Qeya River I know the pieces fit

Set immediately following this thread.

He paused only to hear the man sing out, victorious. His shoulders became leaden with shame. He called for Senka and he felt his heart rend, to think she might go to him and be offered the rank she had called out for. 

He gritted his teeth and cursed Ash Star and Senka both; and yet if he could both revive Ash Star and bring Senka to his side, he would. There was no knowing what would happen next. 

So he searched. 

”@Senka!” His voice was hardly above a whisper as he zig-zagged through the parklands. ”@Sparrow?” He called out- again, too frightened to speak above a whisper and yet- he would accomplish nothing if he did not raise his voice. He trembled.

He howled. For Senka, for Sparrow, for Aerilyn; for @Kaaya Ayad and @Rowyn  and anyone left behind who still had a pulse.

Even if it meant giving away his position.

both men called for her. both! both men who she had lost in the haze of a blood furious woman who had thrown accusations like her teeth.

senka did not think long on how the woman had not come for her in chase. she had taken it as a blessing, had reclined her rear in the cold water so that the hind right leg might become numb. she was no doctor, but she had logic.

this may have been an urgent affair, but he must settle for a slow pace. adrenaline gone and replaced with only the numbness of ice water. she had not known that things had grown grim.

when she spotted him, she struggled to find words. she had no voice to give him. only a long stare, only the bitter taste of self-aimed disappointment on her tongue.

did he think of her as sourly as the woman had? was he here to see her as a traitor too?

she hated how poor her thoughts were.

He caught a whiff of her scent. Still frightened that the murderer might have heard the sound of his howl, he followed his sense of smell until he heard something move in the distance. He paused, ears pricked, tail lightly lifted, but ready to bolt. 

It was Senka. 

He ducked his head and loped toward her, and in his relief he did not notice or interpret the look on her face. 

"Senka, oh thank fuck," He said in a rushed whisper. "Th-that guy, he just- he just killed Ash Star!" His eyes wide. "We gotta find the others...W-we gotta get out of here!"

the caribou man woke with stiffened wounds, a groan sounding through the wood. for a moment he did not know where he was, and then he remembered.

there has been a call, a call rousing him, a call from deeper in the territory. his now. and though yikaas was in no place to fight again, he limped with a darkening look toward where the voice had sounded.

the woman was there. the man spoke in hurried voice. a snarl broke whatever illicit communion might be had.

the black tail flung high. he snapped the air. "yield or i kill more."

both men had called.

both men answered.

ksura spoke of death and the unknown raider (raider no longer, winner in his place) promised it. she wished he had just left. she wished ksura had take the chance to flee instead of finding those who remained. he could have been free, he could have found his children or the women that were displaced from a home they had made.

she did not think that the other woman should have died. that had not been her wish in the slightest. yet the iron taste in her mouth becomes something darkly humored. usurper — the cry had not left her mind, it bashed around her skull like the throbbing headache. yet here was the true usurper, reigning supreme and having delivered her end.

it was all bitter and vile in her throat.

her condition was obvious, the way she could not lean upon that hind leg. if she retreated now she imagined the man very well could kill her. if they somehow made it free, she would only weigh down ksura. why must she decided?

let him go if he wishes, the power was not balanced in her favor. if the man did mean death, it could be delivered again for this act of rebellion against his fresh leadership. she had to hope there was some smartness in this brute. what would be to claim if he killed everyone left? i will stay. she could not look to ksura now. she could not try to search his features for understanding of what she meant to do in this bartering.

she could look at no one but the hulking man. anxiety that made vision tunnel into a pinprick that ended in one glacial eye. it may as well have been just the two of them in that moment. her exhausted, pained mind could not handle the thought of anyone else. possible continued violence was welcomed in place of witnessing disappointment.

He whirled at the grating sound of the man’s voice, to find himself staring into the glacial gaze of the man who had slain Ash Star as deftly as one might dispatch a sacrifice. He flicked an ear to Senka and stepped one forepaw closer toward her- to allow her to recoil and escape first while he kept himself between them…

She did not budge. Ksura whipped his head to look at her in shock, tilting his head. She was calm- and as cold as the glacial waters they had gone swimming in. He tried his best to remember the feeling of it- how his skin had eventually become numb to the stinging sensation, quieting the shudder and chattering of teeth, the tingling nerves and jittering muscles.

He turned his head to look back to the stranger again, frost in his indigo gaze. He gave a flash of his teeth. 

I stay too.

He woke to find the den empty. Like a turbulent summer storm, the last of Anselm's hazy fever had cleared away, leaving his mind as pristine blue as a fresh cleared sky.

The man that had patched his head was gone. Anselm tracked him with a stiff gait that gradually eased into something better the more he moved. There was blood, and the clear sign of a scuffle -- he turned over these signs with a paw before he continued.

Tracks spilled out into a clearing where there were voices. Anselm slowed, unaware that much more than a scuffle occurred. He looked to the grim faces of the stranger, and the threatening aura of the man who he now owned a life debt.

