Big Salmon Lake gwaed

vaguey vague about injuries, yadda yadda. set for 10/23. @Hydra

By some stroke of luck, he has survived, but his life comes at a cost--the enormous, heavy yoke of guilt around his neck.

It weighs him down, step by step; he cannot keep his mind off all that had gone wrong. Ceara, still missing. Tegan--alive? Dead? He does not know. Blackfeather is still extant, and he is still only halfway home. His wounds have healed poorly, crusting over only to break open again, and one or two of them show the beginning signs of infection. He is drained, physically and spiritually.

The golden prince sags to a halt by the lake and thrusts his muzzle thirstily down to the water, drinking and drinking. It keeps his mind off everything else for a little while, so he takes solace in the coolness of the water against his ragged throat. Once the drinking has stopped, though, reality closes in on him again like cave walls.

Llewellyn reclines back on his haunches, icy droplets streaming through the thick hair at his neck. He is bloody and battered, and his eyes see things that are not there.

He is a gilded statue on the shore. As still as marble, and just as cold.

Hydra had sought her golden prince as soon as she was able. Knowing Andalusia was an able medic, along with Speedy, Hydra brought @Lyra with her. There was much Hydra needed to ascertain once she found him, but first was to make sure he was safe. She headed toward Blackfeather Woods with the motive to kill first, ask questions later. The path to Llewellyn would be she and her sister's veritable red carpet event. Whatever it took. She needed two, at the end of this all: he, and the bastard Titmouse—

She thought too soon. Shuddering alongside the Lake was a sorry picture of the man she knew, and Hydra gestured toward Lyra, who made her way to his side quicker than she. The Beta, for her own part, stopped completely. She looked to @Arcturus, and to @Revui. Smell him, and if you catch wind of any wearing such a scent in this territory, alert me—like so— she paused and made a noise for them to utilize, something base enough for Revui to know to mimic (the sound was boarish, so the enemy might believe they might have heard wildlife as opposed to wolf) and kill them, she commanded. She would join them in their efforts upon reception of the noise. The territory they were in was not so large as for her to miss it. A glance to @Alya let her know she wanted her to supervise them, but remain close...

Her gaze shifted. As she looked upon her packmate, she could not help but wonder if it was truly this easy to happen upon him so. Was this an ambush? Hydra's nose lifted to sniff at the wind before she trotted toward the battered man, licking her chops.

this might have been a novel chance for the boys to leave home, but arcturus knew it was no field trip. there was a purpose to that slinking, gunslinger walk of hydra's -- he mimicked her assured prowl, padding after her in the manner of some dark jungle cat.

eventually they came upon what it was she was looking for. arcturus paused alongside the tall flank of his sister, his breath caught - for before them stood the lustrous, unmistakable fur of their packmate -- yet it was battered, hammered down and devoid of sheen.

arcturus perked at hydra's stern command, and without motion of sympathy or concern, stepped towards the bloodspattered man. he drew his nose along the rufuous tinted cape of the auric knight, detecting hints of wolfscent heavily colluded by the metallic tang of blood.

he could make no use of it; he stepped back, allowing both his brother and hydra to make their own rounds.

A burning fire had been set alight in her chest, and only blood would extinguish it. Loathe as she was to leave her wounded father so soon, she couldn't deny the ache in her bones that demanded her to exact revenge. To finally snuff the life out of that sorry excuse of a wolf named Screech. Titmouse. Whatever. He had caused so much suffering and chaos. The rat had to die.

The warpath the triplets and their two brothers were on ground to a sudden halt, however, as they spotted a familiar, golden figure on the edge of the lake. Blood marred his sovereign image, while the weight of the world seemed to be pressing down upon his usual proud demeanour. Lyra rushed to close the distance between herself and her packmate as Hydra slowed, giving instructions to the boys and Alya.

She inspects Llewellyn's wounds as she draws closer, eyes scanning his figure. "Those will need to be reopened," she said, noting the dried blood and crusted scabs. The distinct scent of an infection permeated the air. "And cleaned in the water." A black figure materialises beside her to take in the man's scent, and Lyra glances down at Arcturus before moving slightly to allow his brother to follow.

He was more than ready for this adventure, he thought. This was a long overdue event. He would prove himself to be equally as capable as the esteemed Cerberus, finally getting to taste the blood of their enemies. The shadow might have been sleuthing with the sisters, but Revui held a more determined stride. Around him flowed his shadowed accomplices; none would see them coming, he thought. They would see him lunging across the world alone, vicious, and ready.

