Blackfoot Forest all gods dispense suffering without reason
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All Welcome 
backdated to about a month or so || for @Aure

the early morning sun spreads a golden light over the wilds as wintersbane takes his leave of blackfeather woods' borders and heads northeast. he doesn't bother to attempt to track down their escaped captive — no doubt she is long gone and he clings to the hope that she will not bring war upon their doorstep. blackfeather woods' numbers have lessened and the tundrian suspects that winter will yet test their resilience. he is prepared for it — whatever the frosts and chill brings with it — but he is built for the harsh bite of winter, for he is all stone and ice himself. is the woods prepared? he can only hope so — contributing anything and everything he can.

he frequently takes trips outside of their borders — to recruit, to do reconnoissance on packs in their general vicinity. none of them are close per say but when the herds migrate and thin out he wonders if they will pose a problem all the same. scarce food would mean they'd have to venture further than their initial hunting grounds and as wintersbane is known to be a territorial beast this knowledge does not particularly bode well. only time would tell, he supposes. still, he will gather what he can: herd movements, information on their far-away neighbors, recruits if he can ( though his track record for them isn't the greatest ).

he's only ever seen blackfoot forest by the dark of night — when the eerie wails of the foxes echo through the trees. during the day, it as if it is a different forest entirely. it is light dappled and enchanting if wintersbane looked at territories in such a manner ( he does not ). still, the difference is notable and it's enough to give him a moment of pause to re-examine and reassess his surroundings.
wearing my dream like a diadem in some better land.
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uwu thank you<3
Snowshoe paws sifted through the light dusting of snow, and it was not the wind that whispered through pine and holly, but the airy sigh of the northern harach. Lashes fluttered closed, a look of tender euphoria on her once-fine features. The hinters of Greyback’s claim had been enough to satiate her unshakable longing for them—but not enough, not really. They had been too fertile, too... settled for her; she wished for fjords where there was only heather and lochs.

But this... this murmured of Rhaesuial. The unnamed range that pierces ever upwards toward mornlight, straining for a sun they almost are able to reach. They are knives that cut open the belly of the heavens, and maybe that’s truly where light originated from. The spires slashed rifts between this world and that which she entreated upon for-ever.

She couldn’t wait until night fell, truly; couldn’t stop from brimming at lying beneath these Teekon cosmos, with them, skulking into their arms like an old lover. Her lids shuttered. She never wanted the wanting stop; this ache she felt for all those sidreal things, bleak and starless and all that dazzled alongside it.

The anticipation of tonight brushes along her flank, over her boney hip, and her lips part ever-so gently at that. In that moment, she allowed thoughts of wolf-eater and must find Vonn and despondency leave her entirely, her soul veering away from her troubles like absconding her reflection in river’s mirror.

But her, porcelain and drifting on the spot, forgot, too, how loosely the arms of these mountain-hinters held her; and she did not notice the lurking, violaceous eidolon only some whiles away.
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wintersbane recollects his bearings — assures himself that he's in fact in the place that he thinks he is. after all, it's kind of hard to mistake blackfoot forest as it carries with it the scent of foxes which is a very pungent and in his opinion unpleasant smell. the dark brother pushes forward. he does not intend to be gone from blackfeather woods for too long. the journey here already stole some hours from him — though he did not rush. he is not sure that here is where he'll find possible recruits for the dark woods but he keeps a keen eye out all the same.

there was never a shortage of lone wolves and he is not afraid to play to the desperation that travels in the months coming before winter. shortage of food, fresh water sources freezing over, possible hypothermia.

it is that keen eye that catches a familiar shape in the distance. familiar not because he knows her but because she is wolven — and the scent that follows after the initial visual acknowledgement of her proves his quick assessment to be correct. she would've easily been missed if there'd been more snow to blanket the moss carpeted forest floor. he smells others on her but isn't able to discern if it means pack or not. irregardless, his steps slow and he assess her across the distance that separates them slower this time, taking in what he can see of her, letting out a low chuff to announce his presence to her, lest he startle her.
wearing my dream like a diadem in some better land.
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The reaction is nothing short of bird-like: her head whirls in the Snitch's direction, bright eyes wild; filled with argent, aureate wrath at being pulled from her moment of rapture by such a quiet announcement. But as she saw him, the she-wolf became composed once more, and her slighter frame resumed its former state of relaxation. A crease already between her brow deepened, peering more closely at him and, too, recognizing him as she was made. If anything, she was only a tad wary, and she shifted her weight, sifting frost underpaw while she studied him.

