Nova Peak Splitting

The air temperature was just above freezing, mists furling around the foot of Dragon’s Back Ridge as Masquerade made their way there. They mused that it must be the sleeping dragon’s breath, though the thought was cut off by a hideous pulsing in their temple. They clenched their teeth and hastened toward the familiar overhang, where they promptly dropped and curled into a ball.

Their skull continued to pound, the nth splitting headache since the altercation with the thief. It had officially soured their temper by now, to the point where Masquerade had snarled at a younger sibling earlier today. That was why they were here now, staring out at the slowly swirling fog for a moment before their eyes began to ache too and they slipped them shut.

Masquerade had snarled at her today.

It had been quite startling for the girl who lived a most un-bothersome life, but it had also struck a chord of concern for the one she saw as her most doting and inoffensive parent – sibling relation aside. At an invisible distance, she followed the caru ulfr’s scent out of the rise on a rare journey beyond the borders, moving slower as the trail grew stronger and warmer.

She saw the monochrome sitter resting beneath an overhang, staring out at nothing. At least, the fifth child assumed it was nothing – the mist made it hard to see anything. Keeping well back, lest she get snarled at again, she snorted to draw Masquerade’s attention and ducked her head as if in apology.

With their eyes closed, Masque could all too easily picture their sister’s face when they’d snarled at her. They grimaced at the recollection, letting their eyelids peel apart to squint out at the foggy view from beneath the overhang again.

They tensed when they saw a figure taking shape through the mist. Their heartbeat quickened when they realized it was “Fifth.” Masquerade pushed upright and slunk out from beneath the rock shelf, squinting at their sister. They bowed their aching head guiltily.

The Ulfr wanted to ask what she was doing here, though they could guess and said instead, I’m sorry, Fifth. I didn’t mean it. I’m not feeling myself lately.

Masque didn’t want to burden their younger sister, nor make excuses. They didn’t mention their headaches, though there were other signs aside from their shortened temper. There was the nearly constant grimacing and squinting, the unusual tightness of their ruddy face, particularly around their eyes.

*hypnotizes you into believing I made zero narrative errors in my last post*

Bright, owlish eyes studied her sibling’s face for a moment. They were both bowed to one another, Masquerade in remorse, and she in uncertainty. Her gaze flitted erratically across their features, half considering the apology, half checking for a hint of further aggression. It took only a beat for the dark girl to straighten up and come forward at an unreserved trot. She snorted, I forgive you, dispelling any tension in her body as she came up to the caretaker’s muzzle and gave them a beseeching lick towards their chin.

Got any food for me?

She knew she was much too old for this – but old habits died hard, and she was hoping that Masquerade’s guilt would make her more malleable to the suggestion. She did want to express concern over their recent behavior and what she had passively observed of their pained expressions, but her own desires came first. The equivalent of putting on her own airplane mask before attempting to help someone else with theirs.

For several beats, all was still and silent. Only the fog moved. Masquerade’s headache dulled and their features twisted in relief when their sister snorted dismissively. “Fifth” approached then and licked at the Ulfr’s chin, though they ducked their head out of the way. Their brow furrowed as pain pulsed through it, though this time, at least, they didn’t snarl.

You don’t need food from my belly, they said firmly but gently. You know what you need? A proper name. We could call you Beggar or perhaps Recluse, they joshed, then grew more serious as they continued, or Owl, for the way you stare at everybody; or Poet, for the strangely beautiful things you say sometimes.

They cocked their aching head, wondering if their sister liked any of those ideas. Masque supposed it should’ve been their mother giving her a proper title but she hadn’t yet. Besides, the former Caru had been more of a consistent mother figure to these four, a thought which no longer felt treacherous. It was merely a fact.

Errors? What errors? :)

She sighed and turned a quick circle before daintily taking a seat. It was worth a shot. (And at least she had grown out of throwing fits and pouting whenever someone refused to upchuck for her.) Sitting prim and proper, she canted her head at the names Masquerade presented – two of them in jest – and her wide eyes blinked fast, as if processing.

