Shadewood The stars, they make me wonder so

Yayay! @Arturo

As the day began to draw to a close, the dusk set in, bringing with it rolling grey clouds across the horizon; a storm, not yet close enough to be a danger but certainly approaching at a relatively quick pace. A wolf trotted through the shadowing bows of the forest, relishing the cooling breeze after many days of travelling west beneath the spring sun. In many ways, the anticipating downpour would bring good news to most canids, but for this one it only brought concern and fear.

It seemed as if her cover had finally broken, the brief moments of pleasure finally cascading into a primordial instinct. The wolf quickened her pace, loping through the twisting entrails of trees and through brush, intent on finding a clearing away from the enclosed maze of branches and bushes unlike the majority of creatures which seemed to be seeking shelter within the confines of the forest.

As she ran, her mind sought memories of her family; her brothers, her sister, most importantly her father, who had all disappeared without a trace. After a brief contemplation, the yearling had eventually decided to follow in their footsteps and seek out their whereabouts. Her first thoughts were to track down her father who, in her eyes, was a great wolf to look up to. She couldn't remember much about the Hollow yet scenes of her mother retelling tales of their fathers great leadership and devotion to her and her siblings now replayed in her mind. Finding a decent trail of him had been near to impossible, but instinct drove her west on what she hoped was a worthy cause.

Finally, the canid came to a halt in a peaceful grove. Dead grass littered the ground and a towering tree stood in the center of the clearing which, when in leaf, had been a magnificent copper giant. The whole glade had a surreal feeling to it but despite the eery quietness of it all, the lupin settled herself under the bare branches of the beech and raised her head to look up at a patch of clear sky, not yet been concealed by clouds. Stars were beginning to arise, something which greatly captivated the imagination of the copper maiden and was enough to calm her nerves, at least for now.

your writing is beautiful, i just wanted to let you know~ <3 also 'turo's hunt failed

 

As he often did, Arturo found his thoughts pulling towards the children and lover he had spoke his goodbyes too, though given the famine that the pestilence of locusts had left in their wake made the Fearghal monarch intensely glad that none had followed him — unaware as he was of the presence of not one but two of his children. To know this hunger ...it was not anything that he would want his children to know. If there was anything good and selfless about him it had indisputably became his children with their birth; as it would always remain so for them ...and the future litters he sired into the world. He had wanted to be the father to them that he'd never had in Cynbel. The truth was stark and harsh for Arturo: while he had undeniably known of the coyote that had aided in his creation he hadn't met him until he was an adult and it had been nothing short of disappointing. Cynbel had not been loving, had not showed an ounce of love for his bastard. In some ways, that had helped Arturo — if not to be a better man, then to, more importantly: be a better father.

He'd been scrounging up what meager meals he could manage, all of which were exactly that: meager. Humbling and utterly humiliating when they failed — and sometimes they did fail. His intended dinner — a small songbird — had managed to fly away before he could catch it and the gangster sovereign knew he would go hungry for the rest of the night. His energy needed to be conserved, which did not allow him the luxury of hunting until he caught something. He was not so accustomed to accepting defeat but this was not a matter of pride. This was a matter of playing the game of survival smart, even if it meant nursing wounded pride for a time being.

Arturo had not been idle as he moved through the skeletal remains of the Tuktu Hinterlands, but there was only so much he could accomplish during the asperity of the famine. He could not adequately choose a territory he deigned to claim — at least not wisely — nor could he promise anything. The herds had fled to find their food and those that had remained ...well they would starve, too. Still, he lingered and still he kept moving towards his goal, believing without much proof that this famine could not last forever. Eventually, greenery and life would have to return to the Wilds: that was the beauty of nature. It rebuilt itself, even after inevitable death.

A canine silhouette, against the towering tree painted in the myriad colors of dusk as it worked on it's siege upon the sky, gradually swallowing the last remnants of day and engulfing them in the velveteen colors of night was enough to catch the Fearghal's attention, his fiery orange-red eyes studying the indiscernible shadow with consideration; but the shadow was not what spurred the coywolf boldly forward. It was the scent. Her scent, carried by the soft breeze that moved without resistance through the skeletal branches. As familiar as his own heartbeat to him, even without the Hollow's scent upon her fur. His eldest daughter: the only one of his and Duana's children to take his melanistic coloring. She was not a perfect match to his unique patterning or coat mixture, bearing some of her mother's own, but she was closer than any of her siblings. A kind of mini-me. When he had spoken his goodbyes to his (now ex) lover and his children that had remained (for Bowie had left the Hollow before Arturo) he had thought he would never see them again. It had been a possibility that he had accepted with a heavy heart — but they were adults and their lives were their own to live and he had never once considered forcing them either way.

