Ravenshook Cliffs slipping down, down, down
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#1
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the cliffs frightened him more. all he could remember of this place was his very last conscious moments, after the skirmish at undersea. well, not so conscious. hazy, moving in and out, pain crackling like lightning in his skull and over the wounds that littered his body. the smell of blood and salt clouding everything. one bad step, one stumble, and he was falling down,

down,

down into the sea--

where he had meant to die. but he hadn't. divine intervention.

he now took sober, ginger steps along the edge of the cliffs, eyes peeled for izel. it wasn't a search mission; he wasn't worried about her. she could take care of herself, after all. but he was curious. perhaps departures without goodbyes were her modus operandi.

but she had nursed him back to health. he had to look, right?
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#2
The portly boy worked his way south-west along the coastline, stopping now and again to satisfy base needs like hunger and thirst. By now he'd learned the sea had an abundance of water but no relief to offer a parched tongue, so when he needed to drink, he had to head inland until he found a stream. Luckily the Sequoia was replete with forests where water could easily be found in springs and brooks. He kept to the coast to keep from getting lost, though, and always returned to the beaches. Food was another matter—only a fool would dream that such a fat wolf would ever make a competent hunter.

He managed to secure one meal by luck, a lean fox with a badly broken leg that could hardly flee from him. The rest of what he ate was scavenged offal from leavings in the woods. He carried the fox's tail with him as an imaginary good luck charm—"them be crafty critchers," Holga told him, leering, "smarter'n you or I or any fool wolf. Catch a fox by 'is toe and you'll be blessed, boah."

Well, he didn't believe all that, but the notion comforted him in his solitude, so the titian-haired tail found a home in the glove of his chubby muzzle. It was still there when he ran across another fellow on the cliffs—a man built well, he figured, without really knowing what that meant. His fur, a sumptuous shade of brown that made Laurel's tan hide seem positively drab in comparison, was frosted with salt. Lucas mistook this for white highlights in the pelt and complimented (out of the blue as always), in a voice muffled by a mouthful of fox fur, "I like your markings."
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it wasn't long before he ran into another, though not the one he sought. a young man--scratch that, still a boy--with a patchwork pelt, which made it all the more amusing that he went out of his way to compliment govinda's. he smiled, dipping his head in thanks. coming from someone with such interesting markings, i'll take it, he said, his tone all mirthful sincerity.

looks like you've had good hunting luck, govinda added, eyes moving to the plumed tail before resting on the boy's face. god, he was young, less than a year--but by how much? big and strong already, but still with the clumsy build of youth. what was he doing out by himself? there were scents of other wolves on his fur, but most were stale.

what brings you out here? he asked, gesturing at the cliffs. it wasn't the most ideal of places to explore--well, no. for a boy, it was, but govinda was in the headspace of a parent. one bad step and the waves would have him. he shuddered, and resisted the temptation to shepherd the youngster elsewhere.
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When the compliment was returned, Lucas made quite the show of twisting his chunky self around to catch a glimpse of his considerable rump. He'd never really noticed before. He always guessed that he looked kind of like Laurel, being unable to see the bright white star that adorned his forehead or the less even patches where piebalding broke up his coat pattern around his ruff and face. In fact, he'd always assumed he was rather plain looking, so it was with a bemused expression that he turned back to Govinda and bobbed his head with a muffled, "thanks!"

But there was more conversation to be had, so he gently dropped the fox tail in an untidy heap over his paws so as not to rudely speak through it. "Aw, well, it dang near fell over all by itself," he admitted, "but it was good eating anyway!" He wished he had some of it to offer to the other wolf—on closer inspection he seemed a little worse for wear, not utterly haggard but not exactly pristine either—but he didn't. Instead, he nudged the tail forward with a broad paw and said, "you can have it if you like! Someone once told me it was good luck if you catch a fox by his toe, but I bet his tail is probably good luck too."

