Redhawk Caldera The governer rests under the stars

When the trail had begun to go cold and the stars had been replaced by the pallid light of dawn, Shrike finally turned on wavering legs and headed back home toward his packlands. The exhausted male had tracked the rogue murderer as fast as he could since little Peter had been killed, but had been behind from the very start, and had had no chance of making up the distance between them. Even less so when the male hadn't eaten since before the ordeal and had taken little to no time to sleep.

The sun had begun to warm his back by the time he crossed back into the borders and he could tell by the temperature that ot would be a hot afternoon. Queazy from exhaustion, he traipsed back into the pack's claimed lands and with hazy eyes he sought out a small spot of shade beneath a shrub.

He'd alerted his pack to his mission when Peter had first been killed, and again when he'd traced the killer back to the pack and away again. With heaviness in his heart, he called out feebly, sorrowfully announcing his failure before he collapsed in a panting heap in the shade.

Since joining the caldera wolves, Nashoba's wandering had not been entirely aimless, but, outside of hunting, she found herself meandering through the territory, exploring her new home. She expected that, with time, she would gain more of a purpose, but for now, her tenure in this land was still new, and she was still familiarizing herself with the whole situation.

She had not met many of her packmates, apart from Elwood. They had all seemed distant, wracked by some crisis Nashoba knew nothing about. So she had kept her distance from most of them, doing her own thing for the most part, seeking out food for the alphas' young pups. Therefore, she was surprised to stumble across a silvery-gray wolf laying in the shade of a shrub, looking defeated. He had the scent of her pack, and he had cried out in what sounded like grief; his silver eyes were sorrowful.

Nashoba weighed her options, hesistant. The kind thing to do would be to approach and offer some sort of solace to the gray. But kindness, nor empathy, had ever really come easy to her. She was hardened by her experiences, and emotions were things she did not handle easily. Nevertheless, she padded over and sat next to the wolf, not looking directly into his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Her tone was a little wooden, she being unused to words of comfort, but she said the words anyway, waiting for his response.

Shrike couldn't quite sort out how he felt, nor could he process the events that had taken place since he'd first come upon Eljay huddled over the torn apart body of Peter. He hadn't grieved, he hadn't seen Fox or Peregrine since that day, he hadn't even taken care of himself. Truth be told, he felt little other than numbness from the sheer exhaustion, and had been holding back every emotion whilst he'd hunted the female down savagely. Anger was the only emotion he'd felt. 

Thus, when he caught the scent of another wolf approaching that he did not recognize, his lips pulled back and he uttered a short but harsh growl, tongue flicking over his dry lips as he quieted himself. She was a member of the pack, and not the killer. He lay his head back down on the ground with a hollow thud and was prepared to ignore her, figuring she might just pass him by. Instead, though, he could sense her near him, and when he rolled his eyes in her direction, he could see that the stone-faced female had taken a seat near him, like a quiet sentinel. 

Her question lacked empathy, which he did not particularly appreciate, but Shrike wouldn't have had the sense to appreciate much at that moment. He growled softly in response, but his tone was much gentler, clearly mor aimed inwardly than anything. "Couldn't find murderer." He replied, voice harsh and dry. He closed his eyes silently, turning his ears back as he continued to lay motionless and flat on his side on the ground.

She knew not what the silver wolf was going through, and when he spoke at last, his struggle remained a mystery to her. Murderer? she thought incredulously. What murderer? Instead of voicing the question, though, she remained silent for a while, bowing her head with as much sympathy she could muster. "I'm sorry," she offered after several long moments, managing to inject a little more warmth into her tone this time.

The wiry gray was healthy enough, despite the famine, but he was clearly troubled by something--Nashoba caught the acrid smells of anger and adrenaline clinging to his coat. Something was bothering him, something having to do with a murderer--whatever that meant. Perhaps, if this wolf would not tell her, she would ask Elwood later about the situation.

Sorry. 

No one had said that to him, and for some reason, it didn't seem appropriate. Peter had been one of four pups, and Ferret was the only one with whom Shrike had bonded at all, if you could even call it bonding. He hadn't known Peter- wouldn't have been able to describe the pup's personality in detail if he'd tried, as he'd only known the whelp, as well as two of his brothers, as a nice young lad. Not disobedient and sharp like Ferret was, and perhaps that was why Shrike hadn't gotten to know him. He felt guilty, having someone apologize to him, when he felt sadness mostly because he knew Fox and Peregrine and Eljay felt it. He hadn't known Peter well enough to have developed a proper attachment. 

With that in mind, he took a few more moments in quiet and rest before he finally stirred. His legs felt like jelly and his heart groaned at the thought of being pushed again, but he knew the alpha pair needed someone on the lookout for the murderer. "I'll show you her scent." Shrike said feebly, hauling himself almost unwillingly to his feet. He swung his head slowly toward her again, eyes dull but stern. "We all gotta be watching out for her. She come back after she killed him, once." He explained. "I figure it's best we all know what she smells like in case she comes back again." He said, waiting for her to accept his proposal.