Sleeping Dragon Feathers

The wolf walked slowly and carefully. His Heda, @Thuringwethil, dogged him from a distance away. Her presence clouded his mind, and all he could concentrate on for some time was putting one paw after another, the mild pain that was associated with it, and her. It was a balmy spring afternoon, and he had been allowed to emerge from his dank prison to try out his legs. If they left it much longer, the male may not have been able to walk at all.
 
If another wolf appeared to take over guard duty, Heda would likely leave as quietly as she had appeared, slinking off into her territory to rule her subjects. He had been true to his words to her that second day of capture – he would not run. Where would he go? A harsh sound emerged from his muzzle, a mixture of a sob and a laugh.
 
The Omega plodded carefully another couple of paces then stopped, breathing heavily. When he came to a standstill, he automatically lifted his wounded paw, so that it rested only by the tips of his nails upon the hard ground. It was a fragile appendage still, but it appeared to have healed clean and straight. Soon he would be able to run, Lucani assured him.
 
And what then? What could he do to help his pack? What use did he have? How could he prove to Heda that he was worth her saving him?
 
He lifted his head to look around him, spotting only stunted trees and overgrown moss bundles packaged amidst large boulders. Spring was arriving. Perhaps he could fetch berries or herbs. Perhaps nesting materials for his alphas, in case they became pregnant?!
 
With this thought gripped by his addled mind, Storm moved carefully towards a tree, to hunt for feathers upon the ground.

Gyda had come to relieve Thuringwethil of her guard duty over Cirrus. Up to this point, the viking queen had made it a point to keep a distance between herself and the half-breed prisoner Heda had deigned to take in. As far as Gyda saw it: he was a waste of space and resources; and if it were up to her he would either be cast out to survive or die on his own, or she would have ended his life for his crimes by now. It was ...unusual that Thuringwethil take the more diplomatic route than Gyda but trespassing was not a crime Gyda dared to take lightly. In her culture it warranted death: and the laws of Odinn's Cove that she had been looked to uphold had always been clear to her. Simple.

Eyes of caribbean ice glinted with a fierce disgust as she took him in, her lip curling back as she watched his progression. He was walking ...limping rather but it was progress. Still, Gyda did not yet see the point in healing him. “What is it,” Gyda called out to him, her accented voice barbed with stoicism. “that you can offer Sleeping Dragon in exchange for feeding you and healing you?” The shield-maiden demanded of him, sashaying to his position, her posture dominant in her approach.

Focused as he was on his potential harvest, Storm did not notice the changing of the guard. It was only when a non-Heda’s voice harsh disrupted the silent bubble formed around him that the male realised he was being approached. He was already low to the ground, perpetually a weak and shrivelled looking thing these days, but he cringed lower as Gyda swanned up.
 
Weak and pained from his wound, given the lack of decent pain relief and limited food, the skinny captive gazed up at Gyda’s chin with dull brown eyes, now alight with fear. She had spoken his worst nightmare, dragged it into the light of day. What could he do?
 
Nothing.
 
Dirty fur now lay in matted tressles across his body, for he was still unable to turn and properly clean himself. The thought of bathing in a stream didn’t cross his confused and frightened mind. Storm cast a furtive glance over his shoulder in the hopes that Heda would come and rescue him, but she was gone. He was alone with this beast of torture. A whine whistled its way out of his mouth, but he dared not answer such a command.
 
“Anything you want.” He admitted miserably, voice hoarse and frightened, eyes wide and wet. His ears were folded down against his head and his tail tickled the underside of his ribcage. All he could do was try to do what she wanted. He only wished he knew what it was so he could do it for her right now.

He looked awful though Gyda surmised that was more of circumstance than it was a lack of hygiene. He was, likely, not able to properly care for himself and while Gyda could not speak for any of the others she would not be one to aid him in that endeavor. She turned her nose up at him, a flick of her tail stating her displeasure though her snobbish attitude she'd decided to take towards the prisoner had never been unclear, even from the very beginning. Ragnar had treated his prisoners much better than the shield-maiden deigned to treat Thuringwethil but then again Dagrun had taught her that to take prisoners was to waste. She was moderately satisfied when the half-breed let out a whine and lowered himself to submission but it wasn't enough. The fact that he still drew breath he alone owned to Thuringwethil, who stood as a barrier between Cirrus and Gyda's teeth. For that, he was lucky.