“Cearney,” Arturo nearly choked upon his not-so-little girl's name, unable to help the doubt that crept into his mind wondering if she was an illusion or if she was truly here with him, stopping as he drew near, not wanting to shatter the illusion if his hunger was driving him to madness.

Wrapping her tail around her paws for warmth, the canid let her golden eyes observe the blanket of darkness above her, the shimmering flecks of light reflecting in the black pupils of her orbs. The way they danced and flew, twisted and twined, it was almost as if they were painting pictures in the sky, memories perhapse, of sky-wolves embarking on an infinite hunt across the night. But what was beyond them, why were they there? The maiden did not know, and as she continued to gaze upwards, she felt her vision begin to fade black as she slipped into subconciousness.

A voice, sharp yet subtly awful woke the copper wolf from her short lived slumber. It was calling her name, something she had not heard from anyone's lips but her own for a long while. Like a dog to a bone, the lupin was drawn to the sound, rising unsteadily to her paws and locating the source of the call. As she neared the figure, she realised it was another canid, draped in shadows, yet one that bore virtually the same pigmented pelt as her own. His furnace yellow eyes mirrored that of her own... could it really be that this mysterious figure was her father? Surely not. For a long time she had come to accept his disappearance yet if she had made it this far, could it be possible that he had?

"Father?" With unsteady steps, the maiden walked stiffly towards the canid, her fur bristling with anticipation. Ears flat to her scalp, she stretched out her muzzle to breathe in his musty scent. It smelt foreign, nothing like the familiarity she was hoping for, but she was not one for giving up so easily. "Is it really you?"

The woman — no doubt his little victory (as her name translated to) — moved towards him, closing the distance on her side of the invisible barrier that existed between them. The Fearghal monarch's fiery orange-red gaze took her in with an unbidden desperation torn between wanting her to be real and wanting her to be an illusion. Madness was not something that he ever wanted for himself, mind, but he did not want her to know the hunger and desolation he'd known for the past couple of weeks. Despite his hope that life would once more flourish within these lands, he understood the simple notion that until it rebuilt itself (if at all) surviving the famine would be far from easy. It had been far from easy for him; and this sort of never-ending suffering was not something a father ever wanted for his children. It wasn't something Arturo wanted his children to know.

Arturo watched as Cearney approached, her movements stiff and the fur of her hackles bristling. This was not a posture that the gangster was accustomed to seeing — especially from his own children; but it seemed she was struggling to tell if he was truly there in flesh and bone, as he did. In some way, her trepidation (though it undoubtedly matched his own) caused an ache in his heart: a sharp pain that felt as if someone had shoved and twisted a knife into his heart. He took a moment to look her over as she reached out to inhale his scent — patient and still as the gentleman in him bid him be — looking for any physical signs that she was harmed or unwell. From the limited light the darkening skyline offered she appeared to be well — in one piece, at least; though he expected nothing else. She was a Fearghal after all. Raised with the courtesy and manners of a gangster but also with the ability to take care of her problems accordingly.

Arturo's rules had been simple: learn to partake in pack operations or look the other way; but there had been a higher bar set for his children: it was a family business after all. “It is me, my little victory,” Arturo spoke in response to her question. “I didn't think I would ever see you again.” To some degree, he'd expected it. Arturo wasn't one for false hopes. “Are you hurt? Have you been eating?” There was some small comfort in not going mad but her presence meant he would worry for her. As a father: he would always worry for her and her siblings. That wasn't anything Arturo could magically turn off simply because they'd grown and become adults; and she and her well being was his main priority at the moment.

She stood, head still bowed as her gaze dropped to the dull forest floor. She was sensing something in this wolf, father or not, a form of dark hunger clawing at him from the inside out. Nowadays, all creatures she had come across were painfully thin, their fur a bedraggled mess barely clinging onto the jutting bones, much like the brute that stood above her yet she knew the gnawing blackness was a trick of the mind and not a physical infliction. All the while, she was amazed at how collected he appeared to be, regarding her presence but barely moving an inch. Looking up at him now reminded the copper lupin of a true wolf; proud, stoic and chivalrous, bear-like; closer to how she remembered her sire to be than just an illusion dipped in shadows.

As he spoke, his words confirmed the last of her doubts. "You have been strong, father," she voiced, letting out a breath of air before burrowing her muzzle into the course fur on his shoulder. All tension built up in her frame was released the moment she made contact, the tremendous amount of weight and responsibility since his departure had diminished for the time being and she relished it. For the first time in days, she forgot about her hunger, forgot about the terrifying confines of the forest and silently thanked the stars, for if fate had lead their paths to cross, then fate certainly was a miracle.

