King Elk Forest when the day becomes unbearable, seek refuge in the absence of light

@Phox

Afternoon light fluttered down through the trees and littered the forest floor in a dappling of gilded color. The foliage had shifted from pine and emerald to the color of titian and bisque, casting an uncanny glow to the woodland territory. Various fowl fluttered about overhead. Some, in preparation of winter and others in search of the calidity that had long since vanished with the change in season. The Starchaser longed with them, and he turned to cast his gaze upward at the stretch of looming sky that threatened to shower them in blanched flecks of snow. Already, the wind had shifted and brought a wintry bond at its side. In the far reaches of his instinctual mind, the nimbus knew that they would see the beginning of it before the sky was filled with stars. The days of summer sun and endless fever had found a close.

The last time he had been there, it had been during the great peak – when spring faded to summer.

Orion had not thought that he would have returned to a land that did not know the Mal'um name – that did not know the dangers that lurked behind the glint of their teeth or the sharpness of their sights. The Starchaser had thought it a foolish world to never have been exposed to such umbrage. When he had traveled away from the unworldly wilds, the great nimbus had thought himself an intellect.

But, he had been mistaken. The Starchaser had been mistaken many times before.

Prowling beneath the cover of ignited umbrage, the stygian dodger did what he could not to revoke the thoughts of where he had come from and what he had withstood to flee. The weatherworn fellow knew that it was just as good as any other admonition of his past. It would have been ungrateful of him to think that he had made an error in his actions – that the brutal hand of the Mal'um was worth remaining for if it meant that he had not left his family behind. All his life as a beast of the earth, he had been their thrall. That time had ended when he had ripped the throat from the great King himself. Not even the fires in heaven could take back the action that had spun the Starchaser's world into turmoil and had bathed the Ursa in blood.

A dark-winged reaper fluttered overhead and glided to land on a low branch. Orion peered at it tiredly, waiting for when it would take flight again. Freedom had found him, but he often thought that he still wore the shackles of his former home. The nimbus knew the crows to be favored scouts by all of the Mal'um bloodrunners. The Starchaser mustn't be caught by them there, or the wolves of the wilds would surely know the terror that he had fought so desperately to escape.

Visions seemed to tear at the corners of his eyes, peeling back the edges. There was something just beneath; another place turned back like a hazy reflection. It was familiar and strange. It seemed to come and go, hitching his breath, leaving him gazing toward the distant mountain range that he had never known before – that had never been there before the Starchaser had walked on the rough earth. A far-off storm called him to fields draped in dusk, and black clouds heaped tall on the horizon filled him with terrible longing for something he felt but could never know – a fearful devotion to a place without shape, and a love that burned with no name. So much had been abandoned, and yet he felt as though he could not truly allow it to go from him. There was an aching in the marrow of his bones that filled him with dread.

The crow took flight again, releasing a depraved caw as it passed above the boughs of trees.

The fur along his neck rose out of instinctual fear. Try as he might, the Starchaser could not swallow it down again. He waited, gaunt features turned toward the skies in an effort to watch the dark reaper flee without seeing him below. Only when he was certain that it was gone did he move on.

The further he trekked, the more he felt it. It was as though, deep in the woods, a sheet hung suspended above a dry riverbed – a cloth that moved like translucent flesh over the stones and bent the light away. A voice called to him from the other side, and a dozen thin hands reached out for him behind the veil. They sought to cradle him. They begged to run their crooked little fingers through the thick tufts of his jagged fur. His heart shifted beneath his skin – a sleeping thing turning over, restless in its final dream. Their voices grew louder, their hands reached further, warped and guttural with grief. The temptation to lean against them was riveting. Their promises of comfort and safety were warm against the chilling winter wind. They sought to lure him away from the freedom he had earned –

To bring him home again.

Setting this sometime before the Redhawk drama.

