Tormented Tarns you got time to reconcile with your fear
so lay your hands across
my beating heart, love
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Ooc — Rhys
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#1
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Even with the first real successful snow, the tarns were still a muddy mess. Dirge couldn't remember the last time he had been here on his own and frankly, he would not have been surprised if the answer was that he had never been here alone at all. Truth be told, the first and last time he had come to the watered down mudhole of a forest had been well into his journey to the wilderness, though far from a simpler time. Long before Saor and Nyx had gone their separate ways from him; the memory welcomed itself in the moment he had a vague sense of where he was.

Above him, the divide of regions rose proud and tall. Towering spires were glittery in the early morning, the world quiet as he progressed and forged his own path over and through the snow. The chill that lingered here seemed bold in spite of the sparse snowfall, but it was a stark sign that the season would be swiftly changing. Another year set to end, though to him it wouldn't have been the start of another until the snow melted. Why on earth he was out here of all places knowing such was another story altogether—he shouldn't have been.

Stubborn as ever, an attribute that was hard to say which lineage it descended from, he persisted in the cold when wiser creatures would turn to safety and the long term; to settle and wait for better weather. He just needed to clear his head, so absconding to elsewhere and getting caught out in the light snow that blanketed the earth gently as much as it did his coat seemed logical. The skies hadn't cleared entirely either; he was bound to be in for more within the hour.

He wondered, briefly, if abandoning the weald had been a wise decision.

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330 Posts
Ooc — Talamasca
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#2
He had been waiting for Merrit for some time and, when the boy failed to arrive for his latest lesson, he grew impatient. Not worried, not angry, but impatient. The man had grown bitter after spending so long within this valley; he had come to this place anticipating danger, perhaps combat, and had half a mind to start a war just so he could feel more at home, and yet all he could find were passive wolves raising weak-willed children. He did not dislike Merrit. Truthfully, Tulimaq thought the boy held much potential. A part of him wanted to assume control of the boy's future in a rare show of paternal instinct — and that would start some kind of war, but Tulimaq did not want to enrage an entire valley just for shits and giggles. He was eager, not stupid.

But, yes. He waited due south for the boy to arrive, and when the light began to haze over from cloud-cover and winter winds, Tulimaq found something else to do. He traveled south across the fields and foothills, scouring the grassland for signs of prey so that he could at least get some blood pumping. The further he went, the lighter he felt. His frustration ebbed away as he crossed through the valley, until he came upon the lower hills of the mountain range.

The ground was boggy but the cold had solidified most of it. There were patches of pale white where the trees did not cover the soil, and Tulimaq was pleased to see it. The first bits of snow heralded the cold season and he anticipated the struggle — in a way, longed for it — and plunged himself across the snow-capped tarn. Thoughts of food were briefly banished as Tulimaq gave in to his whims, feeling the crunch of the snow and snapping at patches, feeling it melt on his tongue.

He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, but some of those sounds continued — and thus he was made alert. He looked around but did not immediately see the other wolf until they moved again (if they moved again), and his ears pivoted towards them. Tulimaq lost all thoughts of play as he watched the stranger, letting out a small snort from his nose to simultaneously focus his senses and greet the wolf. A bit of snow fell away from his snout, giving him a grizzled appearance.
so lay your hands across
my beating heart, love
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#3
Around the bogs he went, careful not to get his already damp feet any more wet. A minor chill even in this weather could easily turn to something worse, but it was one of many pitfalls available to all of them with the late season. His gait was quick as he traveled along the breaks of earth between the small ponds; it was easy to cast the illusion he was headed somewhere when in fact he had no real quest to embark on.

The thought of Hydra's offer came to haunt him as he deftly stepped over a long rotten log—how easy it would be just to simply throw in with her and and her kin, which by some convoluted extension was really his kin too. But he hardly claimed one heritage over another, didn't feel any more an Ostrega or a Winterheart than he had as a child. Maybe, he thought, perhaps maybe it was some long deep seated fear that he was too much like one or the other, and perhaps that was why even now he forged his own path rather than take food from the hand that was offering it to him.