Wrong answer. The viking queen's hackles bristled with her irritation and her upper lip curled back from her teeth in a warning. “No,” The Scandinavian woman spat. “Perhaps that answer appeases Thuringwethil but not me,” Thus far, Gyda had allowed Thuringwethil to make decisions without her consent, but they were partners. Equals; and she would actively raise her voice from this moment forth: starting with this prisoner. “What are your skills? What can you offer Drageda?” It wasn't about what she wanted: it was about what the pack needed and if he could offer anything she deemed useful.

At first she seemed appeased. Her delicate fur danced on an invisible breeze and the Omega caught its movements with dull eyes. And then he realised that he had chosen his words incorrectly.

Storm watched her bristle, and within a breath she was twice the size to his eyes. If she had been commanding before, now she was terrifying. Storm whined again and his legs trembled. His body crumpled willingly beneath him as he angled himself to show her his belly, droplets of urine trickling slowly along the matted fur adorning his back legs. Panic and genuine fear flooded through him and pushed the words eagerly from his mouth in stuttering syllables of despair "I c-c-c-can c-c-collect f-feathers and d-d-down for your d-d-den..." a wild eye roved along the nearby landscape, praying that Heda would come to his rescue. But Heda didn't come. "For y-y-your babes, for D-Drageda."

He had no idea whether she was planning on having puppies, but he hoped that the mention of offspring would gentle any female's heart. Plus, for once he was telling the truth - it was all he could think of. Heartbeats thudded a stattaco in his chest and Storm squeezed his eyes shut, waiting.


Perhaps this was what hell felt like.

The wolves that Thuringwethil had inducted in needed to know that Gyda was Heda's equal and that her voice was just as strong as The Commander's. It held just as much weight and if Cirrus had any hopes of remaining in their ranks when his imprisonment was over then he would have to appease Gyda, too. He peed himself, she realized, when she smelled the scent of his urine. For the briefest of moments, this gave Gyda pause. She was no tyrant, she loved her people ...but Cirrus (currently) was not one of her people. He was a mistake taken in by Thuringwethil for a purpose that Gyda wasn't so sure she knew. It was not a bad thing to make it known that she was not a threat to be taken lightly. She did not get where she was today without a little ferocity, after all. Her culture was brutal and unforgiving and instilled fear in the hearts of men and women alike and it was for good reason.

He stuttered out his skills which consisted of gathering feathers and down for her den. Something she, herself, could do well enough on her own; and then he mentioned babies. Her babies. The prisoner, Gyda couldn't help but think as she clenched her jaw, was lucky she was not pregnant now because she would have attacked him. As it was, she fought the urge, if only because there was nothing for her to protect. Yet. “I do not trust you,” Gyda spat at him. “I do not trust anyone that does not respect our laws and who ignore our borders.” In case that wasn't already clear enough; but Gyda couldn't be arsed to care if she was being redundant. “You will learn to hunt when you are able,” Because Sleeping Dragon could always use more hunters, especially when she became pregnant. “and you will help Lucani replace the medicines she has used to heal you.” Because, in Gyda's mind, this only seemed fair: replace what he'd taken. It was the standard for all of them, and she saw no reason he should not be held to it whether he was a prisoner or not.

Having had little to do with Gyda since the day judgement had been passed on him, he could only wait to see how she would react. She didn’t seem impressed by his measly attempt at garnering favour. She spat words at him like venom and Cirrus winced at the majority of the syllables as though he was being flogged.
 
Of course he would hunt when he was able, if he was able. Lucani was adamant he would run on his leg once more, but Cirrus could feel twists of pain every time he took more than a ginger step on it. The medicine collecting was something he felt more able to do and his ears twitched ever-so-slightly in hope. Unknowingly perhaps, Gyda had provided him with a goal.
 
“I will!” He rasped in a voice still laced with fear. Her repose was matched by his weakness, and he floundered on the floor wondering what else he could do to appease her. Gyda was no Heda; she had neither provided him food nor protection personally (this was the only way his addled mind could accept help and clemency was being provided to him), and Storm was sure she would leave him to starve if it wasn’t for his swarthy protector watching on the sidelines. Storm he knew that he could not afford enemies in this pack. He could only cling to Thuringwethil and the chance she had given him, and hope that one day he could escape with his life.
 
