumbling and griping about. Once again, he set his unsettling gaze on her, his hackles prickling in warning. She had done her part, she had her earnings, and she had a pack—all of those things made her undesirable.

Unless of course, her continued presence was a means to rally to him instead.

“Veiðimaður,” he intoned coarsely, “why stay? Following?”

His reaction had her stiffening, as alarming as it was confusing. First he offered her the dead coyote they had both killed and now he was bristling up at her as if she had said something to offend him. He was a little unpredictable, which made unease settle in her chest. She didn't do well with unpredictable these days.

Calm down, she ordered. I'm not following you; I was just introducing myself. He had been fine with her presence when she was helping him out. And what does that word mean? Simmik asked. You've said it twice now. She watched him cautiously, waiting to see if he would bristle at her again or chill out and talk to her like a normal wolf. She was beginning to see how unusual he was, though, and so she didn't hold much hope that this conversation would go anywhere. What language is that? she also asked. It was strange and unlike anything she had ever heard before.

Not following, that was boring. Ordering him around, however, was not the wisest thing she could have done. His nostrils flared with forced air expelled, his lips curling ever so slightly to break what he considered to be his calm. She had questions, naturally, because all of them had questions. Who are you, what are you saying, what do you want—he had heard them so many times over so long, and had grown to detest it. All any of them wanted was conversation and he reached the point more and more where he thought that they had forgotten what it was to live and revere, to simply work as one than all the individualistic manners they carried.

“Mine,” he answered—the language was his. “Byrjað.” He ordered her right back, though he doubted the tone would work. Solpallur thought it would spark her ire more, coaxing that gentle fire into a raging tempest to whirlwind right back into the depths of his gaze. They could warn one another all they wanted, but the real question was who would be the first to break. Would she run as the coyote did? Or perhaps she would stalk away when she had enough, stomping off as women were wont to do when he would not bend to their will.

Persistence would do her no good.

He seemed irritated by her demand or her questions, she wasn't sure. And her heart did pick up a little at the curl of his lip. She had no idea how he would react if she continued to poke at him for conversation. Still, she continued anyway. 

But when he spoke, she rolled her eyes at his answer, although she couldn't say she was all that surprised that he hadn't really answered any of her questions. The tone of his unknown word was easily interpreted, and it had its desired effect; Simmik's temper flared, and she glared at him, the anger reflected in the fiery orange of her own gaze. She stiffened but stayed where she was. Is that the way you treat someone who helps you? she asked, her tone irritated. I offered you the damn thing, too, you could at least answer my questions—maybe introduce yourself. Maybe that was asking too much of him; he seemed kind of feral, like he had been on his own for a long time. She might have considered an offer to join her pack for the winter if he hadn't been so strange and rude. He'd probably dismiss it anyway,

Like flint and steel, ire sparked in the glowlight of her gaze. It was to his delight as much as it was his annoyance, a poor yin and yang that would spiral into other events if he had it his way. She spouted more words at him and again it was the same thing; he recognized some of them, but in essence outside of her tone the overall gist was lost on him.

If he had been of lesser fortitude, he could have fled. The option was still there naturally, but Solpallur was not the sort to flee over much of anything. His confidence was tantamount to his size and skill; it added to how irritating he could be, how formidable when he arose to a challenge. And she presented one right then and there when deference did not come, when she did not push away and storm off to sulk somewhere else. Whether she took her part in the kill or not did not matter to him—it would not go to waste.

In a fit, he snapped at her with a snarl.

Enough warnings had been given and the resolute click of his teeth close to her face would spell it out—go away.

The snarl and snap of teeth in her face made her hackles raise, and instead of doing to the smart thing and turning to leave him to his measly meal, she bristled. Her muscles tensed and a vicious snarl left her own throat, her lips raising to show the white of her teeth. Clearly she wouldn't back down, nor would she let some bad-tempered loner push her around and treat her like a nuisance after she had just finished helping his ungrateful ass.

She didn't lunge forward yet, but she continued to posture and snarl, making it clear that if he pushed things further, she would retaliate. Had she been in a better state of mind, she would have seen how reckless she was being, but she didn't care at this point; she just wanted to teach him a lesson.

