Ouroboros Spine I am that is

This man of unyielding gall was dying. Goldhawk had come from a great seaside pack with elite warriors at its heart, and he had thought he'd found the same in Donnelaith. For this reason he had pledged his loyalty to the popular group, which in turn had pencilled in his acceptance on the condition that they found room for him (they hadn't yet), and so he had lingered along the cold shore in faithful wait. This had been a dangerous move. For while the cave he'd picked to camp out in had been warm and close to frequent schools of tasty fishes, it had also been prone to dampness, and the seabreeze was prone to chilliness. These two factors combined had left Goldhawk in a sorry state. He had become too cold to shake his coat out properly. And then too cold to fish.

Hypothermia would kill him before starvation did, and as he walked — slow and painful — the coldness of the night grew specks of frost upon his beautiful golden fur. The ranger was finally headed inland. He'd realised that fabricated loyalty and the wish for a pack as familiar as Donnelaith was not worth dying for — but... fool that I am (he muttered hoarsely) ... it seemed it might be too late. He collapsed near a rocky outcrop. His shivers did not cease and his breathing was shallow. How bally wretched that this is the end, wot, he whispered. Where's my g-gloriously honourable fall.

Kyron had sworn allegiance to the fledging pack of Neverwinter Forest and had spent several days there getting used to the environment, getting used to the land itself and adding his own scent markers to those of his packmates, establishing the soon-to-be claimed land. He would've been content to stay there and get to know his soon-to-be packmates if not for the never ending call that tugged him away. Wanderlust plagued all those of his bloodline and even he, the most in control of all his siblings had fallen prey to it when he left the kingdom. So, Kyron, knowing he would feel no rest until he moved, took a brief leave from the forest. He wouldn't go far, just to the neighbouring terrains, and then he would be back.

So the Persian prince, standing out brightly against the dark trees of the forest, took his leave from Neverwinter and began heading south. Truth to be told, the creature of the sand had no idea where he was going, but it felt good to just be exploring; it always felt good to be simply on the move. 

Alert as ever, Kyron sniffed the scent of another wolf long before he noted the sorry ball of gold against a rocky outcrop. Wariness came over the persian as he appraised the wolf from a distance, pausing in his pawsteps before his innate compassion took over and he approached cautiously, noting the shivers that plagued the stranger as well as the shallow breathing when he came closer. "Fool," Kyron muttered under his breath and shook his head before he settled beside the sorry creature, urging the fool to come closer and get warmer. He had heard the stranger's words about his 'gloriously honorable fall' and told him matter-of-factly now, "You're not going to get one if you die right now," in his gently lilting accent.

The next thing he heard — perhaps the last thing — was a cruel insult, and it stung him to his freezing bones. How miserable, he thought, and how shameful that his last seconds had to be spent in the presence of someone who thought him a fool for dying. Unable to move now that he'd finally halted, a ringing in his ears become more prominent and he began to lose consciousness, humiliation and regret taking up residence where once there was joy, pride, and bulldog tenacity.

Kyron had not meant any ill will by calling the stranger a fool. In his own way, it was meant to be something akin to endearment and perhaps a bit of chastisement. After all, the guy was shivering to death and he was definitely not in a good shape; being called a fool should be the last thing on his mind, in a way, he deserved it. No one deserved dying like this, however, and the persian recognized the stranger as a warrior despite his disheveled and poor appearance and pitied the male for falling so low. Nevertheless, he did not chastise him any further, feeling no need to do so until the stranger was away from the doors of death.

Kyron was no healer; he was a warrior and while he had been trained in a bit of basic medical arts, he was by no means proficient and so, naturally, began freaking out a bit when he noticed that the other wolf did not seem to be responding at all and perhaps, was slowly dying. He cursed, then, in his native tongue and proceeded, first, to prod the male harshly to prevent him from falling sleep; his father told him that losing conscious basically meant death. Then cautiously, began licking the golden wolf dry and hopefully, to warm him up.