They moved towards the lake where the scent of blood became prevalent - and whether it was an enemy or an ally, Revui felt his own blood burn, his steps lengthening until the group came upon the ruined warrior. It came as a shock to Revui that this man, who had put effort in to teaching him, was in this state. The boy's mind stalled; he heard what Hydra commanded, the sound she taught, but was distracted by the crimson and maroon hues covering Llewellyn.

He does not know whether solitude is what he craves or if it just adds to the crushing weight around him. Whatever the case, the imperious sons and daughters of Ame and Charon are the last wolves he wants to see him in this state, and he ducks his head, abashed. As if he can will them away with his mind--ah, alas.

Hydra, Llewellyn croaks, when a greeting cannot be avoided. He stands up, wincing as the motion exacerbates his wounds further. The prince shoots Lyra a grateful glance at her instructions, though they will be painful. Do what needs to be done, he rumbles, pain etched like scars over his face.

He gives a quiet, solemn nod to the boys, then turns his gaze back to Hydra, a scowl painting his normally-stern visage even more grave. Blackfeather Woods, he says simply, tilting his head back toward the southeast. I left with Tegan, a young man of the Redhawks, because a friend of mine, Ceara, was missing. I suspected her to be captured by the Blackfeather wolves, whom she had conflicted with before.

Llewellyn shakes his head. We could not find her. Tegan and I were separated, and I received no useful information. Eventually, I left. I could not do it alone. A growl bubbles in his throat. She is still there, somewhere. They are back to their old tricks, Hydra. She told me about the war, about the dreadful things they have done. They must be snuffed out, or the land will never know peace.

She noted Arcturus, who found no scent of distinction to go off of. For her own part, Hydra sniffed and gestured to a spot she knew smelled of no one single culprit—that she could not depict, among the myriad of scents he earned when trespassing—but of the whole. The Ostrega listened to the golden man all the while, noting the stillness of her silver brother. Hydra made a new noise, and Alya reacted to it, minding him. 

It was a good thing they found Llewelyn, then. Best to know now how one might react to the aftermath of battle. It was one thing to hear it, another thing altogether to see it. 

I know, she informed, her voice, for the moment, devoid of anything. But as she continued, her voice was rich with her disappointment: We found Tegan, and he informed us—I understand you did what you must for a friend of yours, but had you told any of us, you would not have needed to go alone. Were it not for Tegan, we would be none the wiser. You could have died, and we might not have ever known, and if we had, I do not imagine the way we might come upon such information would be good. For Moonspear. For himself. She knew the way they littered their borders with skulls; he might have become a decoration. He might have been brought to Moonspear should they wish to trespass in turn. 

As for the war, and the things that he had learned? We were meant to aid the Redhawks. Had we been there, perhaps they would have never returned, or been eradicated entirely, but we were not informed of when they moved to march. She sighed a little. As it is, perhaps it will come to that now. We will see. The most important thing now is for you to recover, she decided. He did not look good, and she wondered if he would be able to fight with them at all when the time came. And at that, she gestured for Lyra to act as she must, all the while listening to her subordinate should he have more to say.

he kept his distance from the family as they moved about the golden knight, inspecting the bloodied rift of his pelt. arcturus took careful care to keep his gaze from revui's, and his distance just as evasive. he had not forgotten the anger that had overcame him a few nights' prior, nor would he ever forget the shocked look of unhappy hurt on revui's face.

shame snaked its way around his tender insides, constricting.

he was there, listening as the adults droned on -- but truly, arcturus' mind was thousands of miles away, forlorn and unreachable.

Lyra is PPC, and if yall are OK, I'll close us up here?

Revui removed himself from direct contact with Llewellyn; he didn't want to see the warrior in such a state, feeling quite unnerved by the whole situation, so he placed himself on alert and began to monitor the surroundings instead. The scent of the older wolf's wounds was starting to work its way through the boy though, and no matter where he looked or how precisely he was guarding the group, Revui thought the scent was following him. Eventually Hydra would have words with the wounded soldier — and as Arcturus chose to extricate himself, Revui did the same, following after the shadow. Once the group began to get a move on Revui kept to the rear of the caravan of wolves and while he remained mindful of his role here, the strange twisting of his gut did not abate.

Her words and tone hurt worse than the wounds marring his body. He ducks his head, unable to meet her gaze, shame burning in his own eyes. The prince takes in all the information he can, nodding his head at her command to recover. Yes, Llewellyn murmurs, completely cowed. I. . . The apology stuck in his throat like a bone. He swallows hard and continues on, voice still hushed, empty.

I am sorry. I should have thought. With that, he falls silent and lets Lyra tend to his wounds, ignoring any stares thrown his way by the Moonspear wolves. The guilt is more than enough to bear. He will recover. . .and hopefully recover their trust, as well.