She wasn’t intimidated by his display, something both slightly infuriating as much as it appeased him. His lip curled back to show just more than the sharp teeth set in his mouth but the paleness of his gumline as another deep growl rumbled in his throat. They made the sounds of savagery, pure and unfettered ferocity that played testament to their superior nature as predators.

“Go,” he demanded of her, the words bubbling out through his grumbling, cumbersome off a worn, chewed tongue. He was doubtful it would work, though he chose not to make any sign of it. They both knew what the end result would be if either one of them decided not to heel to the other’s will—such was the way of their kind at the primal base. Yield, or suffer.

And he did not entirely wish to mar a pretty face fixed on a kindred spirit.

His demand only fueled her anger as well as made this a matter of stupid pride—now she surely wouldn't back down, if only to prove that she was not some child to be ordered around. She matched any snarl of his with one of her own, bristling further to show she would not be going anywhere. 

Her anger already reaching explosive levels, she lurched forward a bit and snapped her teeth as another growl rumbled from her chest. She also didn't really want this to end in a fight, but she was too stubborn and prideful to just let it go and leave. So she didn't necessarily make the first move, but she pushed things a little further in the hope that he would back down; whether or not he actually would, she didn't know, but she had a feeling this would end the way neither of them wanted.

Pushed further and further by one another, he had decided he had enough. It culminated in a snarl so full of rage that he lashed out in her direction. His body moved in an almost unnatural lurch forward to bowl her aside—his head down, his shoulder jutting out to catch her off guard—to rein her into her place. But Solpallur had no desire in teaching her a perceived place—he wanted her gone from his sight. His intent to drive her off would fail, however, and in spite of better attempts he should have known she would prove to be an immovable force of her own.

rolled a 1 for a fail, feel free to disregard if you're not a fan of die rolls

107 words

LOL i also rolled a 1
and whatever system is fine with me <3

She wasn't surprised by his lunge, nor was she pushed back by it; she remained in place, offering her own angry snarl to meet his. But now it was more than a battle of wills—his attack had meant to injure or prove he was stronger than she was, and her pride wouldn't let her back down now. 

She rushed forward, attempting to throw herself into him, her teeth snapping close to his face. But she wasn't able to move him either, and her teeth clamped down on nothing but air.

She volleyed herself at him, every bit as vainglorious as he was. It sent a thrill through him that was a rush like no other he could explain, at least not in a tongue either of them could comprehend. His maw opened, a thin string of saliva spanning the gap between his upper and lower jaws; it was a horrible smile, delighted as his opportunity to grab her scruff revealed itself.

He clamped down with fury, intending to pinch that skin to the point where it would threaten to break if she struggled with him. An ultimatum from an advantageous point; she would either relent or sunder her own flesh from his burning grip. Had she been a coward and had not delighted him, the outcome would have turned far more grim, but he, for all his intimidation and animosity, was not overtly cruel to kith.

Not for an unjust reason or mistake.

rolled a 2 aaa

rolled a 1

Before she could snap at the irritating smile spreading across his face, he had her by the scruff. His teeth pressed into her skin and for a moment, she was taken back to that night in the hollow when her scruff had been held for a completely different reason—a reason that had broken her and made it difficult to put herself back together correctly. Panic shot through her veins and made her heart slam against her ribs. Her stomach churned violently, and she felt the sting of bile in her throat. 

She wanted his teeth off of her skin. She wanted him away from her. She couldn't bear the warmth of his form against hers as he held her there. His intentions were not the same as the monster's had been, but she was having trouble reasoning with herself enough to see that. She struggled against his hold, flinging her head around until she slipped and fell on her back, her skin twisting painfully in his grasp. Whether or not he was still hanging on, she would try to reach up and snap viciously at his face. She just wanted him away from her.

He bent with her, sparing her any opportunity to wrench away from his grasp with bloodshed. She did not relent—panic flooded her actions instead. He delighted in this, though it was a brief thing. It was prey that panicked in moments like that, and Solpallur did not see her as prey. A competitor, perhaps, a woman worthy of holding a title like drengr, but not prey.

Yet he held on for several more moments, even as her maw grasped at empty air so very close to his own. She was a limber creature, but even he knew the contortion only added to the panic, to the discomfort. He pulled away from her, his grip lessening as he moved to snap and worry at the flesh further along her spine.

It was a tactic geared to make her run, to fear him.

She may not have been prey, but he would play on her panic like the predator he was.

rolled a 2