Finally, a hum of "Noroc" carried through to him, hushed, despite the still, chilling air all about them. The word had enough polite forwardness within it to be considered a greeting, but then again, it was still in her birth-tongue. Her skull swept sidelong, eyeing him; coat feathery, tail at her hocks before she started forward; only meaning to close the few steps to be within better speaking distance. "I assume you are familiar with ze woods?" The voice was airy and low at the same time; lilting, and absolutely foreign.
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she is pretty he realizes perhaps shallowly — scars and all — and this is slightly alarming to him because he hasn't really thought of anyone pretty aside from relmyna. the pale stranger speaks a word in a tongue he does not know but it sounds close enough to a greeting for wintersbane to comfortably assume that is a greeting of some sort. the language is unknown aside from the fact that he knows it is not tundrian and whatever language his coywolf father named them and the ranks of teaghlaigh in.

a lift of the dark brother's chin follows the slight advancement of her body. she does not close much of the distance between them ...only enough for them to not have to shout words at one another. he appreciates this just as much as he appreciates the comfortable distance left between them. her voice is lilting and accented and ...pleasant. i know these woods well enough, he concurs, voice a low and deep rasp like whiskey steeped in smoke. though they do look moderately different basking in the light of the early morning than they do in the greedy shadows and moonbeam glow of night they are the same woods and he should be able to find his way all the same.

there are only few conclusions he can draw while being presented with that question and thus he assumes she is lost. wintersbane almost asked her if she wanted a guide ( under the assumption that she was, indeed, lost ) but quells the question before it can fall from betwixt his lips. why? he settles for instead, figuring she would present the reason for her question better if he didn't assume because it occurs to the tundrian in the last moment that he could be wrong in his assumption.
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Her downy ears allowed his next words to bed down on them, and she lightly chewed at the inside of her at the question of why. ”I intend to make my way to ze sea, however, I am recently arrived to ze Wilds.” Aure looked at him levelly, her gaze open - innocently so - and considering as she took him in; as sturdy as he was willowy, with a heft to him that told her he must use it for something other than all this wandering. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he might guide her from this place.

”You are very strong,” she mused, absent-minded in her overlook. ”Are you a, ahm...” Her voice faltered a bit; what caught her attention the most was the red-as-blood printing upon his shoulder. This made her tilt her head, unabashedly leaning focus towards it, and she found her words again, ”Are you you a...warlord?” It was the only thing that made sense to her; blinking at the inkling and him as if a whelp who wondered; grasping at what only made sense to them with the information they were presented.

She made, too, to move closer, but leaned her weight back into her hocks, keeping sure to remember how they’d only met just moments ago; how intrusive it would be. Her lips pressed thin, nipping at them, but her gaze remained inquisitive and un-acknowledging of her more logical mind. She certainly hadn’t considered how her previous eyeing of him might seem, either.

tl;dr she wanna peek but can’t let herself lmao
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the sea. it takes all of wintersbane's self control not to pull a face. what was so special about the coast? what was the appeal? he can't see it, too far stuck on his own dislike of sand, salt water and the bad memories that are now attached to the coast for him. he'll travel there again he doesn't doubt but only because it's a necessary evil. nevertheless, he's not eager to relive the fight with his estranged sister and the fact that he could have and wanted to kill her for the things she said to him.

you are very strong she announces and he makes no move to dispute her words. he is physically strong, that much was true. the fact that she drew upon that first and foremost in response to his why causes him to reassess and calculate the circumstance. not a guide then. you want a bodyguard? he asks, giving voice to his new assumption. well, if she is, he thinks, she's crossed paths with the right tundrian. hydra's words come back to him then, sudden and un-summoned, you're a protector. his once mentor wasn't wrong, he supposed. the fact that this lovely sylph of a stranger draws upon that, however indirectly, only proves that hydra's conclusion of who and what he was at his core was not biased.