“W-what is your f-favourite meat?” As soon as he could hunt, he would try to catch whatever it was and place it at her feet. Somewhere in his mind he wondered if he had again set himself up to fail – what if she said cougar meat, or some other such horrific meat to obtain.

“Good,” Gyda snapped. Though it did not feel like it was enough to appease her at the moment so long as he made good on the promise he made her here and now then she would not come to snuff out his life in the name of sacrifice. The whole situation with him was nothing more than a strange one especially when it came to the stark difference of stance Gyda and Thuringwethil had taken on him. Gyda had always thought herself ...perhaps not softer but more quick to forgive than Heda and yet here it seemed they had switched the roles. Gyda wanted him gone or dead — either would have sufficed — but Thuringwethil kept him around and saw to it that he was fed and given the medicines he needed to heal him. He was trying very hard to appease her, even going so far as to ask what her favorite meat was. “Help fill the caches, help feed the Dragon's wolves.” Gyda denied him of what she thought he had wanted to do. Sure, as viking queen she got first pick alongside Thuringwethil but she wasn't selfish enough to demand he hunt for her and her alone. She wanted him to hunt for the pack in which it didn't matter what meat it was as long as he had put the effort into catching it.

Storm determined that all he would do was hunt from now on. Collecting feathers had not appeased her. Although if Heda wished for feathers, he would locate them again. His attempts to garner favour were quashed by a mighty paw. If all she wanted was for him to fill caches and feed the pack, that is what he would do. Now did not seem a good time to admit he was a pretty poor hunter, especially a solitary one for small game. What he would be like with a mangled leg was anyone’s guess. [b]“Yes Ma’am.”[/b]  He responded immediately. He faltered, wondering whether to simply stay quiet. But he decided to add, in a faint voice from his cowering position on the floor: “Lucani said I should be able to walk properly soon.” Walk, not run. But if he lay in wait he may be able to surprise spring bunnies he supposed.

I think we can probably wrap this up soon? Gyda has tortured poor Cirrus enough for one thread, lol. :p *pets him*

A steely nod was given as he spoke nearly as soon as she had finished issuing her command to him. It was not enough to garner the pressure of her expectations upon him to lessen any but it was enough to cause her to feel she could back off some. She'd gotten her point across, she felt. There was little need of making him any more agonized then he currently was — at least for now. “Do as Lucani tells you, and see it to be so.” Gyda did not want to lose her patience with him and she understood broken bones too a while to heal. “Do not disappoint me.” The shield-maiden issued him one final warning. Any minute now another Dragon would be coming to babysit him and would relieve Gyda of the task she rarely took on. But this conversation had been needed to be had, whether it made her look like a tyrant to the prisoner or not Gyda truly didn't care. She had no intention of him becoming a permanent addition to their ranks, and as far as the viking queen was concerned he had earned her ire by trespassing in the first place, further by Thuringwethil's decision to keep him as some kind of example wasting their food and medicine resources by his continued presence.

*giggle* he’s a total wet sponge! Yes we can finish this up


Storm nodded fervently – it appeared from her tone that their conversatrion was at an end. Never would he dare presume he could leave her presence, however. Realistically he was stuck with her until another guard appeared. Storm’s eyes fixed on Gyda’s throat, which poured words that sounded like honey but stung like bees. He couldn’t look away, for fear of being put in his place moreso than he already had been. Instead he merely quivered there, with her words echoing in his mind.

Don’t disappoint me. Don’t disappoint me. Don’t disappoint me.

The lamb lay before the lion, and waited for her ire to be caught by another.

Gyda had nothing left to say to the prisoner. Thus, she held to her silence, her sharp gaze never leaving him where he lay before her, her tail whipping behind her every so often, though this was more to exert her frustration in a healthy non-violent manner as she waited. Eventually, one of her subordinates came to relieve her and she turned, offered them a soft lick of acknowledgment to their cheek before she left, not bothering to look back. Storm's next sitter would, no doubt, be measurably nicer than Gyda herself, who firmly believed that her cruelty had been nothing short of warranted, even if in reality it had not been. She returned to her duties, heading straight to the borders were she could patrol out her pent up irritation, knowing that the steady routine of marking and surveying them would eventually calm her.