Arrow Lake this empty northern hemisphere
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All Welcome 


He'd kept himself far away from his father's resting place. Even when trailing after Stag or one of the other kids, he'd always hang back and resume his lurking when they were a safe distance from the place where their father's blood mixed with the mountain soil. Mesa couldn't help it; he was still strongly in denial about the whole thing, even if the truth was right there - he was hurting too much, and wouldn't let himself think about how absent his father was.

Except of course, his mind ticked back to the first moment after someone told him of Stigmata's death. Sometimes he could go a whole hour without thinking about him, but that often led to a blossoming guilt, like he'd let himself forget and then... Then, there came anger. A self-imposed rage, the inconsolable, incongruent feeling of betrayal which he couldn't detach from the adamant nature of his spirit. Had he betrayed his father in that moment, in letting himself be distracted, in forgetting? Or had his father betrayed him - betrayed all of them - for letting the mountain take his life?

It was all too much, and too heavy.

Mesa was nearby where his father's grave sat, but he didn't dare approach it. He nosed around one of the newer caches as if he had any appetite at all, and began to dig. His broad paws made short work of the already soft soil, dredging up the carcass of a freshly killed rabbit. The scent of its blood was intense; the look of its decomposing face, dessicated by the dirt, blanched Mesa's own expression and he stared down at it emotionlessly. Somewhere in his head he was making the connection that this was what his father looked like. He was nothing, now. He was meat.

Turning from the cache in a sudden flurry, Mesa dry heaved in to the grass.
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though praimfaya is sure if she asked ingram to take her out scouting that her father would oblige her she resists the urge to ask because she broke her promise to blodreina before she set off scouting for mahler with nyx that she would stay in diaspora. guilt gnaws at her and though praimfaya wishes to keep it secret she knows that when her mother returns she will admit to her guilt. she would rather face blodreina's ire or disappointment then have guilt continue to eat at her.

she doesn't mean to stray too close to the basilisk's grave knowing that it is a sacred place to his children and not wanting to impose on their grief but while she's close she thinks it may not hurt to check on the state of the wildflowers she put there and think about replacing them with substitutes around arrow lake before she can make it back to wapun meadow to pick some more ... if blodreina lets her out of diaspora before the frost wilts them, that is.

the sound of dry heaving follows the scent of pungent blood as it mixes with mesa's scent. for a split second, praimfaya thinks she should alter her course but it's too late. she's already caught sight of mesa and with a frown that laces with concern breaks her silence to ask him, are you ok?
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Nothing came out of him. He felt his belly convulse and his shoulders tense, head hanging and swinging like a pendulum between the small cache-pit and the grass nearby, but the feeling didn't ebb until a few minutes of struggle had passed. Mesa sighed, gulping at air as he turned away from the exposed rabbit with its red, gleaming skull. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut and ignore the images of the dead thing with bits of fur still stuck to it, because it brought to mind the contours of his father's face and - there, it set off another wave of dry, empty heaves.

He got up as he was mid-cough and staggered away from the cache, nearly walking in to the silver figure of Praimfaya; she said something, but his head was starting to pound, so he mostly missed it. As the spasm ended this second time he huffed and puffed, reaching with a swing of his snout towards her - and snapped uselessly, as if to deter her from coming closer or asking questions. It occurred to the boy that the very idea that he could be okay was repulsive - how could he possibly be alright when his father was -- was -- M'fine, go away.

With his tail lashing behind him he began the slow but steady climb up the ridge, away from where his father's grave sat - and the exposed cache, open for scavengers to pick apart if they dared to tempt the wolves.
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praimfaya's concern for the boy — because dry heaving doesn't strike her as normal though she is no medic so what does she know? — is met with a snap of his teeth in her direction and a dismissal. her black, leathery nostrils flare and she lifts her muzzle imperiously at his insolence. she'd only been trying to be nice but his surly attitude tells her that it's not welcome. fine, she thinks fiercely. really? praimfaya asks him with a scoff. yeah, because you look fine. her tone lacing heavy with sarcasm.

