Jade Fern Grove no vampires remain in romania

No more dreams came and Haunt made a full recovery from her injuries, save for the occasional headache. What with her youthful attention span, Artemis faded into the back of her mind, though her interest in hunting never wavered. Today found her skulking along the southern border of the bypass, hot on the trail of an animal she couldn't identify.

When she came upon the weasel raiding one of the caches, Haunt didn't even think. Her lips wrinkled back from her teeth as she sprang. The wily little critter ran for it, the young she-wolf hot on its tail as it fled into the neighboring grove, a strip of stolen meat flapping in its tiny jaws.

Fresh from his encounter with the fawnboy and filled with a sense of triumph, Kigipigak delved down the mountainside and across the valley with a jaunt to his step and a hunger roaring to life in his belly. He tasted blood—his own blood—and felt the sting of his fresh wounds which agitated him as well as the hunger inside.

Kigipigak felt the wound on his ear-tip the strongest because of the air rippling across it as he ran. When he spotted a few trees on the horizon he moved readily towards them and ducked among their shadows, expecting a cooling sensation as the darkness engulfed him. Instead he smelled more blood and his belly groaned.

There was a trail leading through the trees that smelled stale like old meat. Towards this he went, lunging through the dark and licking his lips.

The little thief eluded her, vanishing into the undergrowth with its strip of stolen meat. Haunt slowed to a trot, then a walk, before coming to a stop. She panted lightly, one ear bending sideways as she contemplated her failure. She would normally take it in stride, though suddenly she wondered if it had anything to do with Artemis. She'd only made that one little offering, after all...

Before she could contemplate that any further, she thought she heard footfalls coming closer. Haunt tensed, pale head swinging toward the source of the noise, yellow eyes watchfully scouring the brush.

The smell diminished considerably as he followed it until the wolf scent overwhelmed. This did not put Kigipigak off of the trail so much as envigorate him to pursue at a greater speed. A part of him was pleased to find the rogues of this new land and test their mettle—as well as their defenses if a pack's claim line met his feet—but he was also curious to know if his sisters were around.

When he saw a shape resembling a young wolf standing before him he slowed and sniffed the air, stopping when the scent did not register any sort of emotional response. It was not one of his sisters after all but someone that looked younger, with a stark white coat and runner's build.

By this point in Kigipigak's adventure he knew how limited Tartok was in the region and so he took a chance and greeted them in the comon tongue. Hallo! Kigipigak called across the dark bends of shadow. What are you hunting? Maybe I will help! It was a messy but well-intentioned offer.

When the stranger first came into view, she stiffened and the fur all along her spine stood on end. Aapaga! she thought with a wave of loathing that caught her totally by surprise. A beat later, she saw the scars. Not long after that, his scent hit her nose and she knew this wasn't Kaertok. She remained rigid, staring.

He came closer, offering amiable greetings, and Haunt swallowed the suddenly sour taste in her mouth. "Nothing," she said lowly, "I lost it." Her ears flicked as she admitted this, yellow eyes skirting to his face and down to the ground again and again. If Haunt had known the phrase, she might've thought, Uncanny valley.

Taking a breath, Haunt tried to move past the resemblance and the bitter feelings it stirred. "I'm Haunt," she said, "Arktoi." The title slipped thoughtlessly from her tongue as an image of an antlered she-wolf flashed through her mind. She shrugged inwardly, noting that it sounded like any given surname.

The wolf reacted as if Kigipigak was an enemy: their coat ruffled and their thin muscles tensed. In response to this Kigipigak's posture also stiffened and his tail stilled at his hocks, he watched them for a moment without fear. It had not been his intention to surprise them or disturb their hunting—which, by their own admission was not going well.

The tension eased. Kigipigak held his position for a few moments before letting his own body relax and finally closed some of the distance, being observant of the stranger and the proximity between them. They introduced themselves and the small triangles that were his ears twitched at the second one given.

It was not a language he knew but it was very similar in sounding to some words in his own tongue. I am Kigipigak, he states—then, curious of her now, he adds—inu ksraktaak Tartok?

Her mouth went dry at the mention of Tartok. She didn't know the other words, yet she certainly recognized her father's surname. She felt another surge of furious hatred pass through her, making her hackles prickle. She had looked up to her father, respected him greatly, and he'd turned his back on her and their entire family. Haunt hadn't realized until confronted with his lookalike just how deeply her resentment burrowed.

