Whitebark Stream it is my fate to be between heaven and earth

Having the set back in her search didn’t get Thuringwethil down too much. It is only a detour and getting to know her surroundings would benefit her in the long run. Even if she needed to determine she might want to stay, she would eventually be out here for other reasons to settle. If the territories around her new home would not benefit the her growth, she would need to find something better. The mountain is not unfamiliar to her feet, either, having been born on the mountain side and spending most of her life living on a rocky terrain. 

She would make her way around, not minding the detour she'd been forced into.

The stream is mostly frozen over when she approaches, lowering her nose and licking the wet ice. A crack in the new cover is enough weakness for Thuringwethil to break it, letting the stagnant water below free. She drinks, the cold water felt all the way down, before she begins her trek along the waterside. Thuringwethil lifts her head as the wind picks up, just slightly, and a new flurry of flakes cover her dark fur and even shaking out her fur does little to clear it away.

Sorry it took so long to reply. I had to attend to work matters and finish up my thread in Porqupine Ridge.

it was a betrayel, a bundle of feelings and things he couldn't possibly understand. he had no need for them, nothing could of made sense and nothing would make sense until he could feel whole again. 
it had been nearly ages since he last had a bath, since he had a proper meal. he was thin, skin hugging his sides to reveal the still stunning feature of his ribcage. if he had not of had such a well upbringing to this point, perhaps he would not of had survived. perhaps this would of all turned out differently.
Kieran wandered along the cold, half-frozen stream. he stopped periodically to survey the landscape. Roach-black eyes scanning over the horizon. he had zoned out as he climbed through the mountain range, and suddenly found himself here, along the stream. he sat down on the riverside to admire the rocky terrain and skeletal trees. 
he needed companion or it was certain he would not survive the winter. he splashed in and out of the frozen stream crossing to the other side. he shook his fur out sending droplets of water into the air,  casting tiny rainbows around him as the sunlight refracted within the water droplets. 
snow flakes flat down to land upon his nose. the snow accumulates quickly, dusting his back and shoulders with a fine powder of snow within a matter of seconds. he shivered and shook out his fur. the sun no longer shinning and instead is replaced with ominous dark skies. a blizzard was brewing and he needed to find shelter and soon. 
a flicker of movement caught his eye before he turned. a shadowy figure stopped within the shadows of the trees up ahead a ways near the stream.  Curious,  he made his way to the figure.
He stopped; one paw raised in mid-air, head held high,  ears straight and forward, tail raised like a flag. He watched the back she-wolf warily, as she lapped at the water beneath the layer of ice. She lifted her head and the wind changed direction, no doubt blowing his scent right towards her, even as she shook the flakes from her fur.

No need to apologize!

The wind changes directions and Thuringwethil, mid drink, lifts her head. She does not search long to find whom it belongs to, instantly laying eyes on a salt and peppery coated wolf, dominant in posture, and she narrows her eyes. His form is large and despite how thin he looked, he showed promise. Promise he might lose if he continue as he does but Thuringwethil doesn’t make an effort to force it. He had no idea for her plans, no idea what he’s so close to, and a grin forms on her muzzle as she licks away the cold water.

Thuringwethil turns to face him, her tail curved into a tight half circle above her spine. She even gives it a little shake of friendliness but it stills once it runs its course. 

“Well?” 

Her brow raises high and she looks past the male. She’d run into few wolves until getting to this point but it had been one after another and even if she has little to show for it, she has plenty to return to Gyda with. She will be pleased. Her smile softens at the thought but she’s quickly reminded, redirecting her focus back to the greyscale man. 

She held herself dominantly in front of him. Save for the slight shake of her tail in a remotely friendly greeting and her words full of saccharine. He was not pleased that this female thought herself above him. He decided right then and there to teach her her place. 

 He walked stiff legged towards her,  his hackles raised, tail held stiff and vertical curling over his spine,  head held high, roach-black eyes upon hers, ears foreward, his lips pulled back; exposing his gums and fangs, tongue between his incisors, a snarl ripping it's way from within his chest and out of his maw.

 He expected her to display passive submission to him. If she didnt, he would no doubt attack her and attempt to "pin" her down until she submitted to him. 

He walked right up to her. He snapped at her face,  not connecting with her flesh; just enough to entice her.  He was prepared for a relatiation on her part. He hoped she would. He liked the fiesty ones.  He liked to break them into submission. It was a game to him. One in which he always ultimately won. "Well, what? " he snapped at her face again.

The wolf doesn’t respond right away and instead takes several steps forward. Without flinching, Thuringwethil stares as he comes up to her face. His height isn’t too far from hers and where he seemed thin from life without a pack, she still flourished from her whence she led her wolves. A few weeks had been taken off her body but weakness hadn’t settled in to her bones for the winter.

Being on her own had taken some getting used to, that she did not have a guard at her side, but her wolves would not have acted in such a way. At least not in the beginning, until her hold had weakened to the corruption, later ending the remaining Seageda wolves still faithful. Four extra marks to add to her shoulder.

He bites at her muzzle and just misses, Thuringwethil steeling her form, resisting the urge to lunge. Months of brutal training since she’d been old enough to tumble out of the den, the sight of war early in her life, and the loss over her reign hardening her and hot-headed dominance, fit for fools, does not faze her.