warlord. the questions and that word in particular draws wintersbane out of his contemplations and he notes her studying the blood red pawprint on his shoulder. ah. ironic, that she should mention warlord for it'd been the dream of the once-cub to be a warlord. she is not of blackfeather nor any of is subsidiary branches outside of the wilds; her inquisition gives her away. he cannot tell her the truth of it — it was one of the tenets he'd sworn before the daedra. she's done the work for him though — she's already ascertained an explanation for it herself.

perhaps, wintersbane allows elusively, lips quirking at the edges. it doesn't bother you? he poses the half question and half statement to her, ears cupping forth with unbidden curiosity and shadowed amusement.
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There was a thrill in her heart; the sequestered part therein that rose for him. It was the wildness of him that beckoned to her own, and all those things shrouded in her past self. Perhaps, unbeknownst to her, it might have been the living legacy of Dennan’s marks upon her soulful face; the ones that kept skin and soul pulled taut. It might have been her own, red trace of a libertine sect that had her leaning towards him as she was now. But… she did not know of his true belongings, or of a Dark Brotherhood, and she had most certainly not confided her earlier sorrows to the male before her.

Where his propositions were shadowed, her own were bright, meeting him halfway to join at some unspoken, liminal boundary. She did, however, catch the note of curiosity regarding her; so in kind, she allowed her wonderment to display itself, unashamed. “No, no. I find it rather enchanting,” Aure enthused, her eyes creasing, encharmed, despite the way it riveled her diadem of hurts.

Then, remembering his initial question, she continued, drawing away and tipping her chin up, “I… never thought of having a guard of my own before.” Her clear gaze drifted for a moment, listless in thought, while her willowy body fidgeted with some furor at the prospect of it. “I believe having such a captivating apărător would be wonderful.”

Ending her tangent on “Bine!” she couldn’t help but gaze up at him with shameless, court-appropriate excitement; although she didn’t smile, one did frolic at the corners of her mouth. The rest of it bridled her form and the energy she exuded. She felt as if she were like some meteor, scouring across the heavens from up on high; quivering with the progression of it all and how good it felt after so long. She was finally getting somewhere in all of this.
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enchanting.

enchanting? she finds the idea of being in the presence of a warlord enchanting? who was she? nevermind that he's not a warlord ...but for all intents and purposes here and now he supposes he is. the tale's already been spun and all he has to do is follow the web that mephala weaves for him. he laughs. the sound is short but amused and jovial. you are strange. spoken in bewilderment and admiration; a compliment. most fear the title of 'warlord'. but then again she hasn't, for one moment, stricken him as falling into the category of 'most'.

he's not sure of the foreign words she uses but can piece together something of a rough translation by the sentences she uses them in and their placement. you think i'm captivating? it's less of a question and more of a teasing statement. how it flatters his ego. wintersbane's always been a vain beast and he would nourish himself on compliments like the nectar of the gods if they were actually sustainable. maybe i'm dangerous, he offers her with a lofty shrug of his broad shoulders, studying her reaction. there was no doubt that he was dangerous — fib about being a warlord aside.

...but then again, dangerous might just be exactly what you need in a bodyguard. there is a part of him that is all too eager to remind him that he's not a mercenary for hire anymore ...but that part is squashed. resolutely. he already knows he'll guard ...guide? her through the forest. she's intriguing, and there's something about her that strikes him as pure and damn it all if it doesn't draw him in like a moth to a flame. in a way, she reminds him of his dark priestess. not entirely, of course. but there must be something about this woman that calls to wintersbane the same way that relmyna does.

he doesn't think too much on it, instead shutting out his inner contemplations.
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'Dangerous might just be exactly what you need,' he'd rasped. She considered it as she brushed past him with a soft hum, lost in thought for a moment. All things considered, she supposed that danger was expected to come from wolves built as he, as Greyback had been; especially with that... wolf-eater... hunting her, of his own lecherous design. All the while, she'd whirled about and made her way back towards her new-founded guardian, a bit of a hush-now prowl in her frame.

Rather than solemn, her eyes creased like crescent moons as she confided, "Da, enchanterul meu. I believe that danger is exactly what I need. Not to say that I haven't gotten out of it myself," she cocked her head at him, bringing focus to her scars, "but it would be a reprieve to not be so alone in such hateful situations."