Daylight was not his favorite, but he used it while it was around. The afternoon sun was filtering through the trees of the forest. It created a dappled pattern on the ground which Phox found mildly pleasing. Alas, he was not here to look at light patterns. He was here to track food, and that was exactly what he was doing. Because Niamh had told him of the wolves that might encroach on their usual hunting grounds, he was making sure that they would have food in other places, should they need it. Hopefully they would not.

He had been tracking a herd's location for the better part of the day, although he had no plans to act on it. Alone, he could not take down such a beast. Instead, he meant to report back to the pack and let them know the whereabouts of what would potentially be their next meal. Even if they had food stores on the plateau, it would benefit them to track the nearby herds for the eventual time when they would not.

Once he had spotted them, he made note of the location, scratching several trees nearby so he would be able to find this spot again. If they decided to pursue this herd, it would be easier to pick up where he had left off. With that out of the way, he pointed himself back toward Heron Lake Plateau and began to trot at a steady pace toward the crevice he had claimed as his little slice of the Redhawk domain.

Phox had not gone far when he picked up the scent of a loner and decided to investigate for curiosity's sake. If this was one of the nearby settlers, it would not hurt to get to know them and their plans. If not, perhaps he could turn out to be a worthy recruit. The yearling had a feeling a worthy recruit would put another good mark in the records that Towhee most certainly kept.

When he was near enough, the black and silver wolf woofed to announce his presence.

'Someone's behind us, Starchaser... they're going to catch up!'

The nimbus had whirled, craning his skull around to peer behind him through the darkened trees and into the shadows that held threats and destitution beneath their looming boughs. Beneath the glimmer of moonlight overhead, he thought he could see the shimmer of heedful eyes. There was a rush of fear that filled him, reaching up with scrabbling little claws until they had found a way to his spine and then to his notched ears. It caught and held the breath in his throat, strangling the life from him without ever showing its face. Oh, how he cursed the very feeling of it – how it sat inside of his bones and waited for its moment to strike. The glimmer from the woods caught him once more, and the aphotic creature turned to his companion with a fretful expression etched onto the gaunt features of his face. Eridanus was feeding off of the quavering of his limbs and the wild thrumming of his heart.

'We must split up, little light. Find Perseus and instruct him to venture north of here. I will lead our followers away,' he had instructed her. His voice had hitched on the back of his throat and threatened to swallow the rest of his urgency.

The moonlit young girl gaped at him. Tears swelled in her gaze. There was trepidation in her posture, but she did not seem to react; she did not flee.

There was a snapping twig that cracked from behind them and the haggard one stretched his head out to nudge against his younger sister. There was no room for debate; he could not see her fall due to argument. The feeling of fear still viciously scratched at the insides of the Starchaser – it was seeking a way out. He gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw as tightly as he could, and fought against the feeling of impending doom that was stalking in the treeline fifty yards away. Another branch broke beneath the weight of something much larger than it could withstand. The jagged quills along his neck and shoulders spiked, and he turned back once more to peer against the darkness of the trees. The glimmer that had been there was gone.

'Go now!'

And she did – the pale young thing turned and ran as swiftly as her lengthy limbs would carry her away from that dreadful place. Though she was filled with regret and spoiled by her love for her family, she did not stop until she could no longer hold herself on her own trembling legs. By then, she had ventured far away from her sweet Starchaser and all of his protection. When she finally collapsed into the dirt and buried herself beneath the pricking thorns of a bramble bush, she feared she would never see him again.

Something had followed him; one part gnawing and another part searching. It had been full of mournful sounds that made the hair on his nape prickle like a cornered dog's. To its eyes, he was a hazy ghost of familiar scent and color. It was afraid, too, and alone. It had sought only comfort from the forms of the corporeal cosmos that prowled the earth. Fear had made him a terrible leader to them. It was in this fear that he had lost all that he held dear to his heart. What more, it had turned the great Starchaser into a pitiful creature. Whatever power had once raced through his veins had long since been diminished by the wickedness of his trials. Somewhere along the way, Orion had found his way into a decrepit shed. He had pulled down the damp-rotten door and found in it a tangle of oak branches and crawling maggots. There, dried leaves had hummed over the flesh of his second body.