"I am not Tartok," Haunt said acidly, so caught up in her dislike for a moment that she forgot to make the obvious connection. Then it hit her bluntly. "You are?" She wondered if he knew her father and where he'd gone. Her toes suddenly clenched in the cold earth.

A ferocity lit within the girl and Kigipigak narrowed his eyes as if glaring at a harsh sun. The tone of their voice—that strength rooted in resentment—was not something the prideful boy was used to hearing in conjunction with his bloodline. He did not like the combination.

Yes, he answered with a lift of his chin. I am Kigipigak, son of the matriarch Sedna. He recited this despite knowing it would mean nothing to them. They looked so strikingly like home to Kigipigak and yet they appeared resistant to the very concept of Tartok; at least the name of it.

Kigipigak wondered why but did not ask. He would presume, perhaps wrongly, that Arktoi was the product of a disgraced Anneriwok. This reminded him of his sisters and Kigipigak hardened his heart.

You know of us. He states this cooly, as she has given such clues. Which tribe are you?

She seethed at the question. "I am not Tartok," she repeated. Haunt realized how waspish she sounded and sank her teeth into her tongue before she could continue hissing at a perfect stranger. Making an effort to smooth her proverbial petticoats, she explained haltingly, "My—sire—he was Tartok. But he left us. I am no Tartok." She might as well have spat as she firmly denounced the name.

Eyes suddenly blazing, she couldn't resist asking, "Do you know him? Kaertok?" It was like incessantly poking her tongue into a cavity. Talking about him hurt, though she couldn't help herself. Haunt was pretty sure she'd never felt so strongly about anything in her life as she did about these reminders of her deadbeat dad. And that's just what he was: dead to her.

The girl was adamant in getting her point across; she held no tribe, whether Tartok or not, and that did not make sense to Kigipigak as he could discern a myriad of scents upon them even from a distance. Maybe he was not being clear enough.

Kigipigak would have probed for more details and rephrased his question had he not been subjected to such a vehement one of Haunt's own, leading him to scowl, as he was not used to being spoken to with such hostility. Not since his sisters at least.

The name was familiar only because it sounded of the same origin as his own, and while Kigipigak wanted to deny knowing any such name he could remember hearing of at least one; there was the legend of Siku, her children, and their own, which passed through spoken-word through generations. 

It was doubtful that one of the progenitor's descendants had come all the way to these Wilds, thought Kigipigak. Kaertok is a common name, he states, which wasn't a lie. In leaving you he proves himself unworthy. You are still Tartok— by the shared blood, he would have said, except even as Kigipigak was explaining this he thought, why bother? She was not open to it.

Haunt felt herself running hot, then cold, as Kigipigak, son of Sedna, explained that Kaertok was not a particularly unique name and that his departure proved him unworthy. She sneered at that—in agreement. It quickly twisted into a scowl when he insisted she still shared her sire's bloodline. That was the stark truth, though Haunt didn't have to like it or even acknowledge it.

"I am an Arktoi now," she told him, an almost defiant look in her eye. She was Artemis's apprentice, even if the goddess hadn't come to her lately. "And I am a hunter. If you stop talking about Tartok, maybe we can hunt." This came out as a weird mixture of apologetic and stubborn, Haunt's eyes flitting up to his face and pinning there for half a heartbeat before she lowered them.

The fire of Tartok was strong in this one even if she denied it, but Kigipigak would not press the matter further. It was not his place—the girl's father had made a disgrace of himself by leaving her, and should he return it was his role to teach her the truth of their ways. For now she proclaimed herself an Arktoi—a nonsense thing to Kigipigak—but it would do. She would be known as such if that was the name she chose.

Alright. He shot back to her. He could not help thinking of how strong-willed she was. Even if Haunt were to denounce her bloodline in its entirety, in stoking the fire in her belly she could become a strong issumatar in her own right, one day. Perhaps future generations of Tartok would come upon her descendants and find a rival. 

Kigipigak's gaze was hard as he stared back at her and he did not move. What were you hunting? He asked first, and finally turned his gaze from her's to inspect the leaflitter for clues.

He repeated his earlier question and Haunt reminded him, "I lost it. It was like a rat, only... longer. It stole from one our caches." Haunt rolled a shoulder in a slow shrug. "But we can look for something new. Maybe I can replace what it stole."

Kigipigak began to nose along the ground, so she did the same, stepping away a few yards to cover a different patch of ground. Her eyes remained fixed on him. Now that she was getting past all the reminders of her father, she wondered more about this strange Tartok man.