Still unsure if the insult had been spoken by the stranger or was an echo of his own self-disappointment (and indeed barely aware that there was friend or foe here at all), Goldhawk drifted out of consciousness for a few dark seconds. For a moment he almost found warmth... he just had to drift a bit further... reach out for relief, and give up at last on all the coldness of life...

Nng... he was jarred back to near-consciousness with a strong prod, and then the gentle lashings of a tongue that would have been incredibly comforting had Goldhawk not been struck with the madness of welcoming death. No n-need for, he uttered weakly. Jolly old broken day today, don'tcha know, he added nonsensically, eyes still closed. Why not let m-me snatch a few winks of rest... nice an' drifty here, old bean... warmer...

The stranger mumbled and uttered incoherent words, causing Kyron to let out a breath he hadn't realise he was holding in first place. He would've stood and celebrated his minor healing victory if not for the fact that the guy was still at the brink of unconsciousness and subsequently, death and if he stopped, the persian was afraid that he would sink back into the cold arms of death once more. So the sand prince didn't stop his gentle ministrations, not even when the guy spoke, saying there was no need. At that, Kyron scoffed lightly and shook his head, roughly prodding the guy once more.

"Don't be an idiot," Kyron said between licks, accent soft. "Death is cold. Trust me, you don't wanna go there, young as you are." The persian moved closer, so the stranger could gain warmth from his body as well as his ministrations. "A warrior doesn't give up; a fool does."

It had been an evil sign that Goldhawk's shivers had stopped, but as the stranger began to deliver warmth to him, he somehow felt colder... but this, in turn, was a good thing. Because he began to shiver again. He had frostbite somewhere (better not be in the important places, he thought dully), and his temperature refused to regulate. At least he was only feeling one thing before: ice ice ice. Then this stranger came along and mixed things up. Urgh.

Death is as toasty as my auntie's temper, I'll h-have you know, he contradicted indignantly (albeit very weakly). But... hmph, how did he know Goldhawk was a warrior? With great difficulty, he finally opened his frosted eyes to the night. And there he saw... himself. He blinked.

Quite certain I'm already dead then, wot wot, he realised at this bizarre revelation. Back to bed for old Sergeant Goldhawk. He closed his eyes again.

Kyron could feel the stranger shivering beneath his tongue and wondered to himself whether it was a bad thing or not. He was no healer; that was one thing he wasn't good at, he'll admit it, but he hoped he was helping the golden wolf and not making it worse. But then, it wouldn't really matter would it? Either ways, his arrival was a blessing for the stranger; at least, with him here, there was a chance the poor creature wouldn't drift off into death's wide, welcoming and coldass arms.

"Shut up," Kyron told the guy with a roll of his eyes and a harsher note to his inborn accent. "I'll have you know, I don't like nursing random strangers back to health," in truth, the persian did not know why he even bothered to help in first place when he barely even knew the wolf. The strong survived; the weak died, it had always been this way, this was his father's way, this was his way. Or maybe it wasn't, not anymore. One day, you're compassion will be the end of you, his father had told him. If only his dad saw him now.

The stranger opened his eyes, looked at him, said something about being certain he was dead already and closed his eyes. "Wake up," Kyron nudged him sternly and persistently, showing he was not going to stop until the golden wolf showed that he wasn't losing consciousness again. "I know I'm so blindingly pretty that it hurts to look at me, but for god's sake, just do it."

Goldhawk's ice-addled mind decided to ignore the bits of conversation that made it clear this was a real-life wolf in the world of the living, and instead he concentrated on the bits that stood out as otherworldly. The other Goldhawk was vain. Yep, that sounded like him alright — the soldier would rarely call himself pretty, but he certainly knew he was a jolly handsome sort.

The dry warmth of the frustrated Other was working fast — he could feel his limbs again, which he did not like at all. But he kept his eyes stubbornly closed. I don't think so, me. I'm clearly as dead as a dodo, an' I respectfully demand the right to choose my own bloomin' afterlife. When I next open my peepers I want to see an angelic lass holding a dripping leg of boar.