He stepped forward with a sweep of his tail, gaze apprising and trying to read the room -- a room which held a mood to it so horribly and utterly wrong.

surprise filtered through the angered pain. yikaas did not expect the woman's hard retort, nor the echo of the man.

if they stayed, they recognized him as chieftain.

charcoal flashing from the corner of his eye revealed the man with the cleaved head, who now silently regarded the riverwolves and himself. yikaas answered with a slash of his banner and advanced upon the huntress.

teeth shone as he seized for her muzzle, teeth grinding. he wanted her face in the dirt, in the grass beneath him. he would wipe the old marks away and set his own.

and if she capitulated, yikaas' teeth would release, and his step set for the man, for the same punishing reminder of their place below him.

pride beat hot in his chest.

there was a romantic thing in ksura's words. a romantic stupidity that made her wonder if they'd die together. if they'd be buried wherever ash paw came to rest.

then there was another man. one who hardly seemed as threatening as the inked leader. she realized now that she had been very right and that it all made her feel very wrong. she doubted this was someone come to just gawk. if they had driven him off, he might have returned with whoever this was.

now she had to decide. did she place more importance upon her pride or her life?

she knew in her heart that challenging him now would only end in more death. it would be cruel to leave ksura alone with another body, without her knowing if he would be okay. if she took punishment now then it might allow them a moment of recovery when the dust settled.

fresh wounds irritated and reopened beneath his teeth. marks he (or the deceased medic) had already placed upon her sprang to new life again in tendrils of blood. her tongue pinched hard between her teeth when her face met the earth. the headache that had been a dull roar felt like an icicle running through her skull now.

she could take it, as long as they lived. she silently prayed ksura would be able to do the same.

When the second wolf appeared, Ksura’s courage flagged internally. His heart began to beat wildly, and as the dark man drew closer, he began to doubt himself. Whatever bravery had inspired him to chase the man away initially had faded the moment he had heard Ash Star’s windpipe crunch in Yikaas’ jaws. 

He remained frozen to the spot, still hoping he might feel Senka turn and flee so he could follow her- but as long as she remained there, he was rooted in place.

The man lunged for her first; and if Senka had shown teeth to fight back, he would have joined her. He hit the earth only moments after she did, in silent, forced obedience. He turned his face to the side so he might see her through the one eye closest to the ground. Helplessly, he wheezed as the weight of reality kept him pinned. He remained there, as commanded.

None of what transpired next made much sense to Anselm, who like a shopkeeper after a hurricane's passing was still busily attempting to right the topsy-turvy order of his confused headspace.

The man -- Yikaas -- lunged for one of the wolves. Anselm froze, eyes dark as the scene unfolded. He was in little position to help, but instinctively he stepped forward and lowered his head to shield his throat -- a universally threatening gesture that communicated anticipatory violence. It was not his wish to fight, and truthfully he was not so sure he could, but this was a strange predicament for him to be in, and though he did not like to see the man lash out at a woman, he understood his debt was with him and not the strangers.

Both wolves now folded to the ground. Anselm swallowed nervously, gaze resting on Yikaas expectantly.

yikaas held the man down longer than he had the huntress, for the runner had fought him for more time on that bloodstained border.

but in a moment he relented. "up."

and his single eye lashed them all. "you are now saatsiine. caribou hunters of the sun clan."

pride held him high; his ability to thrall these three with their harsher teeth even as he bled before them was intoxicating.

"i yikaas. you call me sun eater." easier for them, he supposed, not wanting the lanzadoii of his chosen title butchered by their clumsy tongues. the embellishment was more threatening.

his breath held on the wind. "give names. we heal. then we march."

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: possible abusive/captive themes throughout

and in an instant she was subdued. forced to be good for not only her sake but ksura's too. she figured it to be nothing more than masculine grief that made him hold her trusted companion down longer. for she doubted it would be something like pity.

nothing mattered when her identity had been stripped away so cleanly. whatever had been built in the eyes of wayward wives was now replaced by saatsiine. she hated him for the way she would have liked him in any other way. caribou hunter she could have been. she might have been it for silvertongue or wren, with ksura even if she let her thoughts roam free.

but only one from her thoughts remained. ksura. so steadfast in a way she was certain no mortal deserved. she knew that most certainly this man did not deserve it —

sun eater with his little rain cloud.

his next cluster of words felt like one punch after the next. what use was her name to a man who cared little about what remained here? he had gutted house and rebranded it in this very moment. why give him any piece of her when he had just remade her for his image?

healing! oh, it was enough that she offered a laugh that sounded more like gurgling. perhaps it was some, but her words escaped in a breath between — who will heal us? you killed the healer. her head is already rolling thunder and she is already slouching into a hunched sit. too tired, too pained, to keep standing after she'd already been forced low.

it seemed being good had only lasted when there was direct violence involved — and she prepared for it now. intimately familiar with the taste of her own blood today.

feel free to PP any punishment if it comes, senka is 0 fight right now

up.

