Sunset Valley backbone

She felt wrung out in every possible way, though there wasn’t much time for rest. She and @Riley needed to establish a new claim, right after they did some hunting. Masque had never felt such ravenous hunger in her life—not even when she’d been underfed this time last year—and she knew it was because her pups were growing strong within her.

Masquerade ranged toward Sunset Valley, nose combing through the spring grass as the ground sloped beneath her paws. She sped downhill, then up the crest of another hillock, where she paused to scent the air. Surely there must be some burrows hidden around here. She huffed and dropped her red muzzle again, though not before glancing wistfully at the rise in the distance.

The portentous call at the border had affected Redd in a deep way, one he did not have the tools or knowledge to describe.

But he had not been able to ask her, in fear of overstepping. Besides, it felt complicated -- the intertwining of politics with family matters, maybe -- a tapestry with no room for him.

And politics by itself scared him. Like plate tectonics, they were by large imperceptible until they weren't, telegraphing jagged lines along the seismograph of his life. The unrest infected him; suddenly the Rise felt stifling, and he left their borders at a hurried clip.

He had not seen the pair, Riley and Masquerade, with his own eyes, and so he approached this wolf as he would any other stranger, curious as to their proximity to the Rise and unable to fully smooth the instinctual prickling of his hackles.

A figure appeared in that liminal space, a towheaded wolf whose broad shoulders and narrow waist were distinctive even at a distance. More than that, he wore a red mark on one side of his face, its livid color offset by pale eyes. Masquerade watched him move closer, intrigued despite the hunger clawing at her belly.

She was sure she’d never seen him before, though he came from the direction of the rise and when he ventured closer, Masque thought there were familiar scents woven into his. Ignoring the way they triggered a deep sense of yearning in her already protesting gut, she squared her stance.

Her long tail swept the air once, an inquisitive gesture. The Redtail was immensely curious not just because of the stranger’s smell but the stain on his face. She had never met anyone else with a marking so much like her own.

Wondering if she could smooth the slight ruffle of his fur, she called, Hello. I’m Masque, and sipped in a quick breath before pinning on, Redtail.

He thought he could recognise the voice, the same deep voice that had struck that note of apology, solemn yet warm, like a lump of lead shaped by hands.

I know you, he said in lieu of a greeting, a self-introduction.

But the hard edge of his voice (inspired by his frustration, which was largely with himself, anyway) quickly softened. He couldn't be angry with someone who clearly had such significant ties to the Rise.

You said 'sorry' to Redd, to the whole pack. That was you, right?

His hackles smooth themselves along the curve of his neck.

I'm Gavrel. Her mate.

It was the first time he had spoken it, as if into being. Just by pronouncing it -- in some sense it was an incantation that transcended time and language, it was a sentence that he never saw himself partaking in until he did. He stood up straighter.

She didn’t expect his reply. Her head reared back, marigold eyes roving back and forth over his face. Surely Masque would recognize him if they’d met… Ah, was all she could think at his subsequent words.

Yes, that was me, she confirmed, her shoulders lowering slightly.

She didn’t think she owed an explanation to someone she’d never met, though if he was now a member of the rise, Masque supposed she wouldn’t mind divulging her history. Her mouth opened to tell him, only for her jaw to go slack.

Her…? As in Redd? she questioned, eyes getting wider by the second.

It was Gavrel's turn to be surprised -- and, though he would never admit it, a little hurt. Redd hadn't told her? Hadn't thought to tell her?

The fact of the former was somewhat easier to accept, easier to chalk it off to her usual closemouthed self. But the possibility of the latter scraped against him like fish bones in his throat, and he was unable to hide the furrow of his brows.

Yes, he began, although he felt as if he were speaking from very far away. Who else?

As he stood there, a question drifted shark-like over the seabed of his mind: how in the world could I let someone make me feel this way?

Whether this referred to Masque or Redd, even he was not certain.