And then that question that was already becoming routine, which Lucas met with the same sunny disposition he would have if he hadn't already been asked it several times. "I lost my performing troupe in a storm," he recounted, "and wasn't able to find them. I ended up at the big water so thought if I stayed close, something good might happen." That was wishful thinking; more likely if Lucas stayed on the coast without seeking out a place to lend his skills, what few he had at his age, he would perish alone in the dead of winter. But he had an unflappable positive attitude and the true dangers of the world really were something the naive boy still couldn't wrap his head around. "What about you?" he politely returned with attentive ears cocked.
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govinda smiled in gratitude, but shook his head slowly. keep it, he responded, his voice gentle. you're younger than i am--it's better if you build up your good luck early. in case of emergency, he added, a chuckle in his voice.

his brows raised high as he spoke of a performing troupe. govinda had traveled with bands of wolves such as that before, though he hadn't heard of the concept in quite some time. certainly not here in the teekon wilds. i am sorry to hear you can't find your troupe, he said, face growing solemn. the curiosity, though, could not be denied. what kind of performance? song, dance, stories?

govinda had always been partial to the songs. he was an average dancer, and he preferred his stories set to music and rhythm. and then there were other forms of art, as well. this young man intrigued him greatly.

my name is govinda, he murmured. what's yours, bachcha?
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If you say so, said the boy's eyes as he jovially pulled the fox tail back toward him. If anyone asked Lucas, he would claim that he already had good luck and didn't need more. He'd had so many experiences already at his age, how could he not believe he was blessed? Others might see it differently. In fact, most people would see it differently, but not him. He found the good side of every situation and had yet to encounter anything that he couldn't put a positive spin on, which only gave testament to his naivete. But he wasn't about to argue with Govinda over it; he assumed the man simply had plenty of his own good luck, and a surplus of a good thing never hurt anyone.

"Oh, they're fine," he confidently replied. "I miss them but they're all right, I know it." He had no proof of it, and sometimes when it was dark and he was alone, Lucas almost wondered if that was true or not. He couldn't say whether anyone had been lost permanently to the storm. He didn't like thinking about it, so buried it under better thoughts—things like how nice the sun felt on his back, or how fresh the ocean breeze was, or how beautiful the sky was when there weren't any clouds. Or how nice another wolf's company was. He often reminisced on recent meetings to chase away any worries that fretted at the edges of his mind.

"They did all of that," he said, his face brimming with a wide smile. "Holga was good at stories but some of the others were singers, and some were jumpers and some were vine twirlers. One guy said he could herd rabbits," Lucas claimed, breathless, "I never saw him do it though. He said it was too cold out for his rabbits." More like than not, that wolf had been full of shit. What kind of rabbit willingly did a wolf's bidding? But Lucas, dear trusting Lucas, believed it completely. "I was a dancer."

Somewhere in there, prattling along like he did, Lucas forgot that they hadn't exchanged names. Govinda prompted him and he started, then laughed in his boyish way. "Sorry! My name's Lucas." Then, with a blink, he asked, "what's a bah-cha?"
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his laugh came easy when the boy told him about all the performing tricks, especially the anecdote about the rabbits. (govinda knew more likely than not the man was full of shit, but still had that childlike sense of wonder that allowed him to hold onto the illusion, albeit tenuously.) it was simply marvelous, the picture he painted. too bad they were missing--he was tempted to join up right away.

lucas, govinda repeated. bachcha means 'boy,' in my mother's tongue. if you were a girl, i would have called you bachchi. the mention of his mother brought something else to his mind, and he softened his eyes at lucas, head tilting slightly. was your family part of the troupe? your parents and siblings?

he couldn't imagine otherwise. then again, hadn't he been out on his own, and barely weaned? he had been lucky to survive. lucas, too, had been lucky to survive. but he seemed plucky, and furthermore, positive. nothing would easily beat this one down, that was for sure.
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Someday he might have graduated from dancer to something else—it seemed there was endless opportunity within Kincardine to progress and learn new skills—but the storm had other plans for him. Now he was back to being a regular wolf with a beat in his heart and metaphorical clouds under his feet, which wasn't a bad thing to be either. Govinda at least seemed interested in his former lifestyle, which lightened Lucas' mood considerably, if that was possible. It was always uplifting to speak of the things in life he most enjoyed and see that sparkle of intrigue in other wolves' eyes.