"Me too." It was the terrible truth yet seeing him now in flesh and blood seemed to ease her mind of the thought. "No, I am not hurt. I've been eating all I can scavenge which, in truth, is not a lot." She sighed, her yellow gaze travelling up from the leaf litter to graze that of his own. "How about yourself?" It was a meagre query to make; she was bursting with thoughts that she just couldn't put into words, but this was all she could muster for now.

so i kind of wrote you a novel! :0 no need to match the length! <3

 

Arturo had built his reputation of being composed, even with death's teeth bared inches from his throat; this was no different. The threat of death was not so immediate as it would have been if the famine had been a physical beast or an enemy but it was still a threat that boldly Arturo would go to, as if it were the mouth of hell itself. Surviving was what their species did, enduring was what Arturo had done for majority of his life. This, the sovereign was no stranger to. She commented upon his strength and with a movement on Cearney's side the distance between them was closed and the father's muscles relaxed when he felt the pressure of his daughter's muzzle against his shoulder, and for the first time his composure cracked, expressing his emotion with a soft whine as he returned her embrace, resting his muzzle against her nape, breathing in her scent, allowing himself to believe that just like when she was a small infant and girl that she was where she was safest: in his arms (er...presence?) before their embrace broke and he took a step back. “As are you, Cearney, but you are a Fearghal and I expect nothing less.” There was weight beneath the family name he gave her and her siblings — and while he was not quick to discredit Duana's part in raising their children (for Arturo respected his ex-lover greatly) Cearney and her siblings were his pride and joy.

Arturo remembered her fondly as a newborn, as a infant, as a curious young child that adored the stars above; but too fast Cearney and her siblings had grown. In what felt like a blink of his eyes they were grown and some — Bowie, namely — were going their own way, forging their own paths. Though accepting that truth had brought a measure of heartbreak to the gangster he had not discouraged their desires, even if their desires whisked them away from the Hollow. They were Family forever, always welcomed even when wanderlust gripped them and romanced them into the unknowns of the world. Wanting to forge their own paths was not dissimilar from his own desires, and to reprimand them for it would only serve to make Arturo a hypocrite. “Pestilence stole through these lands and the famine is causing much suffering,” To the wolves, to the prey that remained. Unlike the herds, there were always the smaller woodland creatures that did not migrate and thus were left to suffer the slow decay as the wolves that ruled the Wilds. “I am alive, I am surviving,” Which was about as much as they could do, presently. “and we have found one another, Cearney. That is much to be grateful for.” It was more than enough — even if he felt the early masticate of worry for her well being.

“I had hoped to extend my empire to these Wilds, I still seek to do so, but the famine has made it an impossibility for now,” She had not asked, but she needn't to. She knew why he'd left Quicksilver Hollow — Arturo had not kept his intentions of his departure any sort of secret. “I am faced with what may be certain death if I continue to remain a loner, or to reascend and become a subordinate and live.” Not an easy thing for the Sovereign to do, nor to say; but this had ceased to be a matter of pride the moment he'd stepped into the skeletal Teekon Wilds. Arturo was a clever beast and was too smart to believe that the odds would remain in his favor. He was a smart man, not an arrogant one, or so he liked to believe.

“I do not know your plans or reasons for coming here but you know you are more than welcome to accompany me. If you wish to go your own way, I understand,” Arturo always would, he grasped the desire to be one's own wolf very well. “but my offer will always stand.” Arturo had no idea which pack he would turn to but he felt the pressing need bearing down upon him. Sometimes, he knew, you had to take a few steps back to get further even if the process of being reminded that he was not in charge or control would, no doubt, be a painful one for him.

The It felt like such an honour, more comforting though, to be reunited with her sire; she had certainly admired his leadership of the Hollow alongside her grandmother. Life had been so easy and simple back then, with plentiful numbers of prey and the ease and relaxation of pack life. Memories of her and her band of siblings wrestling in the dust were vivid in her mind as she devoted their brief moment of contact fondly to those moments, yet she didn't fully understand his reasons for leaving. Yes, from what she could recall, his mother had been a vigilant leader, always stoically leading the legion to success. Judging by that, she could understand why he felt the need to break free of her shadow yet she could not compare it to anything she'd ever felt.

His whine was pearcing to her ears and she mumbled an inaudible reply, tail waving behind her as they parted and he took a step backwards. With his scent still ticking her glands, she relaxed onto her haunches and listened intently as he spoke. Pride welled up in her chest as he returned the compliment, yet his words had a compassionate sense of responsibility and expectation threaded throughout and, as much as she wanted to please her family, part of her wanted to curl up and escape the pressurising words of her father. Nodding her head in acknowledgement, she tried not to let her discomfort show through as she opened her maw to reply to his statements.

