Redtail Rise paua

Redd watched the birds hopping nearby with fierce regard, but she did not rise to disturb them. Her mood held a tense air that tended to melt away when others drew near; even now she checked her periphery, but scented no one approaching imminently.

Her jaws ached; she’d chewed the roots near where she’d bedded down to splinters before giving up on sleep. She would grow used to this. Yet when she looked to a future of motherhood and duty, where once she’d felt the stir of excitement, she now felt empty. Everything had changed. Someday it would feel like home again.

Someday soon. Her optimism wavered but she forced it to hold.

Redd stood and shook herself, startling the birds into scattering. She would visit the stream for a drink, then find a new place to pass the evening. She rarely settled in the same location long.

Since his acceptance, Sylvan had spent time touring the territory; familiarizing himself with the land, hunting when he found trails. His curiosity surrounding the hierarchy in the rise never quite faded. When he came across the scent of one of the women who'd greeted him at the borders, he was quick to follow.

He caught up to her near a stream, chuffing as he drew closer. The scent of earth and flora clung to her. For now he said nothing; he would maintain his silence until another broke it first, or perhaps indefinitely. Sylvan still wasn't certain anyone in this pack spoke at all.

Redd was not seeking company but did not turn it away either.  It was one of their newer members, unproven as of yet but no apparent danger so far.  She watched him impassively a moment, then finished her original goal to slake her thirst.

She let the silence settle, listening to the bird calls around.  It appeared he had been alone too, as there were no signs of another having departed.  Hunt lead was bound to be possessive for a time, so perhaps it was for the best.  Tensions ran high with the advent of spring.

Why are you here?  She finally asked, her curiosity overcoming reticence.  The others made sense; having built this place, it ran in their blood.  He had sought to make a place for himself in something already established.  She wished to know what drove this.

Silence unfurled between them, only briefly. The question nearly startled him, but it answered one of his own: at least one of them spoke. Sylvan considered the words for a moment.

Easier to fall into a routine with borders to guard and packmates to feed, He'd spent too much of his life in service to others to be alone now; it wasn't a question of survival but of his sanity. This pack had been his choice because of its size and its population of youth. A thriving place for him to settle down and finish out the slow rotting of middle age. I picked this pack because it's strong. Not likely to crumble any time soon. Unless there's some war I don't know about. Humor flashed behind his eyes with his last words.

Strong.  She was glad it appeared as such to him.  Perhaps it was she who was wrong, feeling the bonds chafe as if ready to snap any moment.  It felt to Redd as if the entire pack might scatter to the wind with the slightest burst of wind.

No wars.  Not recently.  None from the outside, that is.  Her expression remained unreadable, neutral, appraising him.  Searching for honesty.

Then she looked away, suddenly impatient to move.  With a flick of invitation she began to walk towards the border, his mention drawing her to take the excuse.  He could join if he wished.

Not recently. Sylvan nodded, following when the woman gestured and headed for the borders. Not recent, but recent enough to linger in the pack's memory; recent enough to drive one of the leaders to the borders at the mere mention of conflict. War was too familiar to frighten him anymore, but a small seed of tension was planted somewhere deep in his gut.

The hierarchy in the Rise, He spoke after a moment, deciding to leave the topic of war behind for now. I haven't quite figured it out yet. Sylvan glanced over to the leader, his question unspoken but plain.

Words.  Redd knew she would need to grow used to them.  She was silent for a moment as she tried to find the right ones to describe, for an outsider, the hierarchy she naturally felt.  Ranks were something she found unnecessary; the line between Berserker and Ulfhedinn, between Ulfr and Bjern, meaningless outside of tradition.  When a threat came the pack would defend.  When hunger came the pack would hunt.

Yet she did not seek to change this.  There was value in focus.

I am Wealda.  Wealda leads.  Only where followed, but this was natural.  She did not feel the need to complicate the explanation unnecessarily.  Ulfhedinn is hunt lead.  Ulfr follow him.  In the way of the hunt.  There was a better way to say this, perhaps.  It was enough.

Bjern are the way of the fang.  They would follow Berserker, fight lead.  None have claimed this.  All were young.  

You are Blod.  Unchosen, unproven.  Hælend and Caru care for the pack.  They lead if the pack wishes it.  Ashlar never had, but could have as readily as Masquerade in Redd’s eyes.  Yet he would have needed to command a respect that he lacked.  There was value in both healing and pupsitting; a trust granted by the pack beyond even that of Berserker.  She tucked that away to mull over later.