When he lunges for her muzzle again, she uses their height difference to her advantage and dips, rushing for his exposed throat. 

Body lowering to the ground in an automatic shift of movement; legs spreading for balance and his toes snagging to the cold, hard earth beneath them. attack unfolds in a matter of seconds as he leaps towards the female with parted jaws looking to land a grasp at the base of her skull as she dips. where if he is successful, teeth will sink into folds of fat that encompass the scruff with a controlling force.

 Leading into the attack, his forelimbs are outstretched and toes splayed in an attempt to wrap around the narrowly built fame of the female to gain a better hold and stabilize his position.  the attempted bite is aimed centrally where the spine originates from the skull. Like a propeller behind him, Kierans' tail has picked up speed as it stretches out behind him for balance, completing the circuit while it brushes against alternating haunches. While his front half seeks its intended target, rear-limbs are pulled in towards his underbelly like the landing-gears of a plane after takeoff, toes spread in preparation for his attempted position upon her back. 
His momentum would allow him the oppertunity to flip her onto her back if he did manage to gasp her scruff.

The male pushes forward after her, stretching out his head as he propels forward. She has a better view of his neck, having dipped down and under, launching for the sensitive flesh they would hold his life. Thuringwethil hadn’t felt the need to end until she felt his fur contact with her own, and adding force to her stiff legs to keep her standing upright. Saliva collects on her teeth as her tongue touches fur and she snaps her jaws shut.

Going for his most sensitive area leaves his attack free, letting his jaws catch on her scruff and pierce her flesh. She growls but only clenches her jaw around whatever flesh she can feel but his force pulls her. She clings to the ground, pushing herself more into the fur as he works to force her down. Should her fall break, her jaws will only clench tighter, bringing the male down with her.

I kept her attack going to completion since you didn't accept or deny it in your reply and it's not likely she'd stop from going for it.

The thick growth of hair from his father that resembled a lion’s mane encased his neck, while shoulders pressed forward to create furrows along his nape.  Puncture wounds sank deeply into his flesh which was scarcely lined by overlying tissue, pain radiating from the spot while blood trickled from the wound on his throat as her incisors found purchase in his flesh. 

Digits of his hind limbs were flexed to provide traction and anchorage among the wintry ground that was becoming increasingly slick as the accumulations of snow gathered all around them, fortifying them to an isolated snow-globe as each wolves focus was drawn inward for concentration. If his forward momentum did not push her off balance as he leaped, he was certain he could use his brute strength to help aide her in falling. He woud aim to push against her, to push her off her feet as well as using his forward momentum in his leap. 

[size=x-large]Also[/size][size=x-large], he would release her scruff only to reach down in an attempt to [/size][size=x-large]bite down on her left humerus,[/size][size=x-large] to cause her enough pain to let go of his throat. He would not let go until the bone snapped between his jaws or she released his throat, whichever were to happen first.  [/size]

Without truly intending to, upon her return from burying her catch — a scraggly fox — in the cache she was working on building in preparation for the wolves that would soon occupy Sleeping Dragon she found herself following the scent of Thuringwethil, her soon-to-be co-queen. Never before had Gyda heard of two females leading as alpha's but this simply made her excited for it. She trusted Thurin with her life for they had grown together — not totally but Gyda had been young the first time she had made the trek to Odinn's Cove though Nerian (her companion and father's priestess wife) had not returned but instead sought solstice in the Cove's sister pack: Freyja Moor. They were far from strangers though their respective rises to leadership had made it more difficult for them to spend time together. 

Her scent was easy enough for Gyda to follow, though the silver draped Scandinavian had not expected the sounds that caused her ears to cup forth, attentive as she neared. There were scuffling of paws against the snow, and another scent that twined with Thuringwethil's beside the metallic scent of blood. A stranger. Male. Loner. Her pace quickened without her willing it to do so, tail raising above her spine on instinct as hackles bristled, her lips curling back from her teeth as she neared and witnessed as Thurin fell beneath the monochrome colored male. “Get off of her!” The Viking Queen demanded with clear authority though she gave no chance of choice for she began her charge at him, backing up her words with action, hardly intimated by the fact that he was significantly bigger than her.

Gyda, who had been trained by two of the best Berserkers Odinn's Cove had ever known, was not easily intimidated and had a distinct advantage that she did not fear death. To die in battle was the most honorable way her people could go though the shield-maiden had no intentions of dying today; neither did she intend to let Thuringwethil be killed — or further hurt, either.

When her jaws clamp down on his neck, breaking flesh and tinges of blood touch the tip of her tongue. She growls and urges forward despite the pull of her scruff in the opposite direction. Thuringwethil feels the tear of her skin that causes her head to pull the flesh she has between her teeth. A cringe twists her face in pain but she doesn’t release, only grips her paws into the ground.

He lunches forward, pushing back against her form so that her feet slips and her back half hits the ground. Thuringwethil feels her grip loosen against his neck and when his paws move to the top of her leg, she snarls and runs her shoulder as far as she can into his mouth to dislodge as he pierces skin and muscle. The woman doesn’t notice Gyda, anger red hot behind her gaze as she snaps toward his sensitive underbelly when the viking rushes toward them.