Ksura grimaced as he finally felt the pressure lift, but the command was not easily met with a smart salute. His legs felt as weak and listless as his soul, and it took an agonizing moment for him to draw his feet toward his chest, and then to push himself up. His shoulder screamed; the flesh torn by fangs before had been pressed into the earth, and he felt the slash of every blade of grass pry itself from the wounds as he lifted himself up. 

He glanced to Senka, still keeping his head low and ears flicked back in deference. He didn’t register what the man was asking for, or the name he gave for himself. He worked his jaw, felt the wounds on his muzzle begin to swell. He could taste blood, though he wasn’t sure where it came from. 

It was only when she spoke that he realized that he had heard Sun Eater, and registered his instructions. He couldn’t understand why, but he failed to find the heart to give up his name. Who was Ksura, but a coward? 

Senka did not give hers either, but brought up her wounds. He uttered a soft whisper of a chuff, his sad, tired eyes offering a thousand apologies for not being able to protect her. He would do what he could to help her heal. She slouched, and he moved closer, whispering for her to lay down. The white of his eye gleamed in Sun Eater’s direction- a plea that they be given space, and that they be spared further abuse. 

March where? He asked, hoping the question might be a distraction.

Sun Eater. This physical display was so very different from Rivenwood. Despite his best effort Anselm’s mind wandered towards his past, examining the shard glass remnants of a life he knew was gone forever.

This man had saved him, but Anselm was under no delusion that he was a peace keeping savior. The blood, the violence, the pride in his glaring eye reflected that — making Anselm wonder the story behind that missing eye and the scars that traced his body like a treasure map, marking every encounter with bloodshed and hardship.

He shifted uneasily as both wolves spoke their piece, unable to hide the way his torn ears flicked forward at the mention of — killing?

He remained silent, thinking that he’d somehow managed to find himself in a place profoundly worse than rivenwood.

they did not give their names. he supposed he could beat the sounds from their tired jaws, but his own body ached with bruised weakness.

"learn to heal self. or die," he told the woman. in the moraine he had watched his captive bind the wounds in the rain cloud's head, chasing out the fever he had not been able to stop.

cobwebs. moss. clean them first. keep them clean, the dressings changed. he knew this, but he was not a healer. 

"not doubt me," he told her. "not again." she had pledged to stay. he would find these things.

to the man now, a hard look. "caribou hunters follow caribou. you will learn."

sun eater stepped back. "not give names. i pick them for you." the single eye rested on the man who had come to find him here, contemplative.

by the bidding of ksura, she was lower. too tired to continue gurgled laughter, too tired to goad him into some continued display of their new leadership.

she walked the thin line of doubt and belief with him. of admiration and disgust. she did not know how to feel about anything now.

she was only silent and near lifeless save for the labored breathing. he could name her, he could call her whatever he wished. he already called her saatsiine, what was another new name?

the light was quickly burning out. she needed proper sleep if she was ever to recover from this day.

Their prospects were grim, at best. Laura remained tense in his crouched position, keeping the Sun Eater in the corner of one eye, and Senka in the other. A slight can’t of his head brought the other into his vision- but he remained silent. Ksura hadn’t even looked at him long enough to realize that he, as well, was wounded. 

He couldn’t quiet the hornet’s nest of thoughts buzzing around his mind; if Wren and Silvertongue came back…If Darrow and Rowyn and the other kids came back…What was best? What could they do? Would he have to chase his own son off into the wilderness to spare him from this life, or would they have moved on by then? Would his own son think that he had forgotten about him when he came home and found that everyone had left?

And Ash Star…She was dead. So freshly interred that the grief had not yet had time to blossom.

So long as Senka gave no name, he wouldn’t either. Darkly he wondered what he would be called, and if it would mock and capture his cowardice each and every time it was spoken.

Anselm’s attention was brought back to the present as Yikaas spoke again. This time his gaze rested on the woman — why had neither given their name?

Being out of the loop still, it took time for him to arrange the scattered pieces into sensible shape. But as he poked and prodded at these bits of clues, things began to make a little more sense. 

A takeover, maybe? Hadnt Yikaas been alone? There was no love in anyone’s faces. A tension strung between them all. 

Anselm found Yikaas’ gaze upon him. He swallowed hard, waiting for the axe to fall. It all was in this man’s court now, and Anselm only hoped the bloodshed was behind them.

they were his. the land was his. the earth belonged to the lanzadoii man who had been exiled.

some part of him was restored.

sun eater did not speak again; he waved them off to where they would go with a slashing motion of his proud tail. the words were over. he had spoken. their heads had bowed. there was nothing more.

perhaps he watched for a moment before he tried to find for himself a respite, a place to listen and to doze.

last from me <3

waved off, dismissed. she knew that perhaps she should have stayed near ksura. she knew too that if she did then sleep might not find her.

or that the man might find them too akin to conspirators.

she was quick to hunch-hobble her way to the caverns. a primal need for dark and shelter. to be cold and away from eyes.

in the silence, she was nothing more than a wounded animal.