And Govinda himself presented something of interest to Lucas, the opportunity to experience more. He didn't know any other languages, had never heard any other languages, but the soft bachcha and bachchi were pleasing to his ears. He wanted to know more, but for the moment, held off asking.

"Oh, no," he said, shaking his head with a bemused smile. "My family's not cut for that sort of life, I think. No, the troupe found me out near my family's territory and I went with them to learn some new tricks. I thought it would only be for a day or two, but, well..." Shrug. They'd gone too far too quickly for Luc to find his way back, but he'd rolled right along with that, never faulting them for essentially kidnapping him without warning. Even if he hadn't gone with the Kincardine wolves when he did, it was likely by now he would have left Bearclaw of his own accord. Buried in his ancestry was generation after generation of wanderers, wolves who travelled the world and succumbed easily to the allure of a journey. Lucas had inherited all of that. "My family lives in a place called Bearclaw Valley. I have no idea where that is now but that's okay. They're strong and there are a lot of them."

There was a thread of self-deprecation in that (he was like his grandfather in that respect), as if he didn't think himself worth a whole lot among his family members, but he cut through it with easy smiles and sparkling eyes.
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oh, wow. lucas was already a man of the world, at such a young age. already drawn to the boy, govinda felt even further connected with this knowledge. his face was bland but attentive until the mention of the valley, when his face lit with a spark of recognition.

i met someone once, from bearclaw valley, govinda said softly, not knowing at all how close to home he was about to strike. a woman named indra. i went to visit again. . .but no one answered my call at the border. busy, i expect. he took in a deep breath, eyes wandering toward the mainland. it feels so far away. hopelessly far away. and yet we're here.

he knew it was the spiritual separation that felt much wider than the physical. either way, it was a chasm.
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He'd been about to seat himself when Govinda admitted to knowing someone from Bearclaw Valley, so instead he straightened up to his full height—what a small world they lived in! Running into Reigi was one thing, but he never could have imagined that he was in the vicinity of his homeland enough that other wolves knew of it and its members. It left him wondering just how close he was to home, and if there was any sense in trying to find it. He did miss his family, especially Laurel, and would give anything to see them again, but now he had a taste for what the world had to offer. Being cooped up in a secluded valley, away from other wolves and cultures, wasn't enough for him anymore.

"Yeah, that's my auntie!" Lucas exclaimed, wagging his tail hard enough that his hindquarters rocked side to side. He'd always held a great deal of affection for Indra. Now that he was older he knew she had been sad a lot of the time even if she tried to hide it and he hoped she was doing better now. Merrick was a wonderful kid whom Luc had taken a shine to prior to leaving with the troupe, so he liked to think the younger boy brought light into her life. "My mama's her sister. My dad was the leader of the pack but... he never visited or spoke to us so I don't really know him at all. And I have a brother named Wyatt and a sister named Piper, and another brother and sister named Marten and Nunataq!" He loved them all and it showed in his voice, but he was in no major hurry to leave the coast, which appealed to his wanderer's heart more than the confines of home.