She knew what she wanted to be called, but it was none of those things. Her toes dug restlessly into the gravel as she wrestled internally with telling her chosen name to Masquerade or talking about what she wanted to discuss. In the end, as it always was with her, she chose the latter.

The mountaintop is going to fall. It’s turning into sand, she said wistfully, sighing again as her eyes drifted elsewhere. Then she peeked at Masquerade from beneath hooded lashes, and in a rare bit of bluntness, she added, you’re hurt.

“Fifth” made no reply at first. Masquerade’s eyes followed her every movement as she released a soft breath, then circled and settled onto her haunches. Their gaze dropped to watch her toes kneading almost fitfully, raising right when the young she-wolf finally spoke.

Masque's lips parted then pressed together again as they processed this latest verse. The things that came out of their younger sister’s mouth were often peculiar and always thought-provoking. Before the Ulfr could come up with something to say, “Fifth” made an astute observation.

I’ll be alright, Poet, they murmured, then paused and cocked their head, or maybe… Prophet. There’s something very cryptic about this one. And I feel like I want to say, ‘I know,’ although I don’t know what I know, Masquerade posited, wincing a little as a spear of pain thrust through their temple.

She shrugged through the reassurance, tilted her head to another angle at the polite testing of a new name.

Poet, again. Prophet.

She liked the way they sounded coming from Masquerade, and it dawned on her that these titles should be treasured, stowed away for safekeeping. Like ill-fitting clothes that she would grow into; or comforting night shirts to simply sleep in should they remain too large. Her tail wiggled slightly on the ground, before stilling once more as she watched her sibling-mother wince. The girl frowned, and a scarcely audible groan of frustration shivered from her throat.

Do you eat the butterfly when it lands on your nose? She spoke a little sharply at first, then huffed. There’s no reflection in the water, Masque. It’s not calm enough. Can’t you see the ripples?

Do you? they shot back without missing a beat, grinding their teeth together but somehow laughing at the same time. I don’t actually think that’s ever happened to me.

They fell silent, pondering the next lyric. They glanced past “Fifth’s” shoulder toward the thick, drifting fog. The only ripples Masque could sense, though, were the ripples of pain inside their skull.

Prophet’s taken, anyway, Masque continued when it ebbed a little. He used to live on the rise…

They trailed off with a shrug, not bothering to mention the possibility of paternity. Maybe she was interested, like Mulherin, but Masque would let their sister raise that subject if ever she desired.

Instead, they wondered, What would you name yourself? There’s no reason you can’t.

A resigned look crinkled her features, and she felt an enormous sense of exasperation, defeat. She wanted to discuss it, the rippling, the true rippling inside their skull, but they would not hear her. Or perhaps could not. She saw the proverbial ripples, even if Masquerade could only feel them, yet she didn’t know how to say it properly; there were only strange phrases rattling around inside her that the others didn’t seem to understand. Speaking plainly felt like a task – her mind wandered away from it until there was nothing but quiet between them.

She looked away from her sibling, twitching an ear at the mention of another wolf named Prophet. There were questions in her thoughts, mainly about why the wolf no longer lived among them, but it made her think of Avicus and how she had been gone too. Her heart hardened to the matter, and she remained tight-lipped until Masquerade asked what she would name herself.

My name is not alive, she answered, childishly sighing again as if it were a great pain to respond. It is dead. Something dead. Her eyes swiveled back to Masquerade and she smirked. Can you guess it?

A riddle, they mused, although “The Riddler” seemed just as impersonal as “Fifth,” and, besides, it wasn’t something dead.

Masquerade took their time to ponder their sibling’s words. There were many dead things in the world. They supposed they should start with a broad stroke.

You do skulk around like a ghost, just like me, they thought aloud. Perhaps that: Ghost. Or maybe Phantasm. Or Specter. Masque licked their lips. Or is that too on the nose?

The girl giggled and tucked her chin slyly. No, silly! None of those things are dead, she lectured them playfully. How could they be dead when such things could move and haunt and even speak in some cases. No – ghosts, ghouls, phantasms, and specters were definitely not dead. She smiled, her tail starting to wiggle again. 

Guess again, she prompted, notes of excitement in her voice and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She eagerly scanned Masquerade’s face, as if trying to read their thoughts in an attempt to predict what they would say next. This is fun!

They aren’t? Masque rejoined dubiously, though they were happy enough to play along, especially since their sister seemed to be enjoying herself.

They took another moment or two to mull. They supposed their problem was looking at it logically. Few of “Fifth’s” lines of thought ever seemed to subscribe to rational parameters.

Carrion? Masque couldn’t help but guess, thinking of the Toweard’s favorite food besides regurgitated meat.

But of course that wasn’t nearly philosophical enough. The Ulfr breathed through a painful throb in their temple, their ears splaying in discomfort.

Marshaling themself, they jested, All my hopes and dreams?

There was simply no time to educate her (usually very smart) sibling on the matter of why haunters and such could not be considered “dead.” A seminar on the matter brewed in her coffeepot head, but its nourishing drink could not be poured until the question of the riddle was resolved.

Carrion?

Carrion looked surprised, then she froze. So, rather than being able to read Masquerade’s mind, she had unintentionally telegraphed her own thoughts instead… Hmmm. This was an interesting development in her powers. Her expression went blank as she started calculating all the ways this new ability could be used on her packmates.

(She would remember later that her sibling was simply the most intelligent wolf she knew and was therefore more than capable of guessing some silly name.)

She saw Masquerade wince before making a joke; or at least Carrion assumed it was a joke, because of the wry note in their voice. The brightest stars are shining for you, she offered praise for the excellent guess, which they may not have even noticed was correct. In a fleeting show of affection, she booped Masquerade’s nose with her own. She then quickly pulled back. Why does the rabbit hide from the wolf?

The look on their sister’s face was clear as day. Carrion, Masquerade thought with affectionate incredulity, really? They should not have been surprised. The strange name suited her.

Thanks, they replied wryly to “Fifth’s”—no, Carrion’s—next line of verse, somehow magical and uplifting. And I assume it hides because it doesn’t want to get eaten, they added, wondering if the Toweard would enlighten them with a much more profound reasoning.

Even as they anticipated more whimsy in response, Masque suddenly realized their headache had gone at some point during this distracting conversation. They gave their head a tentative little shake as if to test it, then stepped further into the overcast daylight.

The migraine was gone and, more importantly, Carrion had quite clearly forgiven them for their earlier behavior. The Ulfr drew in a breath and looked back to their younger sister, marigold eyes shining with humble appreciation.

Is that why you’re hiding? she rejoined, referring to Masquerade’s recent refusal to acknowledge that she was in pain, though Carrion’s words would more easily be understood as plainly literal. She observed her sibling as they stepped out from beneath the overhang into the grey-skied sunlight, and when they did not wince, she knew she must be feeling somewhat better.

Carrion stood and shook out her coat, coming to sidle alongside her sibling-mother. She looked down the mountain, noting that the mist beneath them had grown thin, just as Masquerade’s headache. I think rabbits hide because it is kinder than scratching a wolf’s eyes out.

The pointed question earned an odd look from Masquerade, then a snort of amusement. Still humbled by her forgiveness, they reached out and playfully nipped at her whiskers. They knew Carrion wasn’t the most tactile creature, so they resisted the urge to follow it up with a gentle lick to the bridge of her muzzle, though the desire was there.

Yeah, I guess you could say I’m not in the mood to get eaten today, they joshed, then laughed at Carrion’s subsequent quip. Why would they scratch when they could bite? Have you ever seen a rabbit’s front teeth? Have you ever felt them?

Long tail twitching, they stepped further away from the foot of the peak. It was still quite chilly and the sky was overcast. But the weather did not dampen their uplifted mood, now that their headache had gone.

This conversation is making me hungry. I know you’re not one for fresh meat, so why don’t you take this opportunity to show off your scavenging skills? Masque proposed, glancing at their younger sister with a small grin.

Though not too bothered by her sibling’s playfulness, she did side-eye the motion.

I’ve seen them, Carrion shrugged. She’d never paid much attention to rabbits’ teeth, but as usual, Masquerade proved thought-provoking. Their mouths seem so small, though. I think they have a better chance using their claws… right? It was something to turn into a riddle; she tried to think of what she wanted a tooth-and-claw-based question to represent. Intelligence? Forethought? Values?

What do you think is more useful: our teeth or our claws? If the meat was soft enough, they could still feed themselves, theoretically, but could they run as fast or dig their dens without claws? Did either of these things make a wolf a wolf?

Her thoughts ran away while Masquerade studied the clearing mist, though it did not take long for the topic to turn to scavenging. Carrion snapped out of her daydream, owlish eyes turning immediately up to scan the overcast skies.

There! A dark dot flew out over the trees in the distance, too far away to determine what it was, though a raven or crow seemed likely. The birds in black see more than me, she grinned, surging forward with a yip. She had found that following a dark bird was often the easiest way of finding something deceased, which would hopefully be where she lead her sibling towards now.

And they do have enormous feet, Masquerade acknowledged, then replied to Carrion’s next question without missing a beat, I definitely think our teeth are more useful. When I hunt, I rarely use my feet except to sort of… grapple the prey. I use my teeth to do all the damage.

Their sister seemed rather keen on this particular task, her attention drifting skyward. Masque followed her gaze, noting a single black speck floating over the distant treetops. Nothing compared to a bird’s eye view, which Carrion noted before springing away with a yip.

Grinning, the Ulfr loped after her, happy to let their sister take point since she was clearly in her element. Masque preferred fresh meat, though if they found any spoils, they would be happy to cache whatever Carrion didn’t want to eat herself.

i know you were closing up some older threads, so we can fade this in your next post if you want, but I definitely want another asap! (soon as the dust from this current potential upheaval settles lol)

Values it was, then.

Masquerade seemed to place a heavy emphasis on being able to take down prey, which they attributed to the use of their teeth. Carrion, meanwhile, thought she could get away without using her teeth, if only because she preferred to eat things that were long dead. She was quite scrawny for her age, due mostly to this practice, but she hardly minded the lack of fat and muscle. (After all, it was hard to miss something you never had.)

She ruminated on these thoughts even as they began to weave through the trees at the base of Masquerade’s favorite mountain, though at some point her mind turned to the jog they were on. She suddenly wanted to go faster and turn everything into a blur. The wind wants to see which of us is faster! Of course, tracking was certainly important, but if they were hunting dead things then there was no need for quiet. Besides, this could be used as a guage to see if Masquerade truly was feeling better or not.

Carrion raced forward, and she dared not look over her shoulder, lest she lose ground to the powerful ulfr (presumably) on her heels.

They considered the merit of establishing a cache near the peak, since they spent quite a bit of time here. It would be nice to have to have a snack readily available whilst visiting, though it wasn’t just about keeping their hunger at bay. Masque thought of that she-wolf some weeks back and pondered whether subtle signs of possession might deter unwelcome guests. It didn’t belong to the Redtails yet, but…

Carrion’s playful challenge scattered their thoughts. Before Masquerade could properly register what she’d said, she went gallivanting ahead without a backward glance. The yearling snorted, then loped after her, also ignoring the temptation for a glance, albeit upward over backward. They had faith that Carrion was still racing toward where the bird circled in the sky, leading the young pair of wolves to noisome spoils.

I went for the fade! I’d definitely love another soon.