Boartusk Heights cash, card, or check

I'm not sure what kind of work alder would be doing so I left that vague. anyone is welcome - he needs to meet his new pack mates :)

sometimes the work of earning his keep feels like slavery. but this is more because of the nature of the work rather than the work itself. he is used to working hard, but in his birth pack he was given respect as a son of high-ranking wolves. here he is among the most lowly, treated like a thief, a fiend.

then again, he is a thief. stealing from la muerte is what has landed him in this situation.

he tries not to think about it too much for it is a situation that cannot be helped. compared to the anxious starvation of solitary living, his new life in la muerte is one of luxury.

he finishes his shift for the day and lounges in the waning light. shadows darken his gray fur and he relishes the drop in temperature. winter will be welcomed by alder, so long as there remains enough to eat.

The hothead of the fledgelings lingered on one of the ledges that overlooked the misty clearing of La Muerte's lowest level; her forelimbs lay slung over the rock, ice-slicked paws crossed over one-another. Her posture was straightened in an attempt to embody the regality of her bloodline. 

She was people-watching. It made her feel better, watching the servants get around; she would get an occasional glance at emilio and diego, the older youth of the pack, yet stationed beneath. A little part of her wondered if they could be friends, since her siblings weren't cutting it.

Nymph was getting used to being on her own. Making more fun of it. She figured it would help her grow up faster.

Rosy eyes trail lazily over the densite, stuttering a moment as she catches glimpse of a fur she doesn't recognize lounging below. She noticed that there were no eyes on her, mother and father retired to the cave, Paloma likely dealing with a whiny Candela— in other words, opportunity.

She quietly meandered over to the space just above this new shape, and gently shuffled a pebble down, aiming for his head.

quién eres? 

She doesn't care if he doesn't understand.

His brother is laughing at him, cold eyes alight with malice. A hot flame of anger burns his chest and face as the dream returns him to the memory of defeat and humiliation. 

something hits him on the head, and in the instant before he wakes up he thinks his brother has struck him for the fun of it. but as he wakes, Alder realizes that the blow is far to small to have come from the sibling who pushed him to ruin. 

he grunts as he lifts his head from his paws, cobalt eyes blinking. looking wildly around him, alder cannot find what hit him (there are many pebbles around his sleeping spot), until he ventures a glance above. there stands a pale child, regarding him with what he assumes is curiosity. he doesn't know children; does not understand them. 

"what?" he grumbles, fairly certain that it is the girl who found a way to hit him in the head with something, probably one of the pebbles or sticks that litters the earth surrounding him. she spoke in a language as foreign to him as she is. he thinks he has heard this tongue spoken here before, mainly among the leadership. does that mean this child is royalty herself?

"er- I can't understand you." his voice softens, but just a little.

Who are you? What's your name? Nymph clarifies through an exaggerated voice, making no effort to hide the mockery at his ignorance of her language. Despite the difference in size, the teenager is haughty and prideful. She bounds down a couple levels to get closer, but not too close, she was still above him, after all. I haven't seen you before, down here. Did my mother let you in? Do you have no den to sleep in?  

She slept in the palace, this one seemed to sleep outside, under the stars, on the cold harsh ground. She let out a shudder.

She peers over the ledge, head cocked to the side. She wouldn't admit it, but she was oh so curious about the ants. She wanted to know more than her siblings did, have more friends than her siblings did. Already, her young mind was plotting.

The mocking in her voice is known by alder, although it is  strange hearing such disdain from a child. children usually do not act this way towards adults where he came from. were they back home he would have scolded her; he would have climbed to her level and nipped the top of her muzzle in a dominance display.

but he is not home.

I'm Alder. what's your name? and, yes - your mother let me in. he has seen Reyna with her children before, and he remembers this pallid-furred pup being among them. 

I typically sleep in the open. should I have a den? he wonders, tilting a brow. he doesn't remember if Reyna or anyone else told him he could, or should, claim a den of his own. her attitude aside, this girl seems to have a glint of intelligence in her eyes as she watches him with a curious tilt of her small head.