Noctisardor Bypass I am that technology allowed.

Vho the fuck are you? Anselm rounded upon @Andras as he left the den, fur abristle. 

He’d noticed the scent markers here and there - some older than others, suggesting this man had lingered here longer than Anselm was aware. He positioned himself between the den and this swarthy fellow, gaze hard.

he'd been making a return to heda when he was halted.
it was so abrupt, the shriek from the sharp-tongued brat; andras is almost slow to register what is said to him as if it were a language he'd never heard before. who the fuck are you?
if he was not undercover, he would have smacked him right then and there — but these soft-hearted fools don't seem as though they'd be receptive of that behavior, and so the prophet simply stares at the interloper, hardlined and unphased.
amadeo, he responds matter-of-factly, almost smug. i have been here since the end of winter, but i suppose we haven't crossed paths yet. i suggest you watch your tone with people you do not know. it's very rude. and not exactly christ-like, if someone were to ask him.

Everything about the man’s response set Anselm on edge. He stared, the same way Glaukos did. His manner was absolutely unapologetic — just like Glaukos. Anselm thumbed through every interaction he’d had on border patrol and decided he’d never met a wolf so immediately off putting. It was the way the man didn’t seem taken aback at all — or willing to give the faintest mollification to the wolf who had every right to defend his home. 

And that almost smug look! Anselm might have given this man more benefit of the doubt if it weren’t for how he simply stared right into his eyes.   Anselm’s cheeks burned against the silver of his pelt. And I suggest you stay avay from the den. Anselm’s tail hiked, his lips curling back in a snarl. I don’t know you, you could be lying — vho accepted you?

who does this entitled roach think he is? andras blows a puff of air from his nostrils, swallowing the growl that threatens to lurch from his throat. he savors the thought of what it might be like to carry the boy's head as a trophy, to watch it rot and decay —
scusami? his gaze hardens now, one tattered ear flicking in annoyance. mind your own business, little boy. i want no trouble. heda is a friend. she is a mother in need, and i made a promise to help where i could. now if you'll excuse me, he grunts as he begins to strafe away. i was in the middle of something. che gazzo!

*sneak*

In Fiona's jaws hung the lifeless body of a raccoon. No, not that raccoon. She wouldn't do that to her beloved. This was an older, heftier male who had lived a long enough life. Early afternoon had her returning from the hollow to Dawnleaf with a meal for Heda and Druid. When she caught sight of a stranger and Anselm bickering at the mouth of the den, she stopped to deposit the meal in the closest cache, then stuck her nose in.

Who's this, Anselm? she asked. Her expression was neutral, if not mildly welcoming.

Anselm quite literally could not believe his ears. He took a long moment to take it in, gaze raking over the riff-raff. It would be one thing if this was some misunderstanding; if the guy showed some ounce of common courtesy or obeisance. This could have de-escalated with an apologetic look, a laugh and an explanation -- but instead the man's gaze hardened, and he spat forth words incinerating enough to make Anselm's blood boil.

He stepped forward briskly. Listen here, you mop-faced fuckhead. A borrowed term courtesy of @Suzu. Anselm angled himself so he stood front and center protectively over the den. This is my business. Those are my kids in there. He grit through clenched teeth, realizing with a small shock he'd just admitted something outloud he could scarcely come to grip with himself.

His kids. He was a father. The emotion was so turbulent it stoked at Anselm's belly in a forge-fire of nerves. His gaze cut from the man to the source of footfall nearby: Fiona, with the scent of blood on her muzzle.

It did not ease Anselm that she did not know this man either. I don't fucking know. He just showed up. Anselm's burning stare cut back to Amadeo, hackles prickled along his nape. He did not like that a man he did not know was in Rivenwood. He liked it even less that this man frequented Heda and professed to have some sort of relationship with her -- and further more, the insult to injury here to Anselm that all of his had transpired without his knowledge, making him feel as if Heda did this to keep him out of the loop.

this one is foul my apologies

so he was the interloper.
the shrimp-dicked bastard who had sown a perfectly good breeder with his filthy, despondent seed! the vile beast who had not even the decency to marry her beforehand! and yet he claimed those boys as his own.
he almost pitied him.
my apologies, then, a hard kernel of rage still rests behind his eyes, but he backs away against the instinct that begged, screamed to spill his guts upon the ground. another face arrives, this time a woman, and andras makes himself appear even more plain; his ears twitch and flick until they flatten, and his tail drops until it reaches his heels. my name is amadeo. i am new here, as of a few weeks ago. i spent some time away to go looking for my daughter, as i found out she lived nearby, he gestures now to the new cuts along his face, his torn shoulder. and then i had a run-in with a cat. i'm only just now getting the chance to settle. code word: his cunt of a daughter whom his wife should have swallowed.

That was a typical response from Anselm no matter who had shown up, and Fiona gave him a slightly exasperated look. It could have been his own kin, and she assumed he would have introduced him the same way. Fiona had been given the same treatment when she'd first arrived at the hollow, after all. Amadeo, as he introduced himself, seemed normal enough, but Fiona had enough experience to know that nobody was really normal. Another project to dissect with time. She saw the cuts now, nasty wounds that would surely become riddled with infection if they weren't taken care of soon. 

I see. Well, I'm Fiona. If you want help with those cuts, let me know and I'll at least get them cleaned up. Etienne is another one of our medics. Did you find your daughter while you were looking? she asked, Or will you be going to look for her again once you're healed up?

Anselm’s gaze burned into the man, willing him to say something stupid. To give him any excuse to set in on his flesh —

But the space between them softened, the man relenting in a way that Anslem knew would make him appear the asshole if things came to blow. He apologized almost immediately, which diffused the mounting tension between them and placated Anselm’s piteous sense of self. 

Amadeo revealed a little more about himself. Anselm listened with his lips pursed, gaze turning to Fiona as she did the unthinkable and offered her time and resources to this stranger. 

No! Stupid! This was why the Hollow failed and why Rivenwood was imploding! They were so quick to offer their hard earned resources to complete strangers. Anselm bit back a scoff, but said nothing. He wasn’t interested enough in this dude to find out if he found his daughter. In fact, Anselm thought it was a shame the cat didn’t finish the job.

the girl has a good head on her shoulders, it seems; she offers him her medical services, and while he would never typically take such from a breeder, he dips his head in thanks. perhaps i will take you up on that offer. i don't want to get an infection. i am getting older! my body cannot fight it off like it used to, hah.
i did find her, and she is well, his expression clears, lighting up in feigned interest as fiona begins to make small-talk with him. she is expecting her first litter with her new husband. i may go to visit again after they are born.
his gaze is unsure as he looks again to the black-mouthed infantile. the little shit is stunned, as andras had expected; he looks like the asshole now, and the father hides the pleasure he takes in this with a tilt of his head away in submission. i apologize again for intruding, he mutters. can you at least send heda my well wishes?

Everybody and their babies. Fiona was sick to death of hearing about them, though she remained interested enough in the conversation. Something about the way Amadeo looked at Anselm seemed off, though Fiona couldn't place exactly what was going on between them. Anselm wore his emotions on the surface, and he was quite clearly miffed by the whole situation. Amadeo excused himself, and Fiona figured if he was truly interested in having his wounds taken care of, he would come find her later.

Once the newcomer was out of sight, Fiona turned to Anselm. Why are you always rude to everybody you meet? she asked, not a hint of accusation in her voice, despite the nature of the question. He'd been like that with her, and Fiona was pretty sure he was just... unhappy in his core. Likely unwilling to admit what she (and possibly Etienne) knew about him.

The last thing Anselm intended to do was share Amadeo’s well wishes with Heda — but to keep the peace, Anselm grit between his teeth Fine.

His attention remained riveted on the man as he left. It didn’t take much to get on Anselm’s bad side, but he felt a sourness that was palpable but inexplicable. 

Fiona’s words caught him by surprise and brought him back to the present. Anselm did not even need to think before saying coldly Because everyvonne I meet sucks. He cut her a long look and then he too stalked away — while he made it look as if he was going a different direction, Anselm would double back on his tracks as soon as he was sure Fiona had left. He was not so charitable as to trust this man wouldn’t come back. He would remain in the area for some time, a glowering hyper-vigilant that really should find a new hobby.