She met his affirmation with a blink, oblivious to the slight shift in his tone. Masque huffed out a laugh, a smile slowly spreading over her face. She was surprised, though in a good way!

That makes us family, she told this man she scarcely knew, tail giving the air another strong sweep. It’s good to meet you, Gavrel. I would love to hear this story…

Would he tell her? Redd hadn’t disclosed anything about her personal life during their tête-à-tête, though that wasn’t particularly unusual for the Wealda. Besides, she’d been busy making amends.

Immensely curious about this wolf now, Masquerade telegraphed her intent before slowly moving closer. She kept her body language openly neutral and reached her snout toward him, not to touch but to exchange scents at closer range. She could detect Redd’s on him, a fact which made her eyes dance.

Does it! he exclaimed, though the thorn in his side remained, though the very existence of that thorn felt unfair and almost blasphemous -- he had thought that he understood Redd, the duality between her and Wealda and perhaps more importantly the gestalt of the two.

(Wealda is an instrument, a figure-head, an abstraction and a reification at once, and you do not own her, get this through your thick skull.)

He shook his head, mirroring her smile and letting her examine the scents on his pelt.

It's hard to explain... she's hard to explain.

Even in his best moments, he fell far from raconteurdom -- though he would begrudgingly offer more detail if she pried.

But I love her, he laid bare the truth of it, even if it was redundant.

His nostrils flared as he noted the scents -- many familiar, many unknown to him -- lingering close to her. And you, Masque... what about you?

He tamped down the uneasiness inside of him, like a boot grinding out a cigarette.

She snorted rather unattractively at his own exclamation, quite possibly spraying him with spit despite trying to turn her head slightly. She faced forward again, marveling at his astute observation and his easy declaration of love for Masque’s sister.

As her sister, she said by way of answer, it makes me happy to hear this.

Her tail waved more speedily for several beats, then slowed almost into stillness as she pondered how to phrase her next response. Her relationship with Redd and the rise was complicated in ways she could never hope to explain to someone who hadn’t been there to witness any of it.

I was part of the rise until I left a few months ago. That was why I owed them an apology. It’s hard to explain, Masque said, and it was selfish by necessity. She paused to take a breath. It means a lot that Redd and I were able to clear the air a bit, reach a mutual understanding.

She’d heard @Mountain Boulder’s call, which meant a great deal too. Perhaps others would reach out to her, in time. Masquerade hoped to one day darken the rise’s doorstep again, though for the time-being, she kept her distance out of respect.

My mate, Riley, came with me when I left. He’s around here somewhere, probably closer to the peak, Masque said, motioning with her own crimson muzzle. I know it has a name but I’ve always thought of it as Dragon’s Back Ridge. And I’ve always had designs on it, as the site of a…

She hesitated. It felt presumptuous to say the words, though Masque would only be speaking her hope, her truth. Gavrel might take word of it back to Redd, though that wasn’t a bad thing.

Sister pack, she finished.

He reacted with a grimace and a shake of his pelt at her spittle. None of it had gotten on him, but he felt that he had to match her badly-suppressed laugh with his own quirky brand of dramatics. He wrote a note to future Gavrel: don't take yourself too seriously, a half-hearted edict he would no doubt be disobeying many times over.

Good, good, he responded, amused that it was Masque who was divulging this information, and not Redd herself. He wished he could say more, say something thought-provoking or reassuring, but again, his social skills did not measure up to the task.

Sister-packs, she said. Literally, he quipped in what he thought was a slick riposte, his grin now more confident and honestly closer to shit-eating than anything else.

Hope to see you and Riley often. And the kids, of course, he spoke this time with real warmth.

At the sight of Masque's curved stomach he couldn't help but wonder when Redd's own heat would come, a biological machination of which he had only a vague understanding (and a healthy amount of fear).

He toyed with the vision of two litters growing up side by side, one of the Rise and the other of the Ridge (he did like the alliteration, rise-ridge and ridge-rise, say that ten times as fast) but even this tableau was too sentimental for him, and he banished it with a flick of his ears.

