Swiftcurrent Creek Blackfish

Set tomorrow morning. He’s on the border.

Swordfish was weary beyond measure. His paws felt as though they had been torn by the elements.

It was upon a stranger’s border that he was forced to slow his pace and breathe. The heavy-lidded stare shifted over their claimed territory. It was so unlike the cliffs. He had not noted the scent of prey, but he had managed to catch a few fish between the herbalist’s cache and the creekside pack where he watched.

The young wolf was worried that he might be too close, that someone might come looking. As he looked back to his journeyed path, he realized that he had walked many miles. There would be no trail for them to follow. And he knew how to keep himself from being found.

A quiet howl was made to anyone who might be near the edge of the claim.

Moss yawned and stretched, as she turned her back on the borders. Another long patrol completed, no new joiners, no trespassers, nothing worth more in any way, just the way she liked-

Did she hear a howl? She paused, and sighed. No. She was tired, it was time for her to go back to her spot near the creek, curl up, and have a nap. She trudged forward and with an immediate groan, yanked her head to the side and headed back for the borders, like an old nag being ridden by children.

The wolf at the borders wasn’t much more than a child, but was in rough shape. She huffed, pushing her whiskers forward as she inhaled his scent which smelled of other wolves, the wilderness, the sea. Something about him was off; he was far too spent to have simply come here by chance, and he had wounds that had not yet healed. 

”Running?” She asked bluntly.

Winter, dreary as it was, at least had brought a blanket of quiet to the creek, just like the falling snow. They settled to day to day lives and for now, it seemed the group that had attacked them before was nowhere to be found—Akavir hoped they would stay away come the spring thaw, but for now, it was a welcome break.

The crooning howl of another spurned him forward. His pace quickened—own form more lean now in the harsher months, but remained cut from sinew and scar. His pale yellow eyes settled upon a youthful man—a myriad of colors, though it was the red tail that stuck out most to the Mayfair.

And then there was Moss—ever vigilant in her patrols—first upon him and questioning him.

Nearing, he uttered a low bark of greeting to signify his presence, and with the lift of his nose to the air in the direction of the other, brine and wood met his senses. Nothing of the ragtag group from before.

A large woman approached. Her eyes were unlike anything he’d ever seen.

The woman asked if he was running. Swordfish seethed, wishing that he could tell her, wishing that he could share the horrible image of the bear, of it’s claws and teeth. She had looked to his wounds before she had spoken to him. Perhaps she thought he was fleeing from danger.

Searchin’, he answered her in his drawling, even tone.

Silver-flecked eyes searched behind her, checking to see if anyone else would come to the edge of the creeklands. Swordfish lifted his head so that he did not look quite so derelict. The lean figure thought that this woman looked like the type of wolf he needed.

Ya got fighters here? Someone tha’ can show me?

Then a dark-furred man drew near, barking to announce his presence.

She didn’t like lies, not even from children. her eyes became stern, and her frown increased slightly, slicking her whiskers back against her cheeks. Wolves didn’t look like this when they were searching; they looked like this when they were running. 

She might have uttered a growl of warning had Akavir not shown up for the conversation. She’d noticed the way he’d gentled his expression when he’d seen the young man’s injury, his tiredness. soft heart, she thought, as she watched him greet the boy. The boy had perked up a bit as well. Just adding to his façade. 

Regardless of whether he was running or searching, it was clear he needed help, and that he had a strong heart. She lifted her chin when he asked what she hoped he’d realized was a dumb question, as if to say what do you think you’re looking at? Of course she was trained to fight. 

She already knew she was skeptical of the boy, and that he likely brought trouble. She allowed Akavir to do the questioning, while she kept the boy in the heat of her gaze.

Moss was the picture of indignation. The frown that darkened her countenance—the sharpness of her gaze on the boy. One could never argue the woman was a friendly and endearing creature—but usually her expression was left impassable at most, and so the wolf gave pause, allowing a catch in the air should either of them feel the need to fill it with a reason.

None given, and the man exhaled, his eyes drifting from the guardian to the youthful man. Haphazard and injured, Akavir’s eyes sought out the intricate details before continuing. “You’re on Swiftcurrent Creek borders.” Again, another pause—the words hanging as Moss chose not to respond to the boys last question that Akavir had only just overheard when he had come closer.

“We do.” His eyes pointedly regarded the injuries of the young man. “But I’m going to need to know why you’re banged up. We’ve dealt with some troublesome wolves the past few months. If you’re part of that, you can turn back around and go the way you just came.”

The woman said nothing, but her pride in strength could be seen in the glint of her gaze and the cool lift of her chin. She intimidated him. Swordfish did not allow his emotions to play. He concealed them the way he always had.

When the dark man spoke, he said that their pack was Swiftcurrent Creek. It was an apt name. He then stated that he would need to know the reason for Swordfish’s wounds. He said that there was a dangerous group running about, and that if the boy was part of them, he’d need to get. There was no choice. He didn’t wish to be associated with whoever was causing trouble for these wolves.

The boy shook his head. His mouth opened to speak, but only breaths fell.

