Swiftcurrent Creek A branch became a blade of dignity

Wylla's hindquarters rocked side-to-side as she quickly calculated the distance between her position and the grazing rabbit. Several feet. Easily cleared in a single leap for a nimble wolf like she, though she had some extra weight kicking around that might hinder her. Closer, then. The Epsilon inched one paw forward along the detritus, disturbing nary a worm. Her tail gave a slow sweep just above the ground, buffeting long blades of grass and the edge of a curled fern, before she slid her other feet forward as well.

Crap. The hare's head shot up and its ears shifted nervously on its head, but though its beady eyes scanned past her, it couldn't make out the mottled she-wolf from the forest shadows. This was her element. Curse whatever fate had brought her to live upon the bright and battered coast for most of her life when she could've reaped the benefits of her unique fur in a sun-dappled forest instead. Now to make up for lost time.

The fleet Epsilon flexed her toes one last time, then burst from her cover with a quick snap of long back legs. There was the sound of a brief scuffle, the raucous chorus of birds fleeing the scene despite their safety in the trees, and then silence as the hungry mother tucked into her meal, the first fresh-caught meat she'd had in weeks. All the while her demeanor was vaguely nervous and rushed, and she kept glancing southward, where her babe was tucked safe in their den, practicing her standing, unbeknownst to the hunter.

he had not immediately set off to find her, knowing that much time had transpired between their spaced departures from grimnismal. mahler knew nothing of ingram or the child that had been born to wylla — the musiker had set about repaying constantine's generosity by filling what caches were near the center of the territory.
today was no exception; a weasel swung from mahler's jaws as he moved quietly through the land as of yet unexplored. movement caught the hard lavender eyes; the dappled brute was silent, though his foreclaws dug into the earth in a gesture he could not hide when wylla broke from cover.
graceful as she had always been — mahler noted how her meal was marred by a singular distraction, and he too glanced in the direction the she-wolf did. aware now that the polite amount of time in which he could feasibly observe another without being regarded as strange was passing, the charcoal shadow emerged from where the tree-shade had let him blend, dropping his kill as he moved.
"vylla." mahler could not quite keep the roil of stoic delight from rising beneath his quiet tones, and found for once he did not wish to do so.

There was some part of her that should have been pleased for any news from Grimnismal, specifically the news that it had gone up in flames under Caiaphas' leadership. She would find nothing but cynical joy in that bitch failing so astronomically after acting like she owned the place. But there was a much larger part of her that was desperately repressing the thought of her brother's demise, along with the shame and pain of their disrespect that she'd been able to forget since coming to Swiftcurrent, that recoiled sharply when that "vuh" sound at the beginning of her name hit the air.

She might once have been happy to see Mahler but as her eyes slowly lifted to meet his lilac-studded features, she was frozen instead. Her tail gave a tense flick at the tip and then she was rising, the remains of the rabbit dangling from unsheathed teeth as she snarled bodily at him. She might once have been pleased to see him had it been sooner after she stepped down, but now he was just a reminder of all the things she'd lost—Grimnismal, her title, her self-respect and self-esteem both, Lycaon when she'd left, Ingram when he'd died—and that reminder was sorely unwanted.

stonelike, mahler sank to the earth beneath the reaction of one wolf he had ever desired to follow. the dark slate of his ears swept backward against his broad skull; he blinked confusedly at wylla in a muted expression of distress.
that grimnismal had disbanded was no fault of hers — perhaps she felt that he would accuse her of such, but no words to smooth that concept arrived upon his tongue. or perhaps it was simply him who inspired such ire in the silver she-wolf — mahler knew her first impression of him had been one of arrogance.
it was swiftly that the musiker's thoughts passed; mahler felt suddenly the press of the ground against his prone from, and something altogether unfamiliar beating salt behind his lavender gaze.
unable suddenly to control the rapid blinking that had begun to assail him, nor understanding the emotion that had gripped him so fiercely, he shifted away from wylla and found his footing. not until he stumbled over his own kill did mahler pause, and then only to peer fleetingly at the woman, fearing another iteration of her wrath before he was able to obscure himself once more in the thicker woodland.

A better creature might have viewed Mahler's reaction and been hit in the chest with a mallet of guilt, but not Wylla. Her tail twitched back and forth as she watched him crouch and then scuttle away, all the while pinning her ears high over her head. It wasn't that he had done anything to wrong her, but he was the unfortunate specter who was now taking the blame for it simply by being here. Wylla was as illogical and unthinking as they came when throwing blame around. As long as the crosshair wasn't on her or her brothers, she didn't care who got hit by stray bullets; Mahler was the unfortunate victim of redirection.

She stared coldly at the spot he had disappeared for a short while, then stooped to collect the remainder of her rabbit. She found a place somewhere near the creek to bury it, marked it with a quick scrape of her paws for a pack mate to enjoy, and then retired to her den with an ear in her jaws for Tiercel's amusement.

part of the musiker wished to stop, wished to pause, to turn and to ask of her why she regarded him so. without hope of reason, mahler would not understand. and yet it was not his place to demand any such thing of wylla; her meaning was clear, and clearly taken. 
and yet it was with a heavier tread that mahler departed far from her company. he would not seek it again — he did not pause at his own densite, but left swiftcurrent for the remainder of the day. beyond the borders, it was pensiveness that gripped him, the sense of loyalty to constantine pitted against his desire to disappear and seek out warmer climes.