Redtail Rise We all see the door, hoping it'll open something in a major way.

Set present day, referencing this.

A month ago, Masquerade had thrown a fox in Riley's face and later suggested he bring it to Redd. Riley had sat on the fox pelt since. It was not that he was lazy -- he lacked the social grace to casually and randomly gift something to someone else. Even he, in his infinite practicality, could admit the pelt was pretty. And now that the Rise's former Wealda was dead, he thought it almost looked portentous.

Red, like Avicus' flame-stirred pelt.

Red, like the sun as it sank past the horizon after she died.

Red, like the tension that groaned and creaked and snarled and snapped between every body in the Rise.

And finally, red like the blood held between Redd's teeth as she stood down Masquerade.

Riley sought her on stilted limbs. This was, truthfully, not his errand -- but Masquerade had told him to do it, and it was some admission of failure on his part he had waited so long. Life had a funny way of passing by quickly; he was sure Avicus could attest to that.

I was told to bring this to you. Riley spoke as he found her. He pushed the deep mahogany pelt of the fox to the Rise's new Wealda, his eyes averted but no less watchful.

Redd had been too focused on the conflict in Masquerade and New Snow to notice Riley’s disapproval, though seeing him now, she remembered his presence.

For a moment, she wondered if she was to be challenged so soon… an assumption that led from the newness of the role, and one that would no doubt die as the days passed.  When he showed clear deferral in his posture, she quickly relaxed, dismissing the notion before it even reached her body language.

She touched the pelt with her nose, intrigued somewhat by it.  To kill and preserve the pelt was a foreign concept, and she wondered where he had picked up this idea.  She had only ever seen such things torn inevitably in the hunt.

We’ve not met.  She said, raising her eyes to him.  It was a statement of fact, but it was also a quiet invitation.  She wondered if he might explain.

A part of Riley wondered if Redd was anything like her sibling. There was a taciturn directness to her he could appreciate, though she might find his responses slow.

Up close, Riley could see the familial resemblance. She was a muted dove grey -- while neither she or Masque had Avicus' brilliant russet pelt, a little of her was framed in both of their faces.

No, I guess not. Riley thought that a little strange, considering he'd run with the Rise since August. But the fault was likely in him. He knew he was an outsider, and so he took an outsider's role: he stayed on the fringes, he stayed under the radar, and filled his days with solitary hunts and cache stocking.

I'm Riley Redpath. Glancing at the fox as Redd touched it with her nose, Riley realized he had never explained. Masque thought the pelt too nice to give to the puppies. Might make a nice head-rest, though.

Redpath.  It was similar to Redtail.  Redd noted this, but she did not comment on it, choosing instead to study him for a long moment.  He appeared strong, but she knew little of him aside from his closeness to Masquerade.  Their scents mingled often in passing.  Perhaps they had brought him here.

Redd sat, relaxing back onto her haunches.  She would not press her rank on those unfamiliar unless necessary; it was her own job to earn their trust.

Redd.  It felt unfamiliar on her tongue, she spoke it so infrequently.  Not her true name, but the one she wore that suited.  Avicus had rarely called her anything else.

You joined with Masque?  She asked this completely unaware of the potential double meaning.

She sat upon her haunches, a pose poised yet signaling relaxation. Riley felt inclined to do the same, but held.

Pleasantries aside, Riley didn’t catch the way her name slipped out, as if it were a stranger’s name. He focused instead on her question.

Yes. Through out his time at the Rise, he’d really only gotten to know Masque and two other wolves — Carrion and Watcher.

He sensed his awkwardness imperiled their meeting, which was exactly why he voiced a thought almost too impulsive to utter. But he has been there, and everything about that day puzzled him. Why did you do it?

She did not owe him the explanation, and perhaps her mother would not have given it.  This was not Redd’s way.  She had come to understand that peace only arose from trust, and trust only came from truth.  So she was honest.

We need the pack whole.  Redd answered patiently, watching with a neutral look.  Perhaps he would not understand any more than Masquerade had.  She named me Wealda, gave me her trust.  Then revoked it.  Redd was not angry, she just did not fully understand herself.  If her sister had sought the title, Redd would have abided her choices.  She would have had little say.

We’ve lost enough.  This was a statement, firmer than the rest.  Even if neither understood, she could not feel that she had done wrong.

Riley’s gaze rested somewhere neutral, but he tried to study Redd’s face for any context. He was not a contemplative wolf; he wore his feelings openly, and raised his voice seldom.

Still, the perpetual instability of the Rise bothered him. As a pack creature, it sunk into his skin and made him apprehensive of the future.

Perhaps Redd would be the new successor to usher in peace in an otherwise tumultuous pack. Riley thought of Ancelin and his mate. Every month, the Rise faced a new problem. He struggled to remember if Easthollow had been the same.

There were a thousand invisible schisms crawling along the Rise. It was anyone’s guess which footfall would cause them to snap.

He sensed a finality in Redd, and had no interest in countering. Alright. It was a small glimpse into her perspective, but it was enough.

He made a motion to break camp with a slow wave of his tail and shift of his shoulders. Enjoy the fox.

He didn’t argue, but there was little warmth or acceptance in him.  Redd did not know how to navigate this in order to better know him, nor did she understand what he needed from her.  So her only response was a quiet Thank you.  Typically she wouldn’t have voiced it, but she felt she couldn’t end this entirely in silence.

In that moment, her grief for Avicus was overwhelming.  She would have known what to do.  She would have met Riley with confidence, asserted herself, and such a thing would have made sense because it was so much who she was.  Redd was choosing a different path, but she still deeply mourned the one left behind.  She wondered if her mother had felt this wall of isolation between herself and the others of the pack, a constant mistrust that seemed insurmountable at times.  Redd would never have the opportunity to ask.

Feeling somewhat forlorn in a way that was hard to describe, Redd picked up the fur and moved to depart.  She had nothing more to say and assumed this mutual; she would find a place to mourn, alone, with the fox pelt nestled like a security blanket beneath her chin.

he’s welcome to stop her, otherwise this seemed like a good place to wrap!