Was a bear, he said. I ain’t apart of whoever’s causin’ ya trouble.

Seablue eyes pulled up to the man, then to the woman.

I just need to learn how to fight.

Her gaze travelled from one of the boy's dark blue eyes to the other, and back again, searching for any sign that he wasn't telling the truth. Her gaze flicked past his face, to the wounds healing on him...Gashes, long and horrible, full centimeters apart. In his face, which she beheld once more, was the softness of regret. She'd neither been wrong, nor had he been lying- he'd been both running and searching. 

She exhaled softly, releasing some of her tension. Her features did not brighten, but softened slightly; from pumice to marble, stony still. A communication of her consent, if Akavir wished to believe it as such.

Akavir lifted a paw, rubbing at his cheek for a brief moment as he considered the boys words. “We’re not really about giving hand outs here,” he explained, eyes skimming from the boy and to Moss, noting the slight softening of her countenance. She seemed indifferent, either way—as usual.

“You can stay here and learn to fight. You represent the creek while you’re here—hunt with and for your fellow pack members, scout, and become one of the pack. At least for the winter.” Come spring, the boy would be older, and could decide further what he wanted to do. Akavir arched a brow, waiting for some sort of confirmation or consent.

The woman still said nothing. Her eyes were piercing upon him.

Akavir took charge of the conversation with ease. He naturally fit into the place of a leader. Swordfish listened, understanding that this was a place where he would earn his keep. The boy had no intention of doing anything otherwise. He had been driven by anger to this place, to these wolves. When he had learned what he needed, he would go to the next.

Until the bear was dead.

I’m a good hunter. I’ll work to fill yer caches, to start.

The boy thought that he could learn the terrain, chart his next course. He wanted the woman to teach him a thing or two about holding his own. He liked the coldness of her. He liked that she seemed unwavering.

Words meant very little, and individual wolves rarely caught her attention. Swordfish's promise to fill their caches didn't impress her, though she felt there would not be much harm in giving him a chance. If he decided to be lazy and pull upon their resources without doing work in return, she would know quickly enough and would have no problems booting him back out into the wild. 

Akavir seemed content to offer him a chance to prove himself, and a place to feel safe, so long as he worked. The boy's offer seemed like an agreement. Moss exhaled quietly again. In a monotone voice, she uttered one syllable as a prompt. "Name."

It seemed the youth was staying—Moss requested his name, and the swarthy man gave pause, eyes still studying the injuries and state of the man. His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth a moment—refraining from giving his own name first and then bustling off.

Moss was a solid presence on the border—but he had yet to know how she reacted with her fellow pack-mates, and so when she took over this part of the conversation, the Mayfair was interested to see what else she might add to it—or if the single syllable request was where that ended with her.

This time, the man stayed silent. The intimidating woman spoke only a single word of request.

They wanted his name.

Swordfish lifted his eyes to Moss, worry edging into the corners of his mind. If he gave them his name, they would be able to trace him back to the sea. If he gave them his true name, it would be easier for anyone to find him. If he waited too long, they would know that he was lying.

The young redtail lifted his chin to properly address her.

The bear’s dark eyes clouded his mind.

Shardik, he said plainly, as though it was the name his mother had whispered on the day he had been born.

He gave a name, and she accepted it with a nod. "Moss," She said; so that he might also know how to address her. 

To Akavir she turned next, her expression fair. "He'll train with me." It was both an offer and a suggestion. Shardik was kin to neither of them, and needed someone to keep an eye on him. She didn't trust that he wouldn't be lazy, or take advantage of their caches and their kindness, so she would make sure that he pulled his weight by being his tutor.

Akavir’s gaze zeroed in to Moss—regarding her a moment, the only insight to the surprise that he felt while maintaining a careful mask of authority. He wouldn’t deny her this, of course—he could think of no better wolf to train beside, and if she felt it best to take the boy under her wing, he would see how it played out.

“Very well.” He paused, eyes shifting back to the youth. “I’m Akavir. Welcome to the creek, then.” He paused, then motioned to the direction of the hollow. “We are on good terms with our two neighbors— Riverclan has mentioned offering healing and knowledge of other medicines to ours if needed. Perhaps you should visit and see about those,” he lifted a paw, indicating the youth’s wounds. Mild—but it would also test his ability to see how he presented himself to their allies. “Excuse me,” he then rumbled, one last look given between them both before he would make to leave, allowing Moss to direct her new charge as she saw fit.

Making a new one for Moss! ^^ <3

Akavir and Moss, names that reminded him of nothing.

The boy wore the name of a bear as he accepted their offering. Akavir spoke of another pack where they had healers – a place called Riverclan. They had built good relationships with the surrounding groups, it seemed. It showed promise.

Moss said that he would train beneath her. Swordfish was pleased with the idea. She did not seem to take any nonsense. If there was anyone who could teach him to kill a bear, he believed she could.

Nodding his head to both of them, the young redtail stepped into Swiftcurrent Creek. He did not plan to rest or stop until he had reclaimed the peace of his former home.