but if he wanted to throw bravado around then that was his business. there was nothing wrong with admitting that he wasn't ok in the face of the basilisk's death, though this brings to question would praimfaya be in his pawsteps ...would she admit to not being ok? probably not. admitting that would feel like a weakness to her and admitting weakness makes you look vulnerable even if it is to a pack-mate. he begins to leave and praimfaya makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. you just gonna leave that cache open? she calls after him.
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The girl's snarky response was met with a sharp glare, but not much else. He didn't have the energy to confront her as he might've done on better days, although the boy didn't particularly enjoy being the object of scrutiny during this crises. His ears slanted and he turned to leave her behind, eager to go sulk somewhere else, but then she called out to him again - her voice grating at him, which made his spine bristle. It was bad enough that his mind continued to conjure images of his father's corpse rotting beneath the surface of the mountain - worse now, because he had someone talking down to him, speaking as if he wasn't worth his station. He was a child of Stigmata, a soldier! Praimfaya was acting like his mother; worse, she was (at least in his mind, in this moment) treating him like some kind of subordinate.

And who exactly was she? 

Yeah, I am. You got a problem with that? He shot back, standing tall despite how nauseated he felt. As much as he wanted to curl up in a ball somewhere dark to brood, holding on to the prideful, powerful image of his idol of a father, he knew that running away from a confrontation was the last thing Stigmata would allow. Or maybe he was convincing himself of so much because he wanted to keep the man's memory pure, and to honor him. Whatever his motivations, the girl's comments had curbed Mesa's desire to flee the scene.

He advanced on her stiffly, staring at her eye-to-eye; if they were adults then it would've been a challenge of some kind, but as they were both children, it was more like he was barely containing a tantrum. But he wouldn't back down - for Stigmata's sake.
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praimfaya watches with frostbound silver eyes as he turns and storms nearer to her, challenging her with his question. he's upset — at her, likely more-so at the hand the world has dealt him — but she doesn't appreciate his anger being directed at her. they were playmates and last time she checked she hadn't been the one to end the basilisk's life. sha and then offers a translation: yeah, i do. praimfaya decides then and there. there were logical sides to that decision — that an open cache will attract unwanted scavengers, that food will be stolen when ( and she'd heard this from blodreina at least once ) they should be stocking up for the coming frosts — but mostly she says it just because it feels good to meet him head on and not cow beneath his unwarranted ( or so pri believes ) irritation at her.
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Sha she says in her made-up language, and even though she followed it with proper words, Mesa felt his anger spike to an unneccessary level. It wasn't right that someone live on his mountain and keep secrets! It was a bit of a leap; he hadn't heard much of trigedasleng and had always assumed that everyone was raised like himself ( taught common, and the northern language of his mother's people ). To hear this otherness added fuel to his rage.

Her petulance smacked him in the face, but more than that, she faced his challenge without issue and Mesa didn't know what to do about it; his father would never have let anyone talk to him like that, would he? Could he be expected to hold up his side of the fight when his training wasn't finished? None of that mattered in the end; Mesa, emotional and distraught and having none of her shit, decides in a snap to do what he feels is right: he shouts in her face.

Who do you think you are, tellin' me what to do? My parents run this place! My dad's the -- general, he was going to say, not that he'd forgotten what happened at all ( how could he ever ), but it was a slip of the tongue. A fracture to add to the growing tumult of this ongoing tragedy. Was the General, and you're a nobody, so shut up! You go bury it if its so important! With that, he turned his back on her.
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the pale boy begins to shout in her face and praimfaya tries so hard to keep her composure. she puts as much effort as she is capable of mustering into letting him shout about how he was entitled and she was a nobody ...when she knows he's wrong. he knows nothing about her or her people, nothing about the greatness she was born to. a greatness that she would undoubtedly earn but she did not have to fight with seven other siblings to accomplish. she suspects saying that might only further add gasoline to his hotly burning fire of ire. still, his words sting more than she'd like to admit and in that instance she feels her stance change as she pulls herself up to her full height, her chest puff with indignation as her composure slips; and she gives voice to her one thought: snatching it from her mind and putting it to verbal words quick like a viper's strike. you know nothing about me, my people or my family! she shouts back when her sharp glare of knives does not appear to cow him. don't you dare call me a nobody. she spits the word back at him like its poison.
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He's trying to get a rise out of her—and well, he's a bratty child in the moment, suffering as he is. It is not a good excuse for treating others so poorly but he doesn't care; he's hurting, so they should be too. His words hit her ears and she reacts as he wants her to, offended and raging. It is a surprise to Mesa that more people aren't raging for the loss of life upon the mountain; why was it that he was the only wolf able to identify and act upon his anger? How could everyone else let the death of Stigmata fade away so swiftly? He was, of course, oblivious to the internalized struggles of Diaspora. All he felt was his own ineptitude, his own aching wants, his own selfish need for a father that wasn't anything more than meat now.