The stranger did not obey the persian's command and irritation quickly worked its way up Kyron's face, causing his brows to crease into an annoyed frown and his teeth to snag at his lip, not enough to bite through, but enough to hurt. Nevertheless, he continued with his ministrations, although a bit rougher and harsher than before, intend to get this wolf back on his feet as soon as possible. "First of all," Kyron said between licks, "I am not you. Let's make that clear. I, am much redder than you in fur color. I, have blue eyes. I, am not a bloody fool who's lost all his warrior glory and given up completely. I, have honor and pride and dignity, unlike you."

If Kyron was right with his guesses; he usually was, then this wolf used to be a fighter of sorts. And well, if this didn't work, then the persian would physically hurt the stranger just to make sure he knew that the sand prince was being serious. "So do as I bloody say, you ungrateful brat and maybe there's still some hope for you." There was an amused smirk worming its way up the usually introverted wolf's lips right now. Oh he was definitely enjoying himself.

Goldhawk screwed up his eyes like a... well, like an ungrateful brat. It was worth noting at this point that although he was still tremoring with extreme cold, most of the teeth-chattering had slipped out of his voice, which sounded stronger. He was utterly adamant that the golden fellow was him — you jolly well sound like me, he shot back at him. Not in accent, of course (they were chalk and cheese), but the "tough love" (or full-out loathing or whatever it was) was very Goldhawk-esque.

But after a moment, Goldhawk was curious if he had in fact been mistaken that the other wolf was him. So he opened one eye... and one eye only.

Where's my bally leg of boar.

Kyron rolled his eyes at the boy's attitude but he couldn't help but smile slightly at his antics; it was somewhat refreshing to talk to this whining brat, simply because he was reminded of his younger siblings back home who used to act the same way and because, well, it was funny in a sickening manner. "Nah, I don't. Not at all," Kyron returned, though there was a new edge to his voice that indicated amusement on his behalf. Perhaps it was indeed good that the persian hadn't left this stranger to die.

The wolf finally obeyed his command and opened a eye. It was only one, but it was improvement and Kyron couldn't help but grin lightly. "Up your arse."

Unable to tell if the moonlit stranger was attempting to humiliate him or lead him down some lighter path than the one he'd been touching, Goldhawk decided that the best way to decide if he was currently in life or death was to use the paws that had never led him astray (until today, of course). I wouldn't know if it was, frankly, he grumbled, such was the lack of feeling in his down-belows at the moment.

He twitched, then winced, then slowly began an attempt to get to his paws. His joints were stiff as rocks and burning with frost. It was bloomin' agony.

Kyron took a step back and watched with barely concealed worry in his blue eyes as the stranger grumbled, then twitched and slowly attempted to get on his paws. Immediately, the persian was back by his side and shaking his head in an attempt to dissuade the wolf from standing up just yet. "I can guarantee that that's not a good idea," the prince said gently, hopefully easing his twin-like figure into a sitting position instead, as long as he wasn't standing. "You shouldn't exert too much energy yet, just, get warm first, you hear me?"

He offered the stranger a small, genuine smile and cocked his head slightly. "I'm Kyron. I saved you from dying. What's your name?"

The living-dead stranger was, of course, correct in his observation: it was not a good idea to stand up just yet. Helpless to the Other's manoeuvres, Goldhawk allowed himself to be moved into a sitting position. His head was bowed — he felt heavy and morose.

Kyron was talking as though Goldhawk were an Omega, and he was not used to this so could not take it in his stride. Everything echoed in his head.

"Fool... idiot... wake up... shut up... just do it... do as I bloody say... you ungrateful brat... I am not a bloody fool who's lost all his warrior glory and given up completely... I have honor and pride and dignity, unlike you... I saved you from dying."

Goldhawk closed his eyes again, but this time not with weariness but with heart-stabbing shame. He didn't even know if Kyron had said all that or if he'd just said it to himself. And he certainly didn't yet know if he even wanted to be saved from dying. His name... Goldhawk... Sergeant Horatio Finnian Sanders... he'd always worn it with pride.

He shook his head weakly.

The golden wolf allowed himself to be moved into a sitting position and Kyron, deciding that he didn't seem suicidal, sat down next to him. He spoke, introducing himself, but heard no response from his companion. Looking over, ne noted that the great head was bowed and the former blabbering fool was silent, replaced by a somewhat brooding wolf. Immediately, he wondered if he did something wrong and felt a pang in his heart; had he unknowingly insulted the other male? Had he done something to anger or sadden the wolf? If he did, Kyron hadn't meant to do so. His words, however harsh they seemed, were only used to rouse the wolf from his dreams and into the real world; he hadn't meant to insult the other guy.

If anything, it was supposed to provoke the other into talking back and subsequently coming back from the dead. Kyron didn't know any other way; tough love had always been what he was treated to, how he treated others. At times, it might be a bit extreme, but he never meant bad. It was his own form of endearment; and now he was worried he might have taken it too far this time.

The prince noted the other shaking his head and emphatically felt his pain as if it was Kyron's own. "Hey," he murmured softly, nudging the other wolf gently on the cheek with his nose. "Sorry, I didn't mean to, you know," he gestured helplessly. "Look. I did what I had to do to bring you back. So don't die on me now, okay? You're brave to not have given up; many do. So don't wallow in your self-pity or whatever. Ain't doing nobody no good."

He felt like he had completely wilted — which, in itself, was a wilt-worthy fact. Goldhawk had been disappointed with himself for letting misguided levels of loyalty bring him so close to death, certainly, but he hadn't been suicidal. Then death had promised warmth, and Goldhawk had wanted it so much. He still wanted it. Just peace. No thoughts at all.

Kyron (or was it Goldhawk?) was right: he was wallowing in his self-pity. Mm, he agreed in a low voice. It's more than a tad pathetic, isn't it. He had become the very pinnacle of what he had no time for — a weak, pitiful defeatist with no pride.

He didn't even have a home.

Urgh, the wallowing. It was intolerable.

I'll toddle off... somewhere. In a moment. Bit knackered, wot. He was leaning lightly on Kyron but didn't realise it. Thanks for the saving an' all that, he added. He was pretty sure he wasn't actually thankful at all at the moment, but his father had taught him to mind his manners.

"Not really," Kyron answered honestly. "Everyone goes through that once in awhile. Life's a bitch; we all agree on that. But it's best to just keep going and take everything as it comes." The Persian looked at his look-alike sternly and thoughtfully, canting his head slightly in a birdlike manner as he appraised the golden youth. A moment ago, he had been everything but broody, telling Kyron to leave him alone, telling him to give him a leg of a boar and now here he was, wallowing in self-pity and bemoaning his troubles.

"You're not going anywhere yet," Kyron then informed him matter-of-factly. "You can't even hold your own weight." Perhaps...just maybe. He shrugged, might be worth a try. Besides, the stranger didn't look like he could manage by himself just yet. "You got anywhere else to go, Goldilocks? Maybe I can offer you a place to stay if you pull your weight. You look like a pretty strong wolf when you're not dying of hypothermia." 

Had this been any other situation, Goldhawk likely would have thought Kyron a perfectly acceptable fellow — a little harsh in his emotional dealings maybe, but good-hearted nonetheless, and certainly quite the amusing ruffian. But so far he hadn't really formed much opinion of the chap at all, simply because he was selfishly too wrapped up in his own life and death at the moment. It was all quite miserable.

"You got anywhere else to go, Goldilocks?" He almost wanted to reply that he wished he did. He also wanted to add that he was embarrassed by all of this and didn't feel like his usual proud self at all. He wanted to undo this whole encounter — he also wanted to undo having ever heard of Donnelaith to begin with. But the idea of finding another place to stay... what if Kyron spread his humiliation among his new packmates? What if he'd never get back to being good old Sergeant Goldhawk as he was meant to be...?