It was that body he carried with him forever more. It was in that body that he had reacted to the sound of a stranger, calling to him within the vast expanse of the wild wood. He twisted himself, contorting and churning against the thought that there had been someone who had taken him by surprise. That body cursed him for having left them open to any approaching stranger. It knew the terrors that hid in the dark of the woods.

Bristling and burning, the Starchaser spun on his heels and lowered his crown toward the earth to protect himself – protect the soft portions of his weary and weatherworn frame – before fixing the burning embers of his gaze on a dark-faced young man. For a moment, the figure reminded him of Perseus and he felt his heart clench tightly within his chest. The stranger's eyes did not settle on him with the same emerald as his sweet younger brother's. Instead, the gaze of the approaching hunter was akin to the leaves that littered the forest floor and stretched overhead in a dramatic show of reach. Though he knew better than to trust the appearance of passersby, the young man did not seem to hold malice in his features. Instead, he walked with purpose and intent that reminded Orion of his younger years. For a moment, he was lost in his own envy. The weary traveler could not comprehend how others had never known the brutality that he had. It was as though he resented the very idea of those who were normal... as though it were a blessing.

“I... I haven't crossed into your land, have I?” the nimbus inquired.

Oh, that body had left him with a broken voice. The sound of it was shattered, flushed with the miles of travel that had worn down his figure and placed notches in his frame. Though he tried, it rasped from the back of his throat and caught against the very fear that had taken residence in his shape. There was no amount of wishing that could force it away from him.

Once the question had been released from its hold within his throat, he felt foolish and ill. The only scent of wolf in that forest was that of those who had wandered through. Orion knew better than to cross into the clearly marked terrain of a pack; he knew the punishment for having done so. The withered creature of the stars stared openly while he waited for a response that he realized might never have arrived. His frame was still hunkered – his eyes still burned with fearful distrust. While he may have cursed the second body that had been given to him, he knew that it was capable of fleeing. He knew that his limbs were taut in preparation for the moment that the strange young fellow turned into the foul beasts of the Ursa. Or, perhaps, the strapping thing would simply disappear in a great cloud of dark smoke. The sky must have wanted him to return home.

Phox could sense the stranger's unease, but he did not comment on it or make any move to take advantage of it. Truth be told, the Redhawk (if not in name, then it was at least the pack that kept him) would have had much the same reaction if the other had called out to him at first. He had constantly been on the edge since he had come back to his family's domain, frightened to make the wrong choice or step on the wrong path. He had made certain to weigh each fork that was laid in front of him, and a startle from a stranger—or even somebody he knew—left little time for that decision making to happen. He had become skittish.

The reply he received was one of doubt and questioning, and Phox shook his head. Technically, no. We Redhawks do tend to be protective of our neighboring lands, lest pesky settlers think it is a good place to make their home or frequent them as hunting grounds. In this way, he was asking if the wolf he stood talking to was one of those pesky settlers. If so, Phox would be happy to warn him of his mistake in such a fashion as not to outright attack him. Threats were always his first line of offense.

He pondered briefly if this male had been tracking the same herd that Phox had. If so, it would mean that the Redhawks would most certainly have competition as prey became more scarce throughout the winter. This was only Phox's second winter that he recalled clearly, but he had remembered last year's. Food had been less and less frequent, and finding larger prey had been imperative to keep the pack strong and healthy.

Phox felt a wooshing and then claws on his back, which could only mean one thing: X. The bird was pecking at his head soon after, and Phox snapped at him. Alright, alright! he said, and the hawk loosened its grip. I gotta get going, he said, excusing himself from the other wolf. Phox didn't know what X wanted, but he was sure he'd find out sooner or later.