The girl is yelling in his face again. She's protesting, trying to prove to him she's more than nothing, but it doesn't matter what she says; she is not his blood. She is not one of the children of Stigmata, and to Mesa that is everything. Her raging voice fills his ears in retaliation and yet Mesa scoffs. Your people? What people! You have nobody! It was Mesa who felt like he had nobody; he had effectively hidden from his siblings and avoided all interaction with his father's grave to date, and by hiding from the pain of it all he'd made it all worse for himself.

He flashed his teeth and warned her with a low note rumbling like gravel at the back of his throat, crowding nearer. 

Just because your mom calls you cool doesn't mean that you are! He berated her. You're not special, you're just some kid! Whether he was talking about Praimfaya or himself is unclear at this point, but really it could apply to them both. He was staring her down now, hoping she'll fight, hoping she'll take all that anger and do something because he felt like he couldn't breathe for all the pain he felt over his own family.
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praimfaya's breathing turns heavy as he yells things at her: that she has nobody, as he flashes his teeth and warns her with a rumbling and crowds her personal space. she feels anger rush, white hot, like a wave over her. she is not known for being as prickly or as easily riled as her mother ( a gift, really ) but he continues to berate her and she doesn't have to take it. who is he? the kid of a dead leader? a bully? big deal, she thinks angrily. if she's not special ...then neither is he. shof op! she snarls at him, flashing her own teeth.

she wasn't going to stand there and take this as her skin prickles with the heat of his insults. she may not be as thorny as her mother but she was no placating lamb either.

in a breadth of a moment praimfaya lurches forward, teeth aiming to snap at anywhere on him they could get ahold of.
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Her eruption comes at a well timed pace, not that he expects the ferocity nor the speed contained within her puny silhouette; but there it is, rising and bursting forth with a shout in her terrible language. The sound of her voice ricochets inside his head. Her teeth are bared—then sliding so close, so dangerously close—and he counters with a snarl and the gaping of his own mouth.

They clash and deflect, cheek-to-jaw-to-grin and back again, neither backing down. Mesa certainly wasn't a warrior by any regard, his father having died before proper training could begin. Praimfaya had the upper hand when it came to talent and trained skill, but Mesa countered that with his incessant rage; his emotions making him an equal threat with his wild, frenzied assault. He would not back down any more than she would.
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praimfaya tries to recall blodreina's lessons — it shouldn't be as hard as it is, she thinks — but mesa's rage is insistent. she blocks when he attacks ...though his teeth do find purchase on her cheek. she attempts to repay it with a fierce snap of her own teeth at his cheek. the injury stings and but she is determined to keep hammering at him as good as he gave until something happened. either they would tear into each other or wear each other out.

just as the grapple begun to get good, blodreina's voice cuts through her snarl and the snapping of teeth. praimfaya is the first to break it. she snaps her teeth at him once more before putting distance between them. her mother's footsteps grew louder and though she felt a surge of annoyance for her mother's interruption she knows she cannot keep her waiting. one day very soon, praimfaya would understand mesa's rage and she would regret feeling this annoyance at blodreina. one day, she would give anything to have her mother interrupt a child's spat again.

she offers mesa no words as she departs, leaving him to his rage and his sorrow to find blodreina, swatting away her mother's concern over the few injuries she has suffered from mesa's teeth. when asked, she doesn't tell her mother how she got them. she merely shifts the conversation to their next lesson eager to put the inconclusive fight behind her.