"I respect that," she continued to hold his gaze as she spoke. His tales of the famine were not new to the maiden; the carnage she had seen proved that; and she had been lucky not to have been around when the horrifying event had occurred. A pang of worry forced its way up into her mind as she thought back to her brother who had departed before her father had. She had not heard from him since that day, nor had he ever returned (not that she had expected him to anyway) yet she still felt the need to cease her panic and ask about his existence. "About Bowie," she started, dipping her gaze as to shield her concern, "Have you seen him? Is he still alive?" But as her father continued to speak, his calm words made the topic of her lost sibling vague and non important.

She greatly admired his imperialistic view, and his want for an alliance; something which Cearney had not considered yet. It certainly would ensure a higher survival rate for the copper girl as taking down larger prey would be a lot easier with a group of canids, yet since there seemed to be little to no larger life around, she didn't see much point in being accepted into a legion at this point in time. "I fear death," she spoke quietly, "Yet I do not wish to dedicate my life for the good of another pack just yet." Quicksilver Hollow had been her dedication since she was a puppy, and although the prospect of losing her life to these Wilds was prominent, she was afraid, for the most part, that they wouldn't compare to her kin. It was an idiotic reason to be afeared, but she continued with little hesitation. "I love you father and and will back up any decisions you choose to make. Nonetheless, am more than grateful that our paths have intertwined once more. I will not turn down your offer, but I don't feel ready for the weight of contributing to pack life to once more be put upon my shoulders for now. Though for the future, I might reconsider it, especially as times are tough these days."

Cearney and her siblings would always be the light of Arturo's life, even when he had new young ones to raise, even if his adult children no longer needed him the way they had as small children. This was only natural progression, he reminded himself, they were not the small children they'd once been, nor would they ever be. He was immeasurably proud of them all: Bain, Bowie, Cearney and Devin. Proud and thankful for their existence in his life ...even if the idea of being a father had startled and shook the gangster to his core when Duana had confessed her pregnancy to him. At that point in his life, being a father was not something Arturo had ever aspired to be but now that he had discovered it's joy he could not think of anything else he wanted — that wasn't entirely selfish, that was.

Their topic shifted to Bowie and she raised a question about her brother, but it was not an inquiry that Arturo readily had an easy answer to. Arturo tried not to worry about his children: he and Duana had raised them, after all. They knew how the Family operated and Arturo had unbridled faith that they would adhere to the Family's rules (for one was always apart of it and a representative of it even when they left) and knew how to act accordingly: whether it was as simple as survival or getting out of a spot of trouble. They, each of them, could take care of themselves, Arturo and his subordinates had seen to that. After a while, Arturo's lips parted to break his silence and when he spoke his deep voice had taken a softened edge, “I have not seen him since he left the Hollow, but do not fret too much Cearney. Bowie will take care of himself, I have no doubt that he lives still.” Granted, no one was an exception from circumstance nor mother nature but Arturo had to hold onto the hope that his second son was alive and well.

Arturo understood her reasoning for turning down his offer. Not a complete rejection, she'd assured him, but for now it was what she stood by. A sage nod was given and the coywolf swallowed thickly, heavy laden with the emotions and, perhaps, tickle of anxiety of having to part ways with his daughter not just so soon after they'd been reunited but with the imminent threat of death that was all that the famine promised them. “When I find a place to ride out this famine, I will see what I can do to see you a potential acceptance, should you decide to join me.” The idea that it would not, ultimately, be his decision made Arturo internally balk but this was what he was faced with and certainly not the first time in his life the Sovereign had been forced to humble himself and bow and take orders from another to advance himself.

Arturo lasped into a comfortable silence for a few moments, but he was not so ready to part ways with her yet, and wished to move onto a topic less...melancholy. “How is your mother, is she well?” Arturo respectfully inquired after Duana's well-being. She had not followed him, choosing to stay behind to aid Boadicea with the Hollow and they had mutually ended their relationship with one another. Easy to do if because they had never actually been official. Arturo was known for his wandering eye, though he'd only had one other potential lover which had not panned out — or rather with his departure from the Hollow had never had a chance to blossom into what he had with Duana. Still, Arturo cared about his ex-lover, harboring an affection that a man held towards the mother of his children that he could not claim that he loved. He turned his fiery orange-red gaze back upon his daughter, awaiting for some type of news of his mother hoping that Duana was faring well.

They shared idle news with one another and after a goodbye parted ways though Arturo was confident he would see her again in the future.

edited a conclusion onto this so it could be archived. c: