Redtail Rise i am my poison and my antidote

The young leader stands at the base of the rise, looking up the incline to find the ashy path she’d taken where she found a new companion. Thuringwethil doesn’t except to find the fiery girl lurking the ridge but she recalls the memory rather fondly. A wary sort of trust developing between the two, long enough to share a common interest of safety for the night, but she hadn’t let it fall from her memory. Thuringwethil kept help but wonder if the younger wolf felt the same, if they’d see each other at all ever again.

Tucking it away, she moves along the perimeter of a territory she vaguely remembers. It isn’t a place she’s spent a lot of time, compared to the Dragon and it’s surrounding reaches, but it’s safe from the threat of other packs as a neutral land. Thuringwethil walking along the edges of the mountainous terrain isn’t going to get her in trouble though she doesn’t quite know the relation the Phoenix wolves have to this particular location. They might not take kindly to her standing so close but, remaining oblivious to this information, she continues onward anyway.

@Sangilak, @Tatkret.

Her scent was the strongest it had been in days and with every step Tatkret knew he drew closer. He had expected to find her again after deciding to go his own way, though found it strange she travelled so far south. The Anneriwok were known to brave the harsh northern climates yet here was much more temperate, the chill of winter having eased to a mild nip in the air. Tatkret enjoyed it. With a rough shake of his coat, he pressed forwards in his slow, ambling wander towards a flat-top rise, curious about the faint scent of ash and burnt bark.

Another scent was quick to stop him. His ears perked at the unfamiliar smell — another wolf. Too bad it was not the one he was looking for. Inwardly, the boy shrugged and went to continue his trek before he saw the dark, lanky form of the other from a distance patrolling the base of the rise. He kept his posture neutral as he eyed her, redirecting his path so he would give the stranger a wide berth, not too keen on participating in any...small talk.

Downwind, Sangilak watched her comrade from afar. Of her mothers cubs, only she and Tonravik had inherited her exceptionally keen nose. Her twin claimed to have it as well, but Sangilak always triumphed in matters of tracking. Her superiority in most everything had been why she was given the name that she was. Sangilak had a drive that most did not to succeed, and when contested by others, she fought to win. That drive was not so far reaching as to make her wish to go and found a branch here quite yet... she was pushed to do other things, first.

Were it not for the other scent on the wind, Sangilak would have made to ambush her friend aptly named for the moon (his sizable girth and his eyes both made the name one that explained itself, in a way). As it was, Sangilak did note the other scent and so made way toward him. She chuffed lowly toward him as she closed the distance between herself and him, bounding the final step beside him and moving to nip him possessively. Her eyes were for the figure in the distance for only a moment before they surveyed the one beside her, checking for injuries and sniffing out his present health. There were no telltale signs of injury or stress and so any agitation she might have had was assuaged, and she chuffed lowly to him in as fond a greeting she would give as any.

The longer she spent around the ridge, making her way around the base, she sees another in the distance. At first, Thuringwethil halts and rolls back her shoulders. Her posture from a distance isn’t obvious, if anything but an automatic movement when she sees another. The likelihood of their relation is smaller and smaller and so the dark woman eases back to even out her head and tail. Her gait picks back up, trying to find the blow of the wind until another figure pops back up.

Slate eyes narrow, lifting her snout upward to catch a scent. Nothing comes her way just yet but she’s able to see the closeness of the two. Their features and expressions are out of the span of her sight and the only thing that slows her down.

However, when the wind shifts, there’s only a brief moment of clarity; of familiarity. It’s quick and before she knows it, gone. Thuringwethil is given a few details pulled to the forefront of her mind and one that doesn’t sit that well with her. It’s not home, but it’s something. A couple more steps are taken to satisfy the curisoity before she lifts her head and allows a short call; confusion, familiar. 

Who are you?

Speak of the devil...

She had been downwind of him and, having had his attention on the stranger in the distance, Tatkret was surprised by the low chuff and sudden monstrous shadow that appeared at his side. He did not let slip any signs of being caught unawares, instead allowing his tail to wave amicably at the sight of his companion. He returned her nip with a quick, rough nudge to her shoulder, also checking over for signs of injury. Finding none — bar the scars and perpetual scabs that were found under her thick coat — he turned once more to survey the other wolf as she let out an enquiry.

Immediately, his hackles rose, sensing some sort of fleeting familiarity on her scent. He couldn't quite place it, though, and put it down to confusing her smell with Sangilak's own due to her sudden arrival. He shifted to nose her once more with a growl, a slightly delayed greeting mixed with apprehension towards their company. "Who's asking?" he barked back lowly, just loud enough to travel the distance between them.

Sangilak's ears perked as the howl came. Her iced over eyes turned back to the figure in the distance, and Sangilak regarded her now fully. Tatkret spoke, then, and she did not wonder for a moment who it was that asked, now that she had heard the voice. I know this woman, she spoke in Inuktitut, quiet and to him alone. She had neighbored them, once. That she had left at all was unknown to Sangilak, who had likely moved on the same time the other inkjet wolf had, simply for different reasons.

She threw her head up and howled in rejoinder. The message was short and clipped, and she turned back to the silver-eyed tawny man. Stay back. I must speak to her—alone. Watch. For they had their cues, silent, unspoken. And then she turned back to Thuringwethil and began to trot with ample confidence in her direction, guarded in her wonder at the others reasoning behind being here but no less sure of herself for it.