“Literally,” he concurred and Masquerade couldn’t help but grin, hopeful that the idea would be well-received by his mate. Thinking of Redd in that role sent another aftershock through her. She already began to wonder if the pair of them were expecting a litter when Gavrel made a comment about kids.

That would be… Masque shook her head and inhaled deeply, still all smiles. Are you two…? Expecting?

She flashed back to the days preceding her change of heart. She had been, in a word, obsessed with Redd’s prospects. The fear of missing out had manifested in so many horrible feelings. Most of them were resolved following their vis-à-vis. Masque wouldn’t miss out now.

And she knew that bearing offspring would help solidify Redd’s position as the Wealda. Masque realized that thought no longer invited covetous, grudging sentiments. She actually felt a tentative pride in her sister and her choice of suitor, eyes resting attentively on his face as she anticipated his answer.

A deep flush colored his scar.

In retrospect, he should've known that the question was coming -- after all, it was actually the polite thing for Masque to do, to strike up a symmetric line of inquiry, seeing that they were sisters and respective leaders of their own packs, and everything...

Not yet, he stammered. She, uh, hasn't... y'know.

He felt mortified in all clinical, religious, and colloquial senses of the word.

Conversation with Masque was dangerous, he decided. She had done nothing wrong and it was unfair of him to make such a childish judgement, but he never knew when she would laugh at him, and this chafed at his minuscule but fragile ego.

What was Riley like? Surely someone larger-than-life and overflowing with charisma, much more skilled at social jousting than he could ever dream to be.

It was a little jarring to realize what this meant: without a doubt, she’d gone into heat first. Her time away had been a necessary evil, though she was suddenly intensely glad the timing had worked out this way. If she’d still been living on the rise just one month ago, who knows what might have happened? But she hadn’t. And now the sisters could enjoy a hard-won equilibrium.

I’m sure it will happen for her soon, she said a little lamely, selfishly hoping it was sooner rather than later so they could raise their litters as concurrently as possible, even from afar. I was already glad to be back in the neighborhood but this—I’m happy for her, for both of you.

The fact remained, however: they’d only just met. If he’d won Redd’s hand, Masquerade knew he was a fine fellow. But she still wanted to get to know him better. She ought to introduce him to Riley too, though she selfishly wanted to keep him to herself, at least momentarily.

On the subject of offspring, I was just working on feeding mine. I’m not even sure they have mouths yet but they’re very hungry, Masque mused. Would you like to join me? I was looking for small animal burrows. If you flush, I’ll attack, and we can split the spoils.

He appreciated Masque's diplomacy more than he could express in words. Instead of speaking, he nudged her shoulder and mustered a meaningful glance, squeezed by a quick smile. Her eyes were identical to Redd's, the same shade of brilliant gold.

If he squinted hard enough, he would only be able to see the few square inches of her face which were nearly indistinguishable from the Wealda, red fur and all.

But at the risk of looking insane, he refrained from doing so, and quickly averted his gaze.

Of course, he said to her invitation, glad to have something to do with his hands. I can't promise any elegance, but I'll try my best.

The two of them then set out on a path hugging the green slopes of the valley, his own gait stiff with vigilance.

She huffed a light laugh through her nose and replied, Fortunately, elegance isn’t a requirement.

And so they set off in companionable silence, Masquerade still marveling at the fact that she was hunting alongside Redd’s mate. They couldn’t have been paired for very long, though she could immediately see the appeal. He was striking in appearance, with a mellow temperament.

I was wondering something, she confessed as they strode along, occasionally nosing along the ground to sift through the scents there. Redd only mentioned two of our four younger siblings when we reunited. Can you by any chance tell me how Redsky and Roamer are doing?

She had a feeling the latter might have lived up to her name, though she’d never known Sky to stray far from the rise. It was possible they’d gone after her, Masque supposed, but she quietly hoped the Wealda hadn’t mentioned them simply because their roles in the pack hadn’t changed like the others’.