Govinda mused on how far away it all was, and Lucas had to agree, although he wasn't hopeless about it at all. Hopeless was something he had never been (and if he was lucky, never would be). But he felt home was far enough away that he wouldn't find it easily, so it was best kept from his mind. He lived in the present, always. "So do you live around here?" he wondered, then tacked on, "does your family?" Because everyone had family somewhere, or so he thought.
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i'll be damned, govinda shot back, grinning. what a small world. every time he grew sick of that particular phrase--or doubted its validity--it came springing back to life. everyone was connected. lucas was far enough removed from his past to give him little alarm. . .but what would happen when someone more familiar surfaced?

he wasn't ready for it. not now. perhaps not ever.

the man nodded, and then shook his head. i do--not my family. he fell silent for a little bit, resisting the long-held impulse to look toward morningside and the vast inland. the family i have is the family i find, govinda continued, looking over at lucas. my blood relatives are scattered or dead. i live in the coconut grove west of here.

he lifted his chin, staring slightly down at lucas in gentle contemplation. do you need a place to stay? through the winter, at least?
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I do, said Govinda, eliciting a smile from his young audience, but then, not my family. In a way that was sad to hear. What made it sad when Lucas himself was also without his family and didn't outwardly seem to mind too much? He couldn't say. It was a compassionate reaction to finding someone in less-than-ideal circumstances that were just ordinary to him. Even so, in the dark of night, when he was alone and the wind was howling, Lucas missed his mother and his siblings so deeply that he curled around himself just to feel secure.

Maybe that was why his face fell then and his eyes shone with some sort of pained camaraderie. The allure of a free life where he made his own choices was incredibly powerful, though, even more powerful than his love for his family. A life of his own making was what he desired most. That was the thing about Lucas, what he'd learned as part of the troupe. He was sweet as pie, friendly as could be, more outgoing than most, but the juvenile was a free bird whose wings couldn't be clipped, not by his mother or his siblings or his aunt or anyone else.

It was Govinda's sentiment, that family was found and not just inherited through blood, that really got through to the boy. He wouldn't trade his family for the world, but he felt similarly about the Kincardine wolves—kidnappers or not, they were also his family. Conversely, Xan was his blood relative but not counted among his true family. "I guess so, if you'd have me," said Lucas, his expression morphing into curiosity and interest while his tail picked up its beat. "You have a pack there? What's a coconut grove anyway?"
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he felt guilty, ridiculous as it was, for the sadness that colored lucas's face at his sentiment. hoping to lift the mood again, he smiled, shaking his head at the boy's first question. it's just me, for now, govinda said. perhaps a pack will form there, eventually. if i can lure enough wolves to tolerate me, he added, chuckling. enough wolves that don't know what you've done--but that didn't need to be said, just now.

coconuts are fruits that grow on these trees, that look very different from any other tree around here, he explained. they look like big, fuzzy brown rocks. anyway, a grove is a group of these trees. it's quite lovely, even if the trees are bare for winter. his gaze grew wistful, as if he were homesick already after only a few days of wandering. it would be nice to have a traveling companion on the way back.

he wagged his tail, lifting his chin in query. should we leave these wretched cliffs and head that way? he asked, grinning.
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So it was just Govinda in the grove, although he seemed at least hopeful that others might congregate there with him. No matter. Two wolves made a pack as far as Lucas was concerned, so he was more than happy to accompany the charismatic man back to his home. It wasn't like he had anywhere better to be, and truth be told, he liked Govinda's company. He was reminded somewhat of Mona, and that warmed his heart and made him feel more at home here than anywhere else he'd been without his troupe or family.

"Let's go!" Lucas agreed, sidling comfortably up alongside Govinda for the walk back while the older wolf explained what coconuts and groves were. He realized with a grin that he had seen a grove before! He hadn't known that was what a stand of trees was called, but there were several in Bearclaw Valley and the troupe often settled in them for shelter at night. Coconuts were another matter. He imagined a lumpy rock covered in wolf's fur, complete with guard hairs and agouti patterning, and couldn't suppress a giggle at how ridiculous they must be.

"Do they move around?" he wondered, imagining something akin to a pup's torso without the legs, tail or head. Ugh. Gross.

Can continue their talk or fade this out here, up to you! :D