"After all," Aure sniffed dismissively, playing at innocence not that she needed to while studying the glimmering hinters around them, "there is a wolf-eater who hunts for me. Now, I don't mind a bit of madness, but he is of the ilk that is... O, how to put this lightly? Demented." Her words were not light in the most generous sense. There was an impish glint in her eyes, breaking through her reserved demeanor, as she then told him of how this creature dubbed Rakk had driven her into Easthollow's lands; where, then, he'd been cast out by the jarl, Greyback.

Up until today, she'd sought sanctuary with amongst them for nigh on a month. When she was certain - hopeful - that Rakk had clambered far into the wilderness, she'd taken her leave southward and had happened upon these hinters. "Now, I plan to conquer this ridge," nodding at the great spires above them, "and somehow get to ze shores again." Her velvety muzzle twitched - it may have been aversion of the sea, if Wintersbane squinted.
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wintersbane watches as she brushes past him with a contemplative hum and then whirls back to him her prowl suggesting that he hush. the dark brother studies her as she angles her face towards him and confides that she can take care of herself ...and he doesn't recall insinuating that she couldn't. wintersbane's lips curl with unfettered amusement as he considers pointing out that she's the one that asked him if he knew his way through these woods first. granted, he'd made and given voice to assumptions but — —

a wolf eater? wintersbane repeats, brow furrowing at her term for the male that's hunting her. he studies her again, gaze assessing and unabashedly observant as he ponders why anyone would be hunting her. it would be rude to assume that she did something to warrant it; and he banishes the thought as soon as she mentions that the male hunting her is demented. loathe as wintersbane was to admit it this wolf eater sounded like just the kind of man that might end up in the dark woods' ranks.

if it's the coast you're looking for, you've been heading the wrong way. he informs her and casts his muzzle northward. the coast's to the north. there's an easier away to the other side of these mountains, he informs her, head swinging around to face south of them. it's probably a little longer but it's safer. we can skirt around the mountains, through the tormented tarns and into fairspell meadow. it's the way i took to get here. not that wintersbane has a necessary aversion to high places — he lived with the moonspear wolves for many months heights do not bother him in the slightest — but he figures there's no harm in letting her know that conquering the numerous ridges she'd have to climb to get to the other half of the map wasn't her only choice.
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She nodded simply at the inquiry of wolf-eater, as if it made logical sense despite the abhorrent measures involved in such an act. "He is named Rakk," she bit out, softly, before arriving back to his side. "If he is so enamored with ze thought of searching for me," a shudder rippling her snowy hackles, "then I might as well let pilgrims know on my travels, as I can."

Considering his next words, she confessed to the dark brother - not unlike a lady of sensibility to a shadowed Father - "I long to walk within ze mountains, even if they are not my own." Her gaze glanced around the snowscape they lingered in, caught up in the cold that they were both meant for. "Of course... I wouldn't mind dancing around them, either," the she-wolf chuckled, something breathless moment. "I promise to not be a dreary partner, apărător, as long as you take ze lead?" The decision in her eyes was apparent' through the Tarns, and then the Meadows.
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rakk.

wintersbane tucks the name away after labeling it wolf-eater. how many other names did this rakk go by? was rakk even his real name? if the beast she calls wolf-eater is wise 'rakk' was not his real name but instead pulled from a list of disposable aliases. at least, that would be the sensible thing to do. it would be what wintersbane would do if he were a demented cannibal expending a lot of energy and resources on a single woman. then again, the tundrian was no stranger to expendable aliases, now was he? roarke. kahlil. drogon.

even wintersbane is the latest in a long line of predecessors.

each name change marked a perspective shift in his life, or it bookmarked an event where it became necessary for the tundrian to shed the alias like a snake sheds it skin.

it's your choice. the dark brother tells her with a shrug of his shoulders. if she'd rather conquer the mountains then he would lead her through them. her eyes, as their gazes meet, tells him that she chooses the tarns and then the meadows. he gives a firm nod of acknowledgement and adjusts his position to whence he came. good, he replies gruffly. you can pass the time by telling me what the hell you did to make this man you call rakk to act like an obsessed and possessive boyfriend. or is this normal behavior for him? and you are just one in a line of unfortunate targets?" the dark brother was a snitch after all and information was what wintersbane dealt in. it would be sloppy to not extract all useful information about this newfound menace as he could.

with his condition set he led her out of the forest the way he'd came, asking her relevant questions as they went, cataloging what she tells him — and what he deduces by what she chooses not to tell him as they go.