"Do you live in a pack?" she asked in between sweeps of her snout through the undergrowth. There were many scents, but nothing promising so far.

Rat wasn't something he was particularly fond of. Having grown up on larger beasts such as the tuktu which traveled in great herds across the ice, taken down by the will of the tribe. He could assist in finding the creature's trail nonetheless and see if Haunt could prove her prowess to him.

A few minutes of searching later and Haunt's question drifted up to Kigipigak. He exhaled to clear his snout of idle scents before replying: I come from a village by the sea. At the moment, no, but I have found friends, bond-brother and bond-sister, who hope to take a raven forest. It was perhaps a bit too much detail for such a simple question. Nothing was ever simple to Kigipigak.

He smirked to himself in thinking of Valmua, mainly, but also in amusement, for he had asked such a question of Haunt and been shot down. He tried rephrasing with her common words. What is your pack? You smell of family.

She didn't know the word "village," though she took it to mean "pack" in her father's tongue. She only knew vaguely of the sea, though what captured her attention most was the mention of a raven. The word triggered an image of a blackbird perched atop Artemis's antlers. She must've dreamed it, though Haunt couldn't place it in any way.

Realizing she'd gone still, Haunt blinked and reanimated just in time to catch Kigipigak's question. "I'm from Legion. We live in the bypass," she informed him, pointing her pale snout in its general direction. She realized her mother would probably be furious with her for being outside its borders but Haunt couldn't really bring herself to care what Arbiter thought.

It was then that she realized her resentment didn't apply only to Kaertok. In fact, as she mentally thumbed through the catalog of her family, prompted by her companion's query, it struck her that she really only felt close to Vex lately. It felt like everyone else had drifted from her, Kaertok simply being the furthest out of reach. Her face contorted as if something sour had touched her tongue as she acknowledged all the disconnects.

In the next moment, a pungent smell eclipsed most conscious thoughts. With a sharp woof, she alerted Kigipigak, motioning silently for him to take a whiff. She couldn't quite place the scent, so her yellow eyes lifted searchingly to the adult's face.

U-pick prey? :D

Legion. It was a strong name. There was more to a family than a name though; Kigipigak knew as much from his mother, from his sisters, from the demented man he once called father. Carrying any name gave you something to live up to and if you fell in disgrace, it did not matter what name you carried.

The girl motions to the mountains and the valley. Kigipigak does not turn his attention away from his work but he makes a mental note to venture close some day. Perhaps he will find this Kaertok in his travels and put him through hell on behalf of Arktoi and show him the true meaning of his name.

Haunt draws his attention and urges him to inspect a patch of earth and so he does. His strides are quick, the leaves crushing beneath his steps. A wolf-smile spreads upon his face, he feels it in the pinch of his lip.

Nuutuuyik! Ah, ah... Smaller than us, short-face, ahh.. Walks softly on snow? He did not know the word for lynx and tried his best to explain quickly. We see them in the north from time to time walking alone, these things—I do not know your word for it. His ears pivoted in apology.

They can be dangerous, these nuutuuyik. Together we may trick it into death. Be swift and silent as much as you can. He was excited now, veering away from Haunt to pursue the acerbic scent of cat. It followed the path of the rat and had likely given chase to the pest before Haunt had found the trail, so it was close.

He knew the scent, though his description was met with a blank stare from Haunt. Snow? She mouthed the word as she repeated it in her head, which she shook to show she didn't understand. Although Kigipigak warned her that it would be dangerous, it didn't seem to make him hesitate. Haunt made a gesture that said, Let's go then. Would she ever turn down an opportunity to hunt?

Licking her chops, she trailed just a few soft footsteps behind the adult, trusting he knew what he was doing. The cat's scent grew stronger in her nose, joining a broadening mental database. It did smell dangerous; at least, something about the odor set her teeth on edge and made the snowy fur between her shoulder blades prickle warily.

The grove was quiet except for the pair of wolves working their way through the tangle of green. Kigipigak was in the lead, finding it irritating that each step brought a chorus of crunching leaves or splintering sticks to pulse around them. He was used to tracking things across the scrubland of taiga or sheets of ice. 

Thankfully the scent of cat was pungent and easy to follow. It was not linear though: winding across the ground in some places, lost up one tree or another, leaving Kigipigak to retrace his steps and scour the area for more clues. As he was growing more frustrated each time the scent 'treed' itself, he finally hunkered beneath one white-barked spire and stared up.