But he had no choice. He wouldn't survive the night on his own. That's... awfully good of you, old chap... he admitted in a low, hesitant voice.

Kyron waited patiently for the other man to answer, knowing that he was currently under the weather and was probably still wallowing in self-pity and shame despite what the Persian had just told him. He didn't blame him; the sand prince knew what it felt like to lose seemingly all your pride and dignity; he'd been through that before but came out of it alive and possibly, a better wolf than he had been before. He was certain that Goldilocks here would do the same because if he didn't, Kyron wouldn't be able to do much to help him.

"They're still in the...claiming process but they're nice wolves. I'm sure they'll take you in, but perhaps you might want to stay the night here before meeting them. You'll need to look..somewhat better than you do now and talk about your skills and whatnot." Kyron blinked at 'Goldilocks' and smiled briefly, encouragingly. "Don't look so down. You'll be fine by tomorrow. I'll even stay the night with you. God knows what'll happen if I don't." Patiently, Kyron grinned at him, hoping to cheer him up somewhat. "I still don't know you're name, you know. Unless you want me to keep calling you 'Goldilocks'..."

Blimey, Kyron really was starting to err on the delightful side of things. Perhaps he was a lot more charming than he'd seemed previously — perhaps all that "fool" stuff really had just been tough love. Of course, Goldhawk could consider that this was the act, but he wasn't a sceptical sort by nature, and so (in among the continued haze brought about by near-death) he accepted Kyron at face-value.

It was, finally, a small comfort.

So it seemed like he really was going to try out for a pack tomorrow. It was, sadly, not a very nice thought at the moment. He'd made a stellar impression on Dante when trying out for Donnelaith — but he'd already made his first impression on the first wolf of this new pack, and it was not a good impression. But, in a nutshell, he needed to survive. He had no choice.

Unable to articulate his gratitude at this point, Goldhawk blinked at the fellow. The name's Horatio. Well, it was true. That was his name. But it wasn't the proud nickname he'd earned at his apex. He needed to earn that back.

Fade after one more post from you and start a new one at Neverwinter? :)

Kyron could feel his facial muscles tiring at this point. He was not used to forcing himself to smile so often and he was not sure he liked it at all. Some would ask, why bother? This wolf, even though he had just saved his life, was still little more than a stranger to the Persian and putting the effort into appearing encouraging and patience seemed a bit too much. It wasn't like that to Kyron though. He quite liked this goldilocks fellow and wanted to return him to his former glory; if he even had one. He'd seen many fallen warriors and angels in his time and the prince wanted to help this one rise back.

Besides, it might be useful in the end. Goldilocks might not know it yet, but he owed Kyron a life debt. Normally, the Persian didn't really care, but in any case, he would be useful to have by his side.

"Horatio," Kyron rolled the name around his tongue and shrugged. It was outworldly to him, but who was he to judge? To a lot of native wolves here, Kyron's name was about as weird as it gets and truthfully, Horatio was a much 'normal' sounding name in this land compared to his persian one. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, mate." The sand wolf grinned before easing both him and his companion into a standing position. "Okay, c'mon. Lean on me if you can't support yourself yet. We gotta go to the treeline for shelter for tonight, kay?"

And with that, Kyron began slowly trotting, with his newfound companion, towards the trees.

kk! :D It seems perhap we are summoned to this thread~

Though his vision was still not what it usually was, the ranger could see the smile — and though he didn't yet have the (inner) strength to return it, he did appreciate it. So that was something.

Good old Kyron helped Goldhawk to all four paws, and he would have wobbled had he not been so frozen. He'd been lying here, for, what, barely an hour? Yet it felt like a century. He was as stiff as a statue, and although no longer on the brink of death would more than certainly benefit from a quick pace to somewhere dry and cuddlesome.

That sounds like a plan, old bean, he replied, his tall form every so weary. But alive. And — perhaps? — grateful for it.