A delicate cropping of trees shaded him soon thereafter, and a rousing bird not yet bed down for the day's inclement weather sang a couple of notes. A prompt he took it then, to abandon the thought. He would ride this out like he had any other crossroads decision, eventually taking the inevitable path that would make things easier for him. Winter's arrival was not to be gambled with; it was the greatest predator there was.

At the exiting edge of the copse, he heard the call of another. Short, low, but enough to garner his attention and draw his gaze away from the course ahead. Dirge returned it with the same effort, a passing hello, but did not take his eyes far from the sight of the other wolf. How much things had changed along this particular pocket of earth was unknown to him and thus he had reason to be wary, but not quite a reason to stop yet.

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#4
In another life, maybe with more attention spent on vanity and the beauty within the world rather than his current obsession with conquering it, Tulimaq may have found the stranger beautiful. Regardless of if that was a platonic sensation or not, the stranger that he'd spotted — who somehow still eluded him in fits and starts through the marsh — was attractive. This version of Tulimaq, here and now, was drawn to the beast's size and youth. He heard a returned call and was pleased to have garnered their attention but a part of him thought, in hindsight, he should have remained silent so he could investigate the beast and the terrain.

Either way, he could learn of this wolf. They did not seem pleased with the territory (or maybe it was the snow, but that seemed preposterous to Tulimaq; wolves thrived in snow and were adapted to it the best, and he would not entertain the thought of someone being anti-snow for long). As he sought a path through the snow, unhindered by the layers of it and equally unbothered by the sucking of the mud at his paws. Soon he was exposed, sliding along a wet incline of thin, slushy, icy stone cutting a thin line through the muck. When Tulimaq stopped he was glancing down at his paws, flexing his toes and testing the earth in case of instability. It was an abrupt entrance and one that left him feeling a little silly.
so lay your hands across
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The distraction moved out of his line of sight and the notion of it even being there passed, leaving him once more to his own devices, and more importantly to his chagrin, his thoughts. Rather it was more like the disorganization of said thoughts—the real distraction here—that swarmed him one after another, apparently endless. While he was busy weighing pros and cons, he did not pay attention to the fact that the wolf he had passed by was falling into line with him at a distance. At least, he didn't notice initially, or notice if he had tried to flag him down further.

What cued him in was the distinct sound of mud squelching as the wolf crossed the marshy earth. An ear turned back and heard this, caught it well, and disregarded it. It was when that distinct sound ceased that stirred him from his rousing internal debate and gave him that reason to pause. His gaze scanned the horizon as his head turned, and he found the wolf in an examination of his own... and closer. Much closer than their initial trade of greeting, but at least he was alone. Most of his little excursions had always included crossing paths with at least one, as more than one usually entailed being close to a pack.

The wolf was either bold, or needy.

And the same could have been said about him, too.

Dirge regarded him pointedly, almost cut from stone the way his posture straightened, and words managed to work their way out. ”Wouldn't recommend trying to keep up with me by walking through the next one,” he said. ”If you're thinking the mud's bad between your toes, just wait until you're up to your shoulders in it.” He would have known—Saor and Nyx had eventually shoved him into one.

word count: 302
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#6
It wasn't the worst feeling in the world, but it certainly wasn't a pleasant one. Tulimaq stood there for about twenty seconds before the stranger took notice, and when he heard the voice flowing across the tarn towards him. His ears twitched first, and then as he drew himself away from the mud patch and on to some more solid earth, he turned to regard the stranger; they did not seem threatening save for the strength that was inherently there, the strength that Tulimaq found himself coveting in the back of his mind. He wished he could be as large and intimidating as some of his Tartok kin — or even closer in size to this beast, even if he seemed a tad on the lean side.

It was good advice though. Some of this mud wallows must have been quite deep if they reached the tall man's shoulders, and if Tulimaq were to fall victim to those patches he'd likely be up to his cheeks in mud. He nods his understanding, finding his footing on a patch that is quite solid and smells distinctly like the wild creature in his company. He detects notes of ash and sulfur, and salt, like the sea that he misses desperately. This stranger appears to have traveled far.

Where do you come from? You do not smell like the mountains or the grassland north of here. Not like his own scent, which had been gradually shifting away from the ice-and-stone mixture of the north to accommodate a more windswept, herbal, grassy smell; some sort of autumn mixture bleeding in to winter.
so lay your hands across
my beating heart, love
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The lad seems to take the words to heart, but Dirge couldn't help but wonder if he was all there to begin. Especially with an opening question like that. Maybe it's the weariness of the world getting to him, or maybe it's the decisions before him that he must decide rather than default on that made him set his jaw evenly. The bratty child not willing to pick one but to want both when the world simply decrees that it cannot be. Yet he is no stranger to the fact that life is not fair, nor the reminder that it is not that frequently came crashing in.

”Far away from here, I assure you,” he answers, dismissively. This was probably another scout let loose to the wilderness. Go forth and find something useful to bring back—how bitter the thought he toyed with. ”What of you, hm? Did you come down from the mountains to play in the mud?” This time it turned derisive; the words left his mouth before he entirely had a handle on them. So much for that mask of solid stoicism, apparently he was going to throw that the hell away too.

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Their conversation began with a sour note. His ears flicked back for a split second, not liking the tone of the man's voice. He's reminded again of Merrit — but really, any child. Because this beastly wolf sounds like a foolish boy rather than a man. But he doesn't let on that he's irritated beyond that little motion. Tulimaq could lie but he has not started lying yet, not to anyone he's come across. It seems like a good habit to continue.

I'm not from around here at all, he counters. The warrior may have been lingering in the valley for a few weeks of late, but it wasn't home. None of the packs were good enough for him, strong enough, nor did they have anyone of great skill for him to best. He felt like the strongest of the lot (and maybe he was, maybe he wasn't) — when in Tartok, he had been of middling skill. His lessons had mostly completed when he took on his mission.

I'm from much further north. To be honest.. I should've stayed there. The valley I've been roaming is full of children. Bitch, moan, bitch, moan. He didn't mind sounding judgmental, although it came off as sounding more like the sentiments of a crotchety old man (another resemblance to his grandfather he would likely never give up).

He clears his throat, and a moment later shakes some of the mud from his coat — and once the mixed browns settled back in to place, Tulimaq glanced over at his sullen companion. I advise avoiding the valley entirely if you value your time.
so lay your hands across
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#9
A valley of children? It left him wondering just how many packs were there. Presumably ones that were able to support themselves well if they were teeming with children, though if his own upbringing was any indicator, it did not necessarily take good support to bring children into the world. Poor planning certainly had something to do with it, at least in the case of some. Maybe if he had a more nurturing environment he would have turned out differently too. But there was little point in dwelling on it; the granite wolf seemed less pleased with where he was versus the manner Dirge had offered.

”Duly noted,” he said, only then to take his gaze off the wolf and to the sloping edge of the valley. ”Best to avoid them in general if they've young around. Not worth being mistaken for a intruder if I'm in the wrong place. It does gets better the further west you go though, if you're truly looking to be away from children.” He found an even kneel somewhere in the midst of his dialogue, shaking the derisive foot he had started off of.

His gaze came back to the wolf, this time curious.

”Is there anything more interesting than that? I haven't traveled through this part before, only the northern regions. How many packs?” He didn't know how willing his company would be, but he would try to obtain a bit more information either way. Perhaps try and smooth out the rough start he had created. And if it didn't work, then it didn't, and he would find out for himself.

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#10
They seemed to be on equal footing now. Both travelers, homeless and looking for greener pastures. Tulimaq wanted to know more about where this wolf came from; what sort of blood ran in his veins? Did he have ties to Tartok, and if not — perhaps he could recruit him. But Tulimaq was no recruiter. There was no outpost for him to escort anyone to, no issumatar to pass judgement. He let the idea slide.

Hearing of the west was good enough. It sounded like these wilds went on for quite a while, which intrigued him. Tulimaq gave a shrug as his response to the question; then, after thinking a moment he said, I encountered three different packs. There is one in the shadow of the mountain, alongside a river. In the center of the valley is a passive family, which intrigued me. And then due north of them is a newly settled pack — migrants from the mountains, they said. Of the three groups I'd be most wary of them, as they're the only beasts in the valley that show any sign of strength or prowess. He was thinking of his spontaneous spar with their guardsman (Terance), which had been quite thrilling.

Then again, maybe this wolf was looking for somewhere calm to settle. Tulimaq could have warned about the mountain-sized wolf of Easthollow (Greyback) but chose to withhold that; the old man was mighty in size but as meek as a vole from what he could discern, so he was no threat. He was still itching to know if all that bulk was muscle, and if that giant could pack a punch — but his mind began to wander, curious about the West and of what this stranger might have seen. After a moment to let all the information sink in, Tulimaq asked, What of the west? I imagine it is not void of life. My hunt for sparring partners has run a little dry.
so lay your hands across
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Three packs, which added to at least the two others he was aware of further north past the mountains, made for a region that was positively teeming with wolves. How close together they were was another story, at least for part of them. Dirge found it intriguing that two would set up shop so close to one another and from there, made the decision that he would more than likely investigate them from a decent vantage point. And if there was a certain prowess to be found, that distance would serve him well. He wasn't keen on seeing teeth set to his hide.

”Oh, I'm sure there would be no shortage of sparring partners for you to find out west. Once you cross the river, you'll find a pack willing to waiting in a forest,” he said, thinking of Blackfeather Woods. He had never tangled with them, but Hydra had been keen a long time ago to fill him in of their demeanor. He had avoided them. ”There's another in the mountains beyond that, and at least two more packs I'm aware of on the other side of that.” Ceara lived in one, and the other he remembered from his own exploration of the hinterland a year ago and thought it still to be there.

”But if you follow the river northward, you'll find packs scattered about the length of the coast in either direction. I don't know much about them, but it would seem they come and go as they please.” Like the one that had been north of the weald that had simply disappeared. The one he had absconded away from with Nyx, too, and that rose a note of sourness to come and pass in his gut. If the wolf thought himself a capable warrior of sorts, Dirge was certain he would make do with what he could find.

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#12
The sharing of information was a practice not often utilized by lone wolves, but Tulimaq was glad that he had found a willing participant. Wolves benefitted from aiding one another, whether they were sworn by blood to do so, by politics, or by the fact that they understood the toils of the road. It was an effortless thing to help your own kind. A creed that Tulimaq hoped would persist long after he was gone.

He was silent as he listened. If what this man told him was true, there were many packs and many opportunities for him to test himself; this was good, this gave him hope for his future as well as the future of their shared species. Should he encounter beasts of like-mind to the valley wolves, Tulimaq would probably lose heart.

Interesting. I will seek them out first, then. A river was an easy thing to cross, but a pack brimming with warriors was not. That was what made him want to try. The challenge was an idealization, of course. He was just as likely to stumble upon a maze of twisting trees but find it vacant, and if that were the case he'd be tempted to return to the valley — hunt this seemingly kind man down — and test his mettle against him instead, but likely to the death. He did not accept betrayals lightly.

Alas, he would not bring that up right now. There were other things for him to do, places to be, people's asses to kick. Thank you, he muttered instead, with a dip of his head, Travel well, friend. Perhaps I will run in to you again should the west prove as useless as this valley. His tone turned a little bit lighter, more like he was trying to say a joke but still somewhat rough around the edges. With that, he was turning and departing.
so lay your hands across
my beating heart, love
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#13
In a turn of events, this time Dirge was the one who was being departed from. His eyes stayed on the retreating figure as it slipped from view and he couldn't help but feel the pinpricks of interest come to him. It wasn't enough to lend him much pause either as he soon departed to return to his easterly direction, but it would give him food for thought for a bit. Perhaps if their paths crossed again and on better notes, they'd make a decent match for the winter ahead. Assuming of course, that one of them didn't find their hide tanned across stones. With his share of information also giving him something to mull over, he set his sights for the forests and pressed onward—still mindful of the muck that lied between it and his end goal for the day.

word count: 142