It is here, above. Look carefully and tell me if you see it. Instructed the boy to Haunt as she came up beside him, his tone almost conspiratorial, trying to be instructive without alerting the creature. The scent was strongest here; high up among the branches sat the lynx where it had the rat pinned between its marbled body and the striped branch of the tree, watching them.

Trying to move stealthily through the undergrowth occupied her so thoroughly that Haunt didn't notice they were moving in circles, nor did she pick up on her mentor's agitation. When he eventually stopped beneath a tree, she went still too, glancing at his face and following his gaze upward. With every inch her eyes raised, trepidation ratcheted up in her breast.

She spotted the cat, preparing to feast on some small animal, and every blade of fur on her young body raised. Haunt loved to hunt, yet she also knew her limits. Ungulates were off the board altogether, even with backup, until she gained more experience. And as for other predators, well... some instinct jangled her nerves horribly as her ears flicked in time with the rapid beat of her heart.

"Are you," Haunt hisspered, "trying to get me killed?" Maybe he could tangle with the cat and its claws, yet the pup knew she wouldn't stand a snowball's chance in hell.

Kigipigak studied her face as Haunt searched carefully for the cat above and smirked upon witnessing their fear. It was not his intention to put her in harm's way as she thought. The distress the girl felt was a test to see if they would run or not. They did not.

Stay. Kigipigak instructed.  The fear rolled off of her in thick waves that could be felt as well as scented. Had the cat not known the wolves lingered there before it soon would take notice so Kigipigak had to be swift.

He feigned interest in the forest floor scents and wandered from where Haunt was planted, barking sharply as if he had found a trail, then chased after it. His route would arc beneath the trees and out of the cat's range of sight as well as Haunt's, leaving her there for the creature to focus on.

If she ran now she would certainly draw it from the tree; standing prone invited a direct attack in equal measure. She was effectively made the bait.

He reacted by telling her, "Stay." Haunt's muscles locked and she began to shake his head, though he was already departing. Her ears fell backward, disappearing against her skull as her yellow eyes tracked him, then flicked up to the cat looking back at her.

Why had she trusted a stranger? Maybe it was because he looked liked her dad, though that made no sense; she hated Kaertok now. As the panic built in her breast and Haunt crouched beneath the tree, she thought of what she'd like to do to Kigipigak if she survived this. It definitely involved tearing off his testicles with her teeth.

The cat had watched Kigipigak move on and turned its attention to the younger wolf. It knew it had power, that it was hungry and not satisfied with the rat it had plucked up, and that the younger wolf was small. From up in the tree the cat thought it looked very small, and watched it eagerly.

The shifting of branches was subtle but told of its descent. The rat sat bloody and abandoned in the crook of branches. If Haunt looked up again they would see a stain of red from where the cat had previously been and a drag mark leading down to lower branches; likewise, if Haunt looked up, it would be in time for the cat's body to come tumbling with paws reaching for her face.

Kigipigak was ready too—watching for that lunge and shoving Haunt out of the way so that he could grasp with hungry teeth at the cat's exposed belly. Death would be swift; the cat's yowl filling the forest grove. Red painted the tree trunk, Kigipigak's face, sprayed up away violently.

The cat prepared to spring and Haunt's fight-or-flight response fully engaged. Truly, she was a hunter, not a fighter, and she wanted to live another day. She didn't think about any of this consciously as she whirled and darted, hoping to put herself out of the other predator's reach. So long as she didn't feel claws sinking into her back, she intended to make a beeline for the bypass.

The sound of a struggle behind her made her pause and whirl, eyes wide as she panted hard and beheld the sight of Kigipigak executing the lynx. She could've been impressed, though Haunt's nerves were still screaming. Her lip curled back in a silent snarl as she forcibly whipped her head away and resumed running, her heart pounding rapidly against her rib cage as she tried to get away from yet another traitorous Tartok.

Kigipigak was so involved with the culling of the cat he did not notice as Haunt fled the scene until it was too late. There was utter quiet around him as he tore in to the resulting carcass and drew ribbons out of the belly; but the boy stopped and looked up when he finally did take issue. His face and neck were covered in blood.

Arktoi! Arktoi, come! He barked in to the forest's twists. The hunt was good—the nuutuuyik can no longer hurt!

Kigipigak did not know if the girl would return to him. He did not want to shout any more. The animal's pelt was still in good condition and he thought to skin it as a prize for the girl, but if she had fled for good then it would be a waste of effort; plus, the cat was not good for eating. He sighs, and waits.