Lake Rodney i will not be commanded.
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#1
All Welcome 

with hydra and dirge both alerted of his plans to scout, arcturus had headed north first, and then south. in the northern lands he had found nothing. it was discouraging, but he was a man of the spear -- and was made of stone. he would not be demoralized by the failure of his expedition.

swinging south, arcturus passed many markers he knew. the pine forest, with the malcontent vagrant. the lake vercingetorix had met his demise. these lands were more familiar to the man, and so, he tread quicker. slaking his thirst at the cupping of the river's bend, arcturus looked grimly across the water's surface, wondering if any prey stirred at the opposite water's edge.
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after informing dacio and aleks that she will be heading out — in another fruitless search for prey that she knows she will not find, from experience — she departs from roangeda's claim. she's never been an idle spirit, whether it was the warrioress in her veins or the diplomat she can never be sure. though, her warborn mother had been a recluse for much of her life and this was clearly not a trait that they shared. perhaps, she considers, it is neither. perhaps it was a trait passed from commander to commander. that wanderlust that borderlines the need to conquer ...be it another pack or the exploration of territories.

her contemplations are broken as she nears the all-too familiar lake rodney — a frequent haunt of hers for she hopes that the fresh waters will be a first stop for herds — to discover that she isn't alone. the male is draped in a pelage of all ebony and for a moment — the briefest! — she thinks of her departed father and her breath catches in her throat. but she knows ingram is gone to her, off to whatever spiritworld her mother had been stolen away to; at least, this is what she tells herself so she can find some peace. he is too young, too unscarred, too moonspearian.

she recognizes the scent well, now; from her own visit and from hydra and dirge's recent visit to her fen. praimfaya releases her held breath in a quiet exhale and lets out a chuff once she's collected herself to announce her presence to him, if he wasn't already made aware.
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snow being crunched underfoot. arcturus looked up, water dripping from his chin. his ears perked as his eyes searched the bank, coming to rest on a figure younger than himself nearby.

her scent he pinpointed immediately — she was a wolf from the fen; standing proud in that unbending way that he had noted dacio had. the young commander, he reminded himself — hydra had told him as much, when they had first learned of roangeda’s plan to settle. his ears swept to the side to recognize her station, and he stood more at ease now than he had in seconds past.

a roangeda wolf. arcturus stated, straightening the bend in his spine as he moved from the bank. arcturus, of moonspear.
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it occurs to praimfaya that, perhaps, she should be weary — for while he is moonspearian he is still a stranger — and she is cautious, perhaps, as she is meeting any new wolf she is not precisely weary. moonspear and roangeda share a common enemy and for now that is more than enough to warrant an alliance. when war came she finds herself glad to know that roankru would not stand alone. aside from that, she'd never been a shy nor unsociable creature.

praimfaya takes note of the sweep of his ears in recognition, a small nod of appreciation and a respectful return of her own acknowledgment of him given. she doesn't respond to his statement, though, assuming it is rhetorical more than anything else. arcturus, he introduces himself as. i am praimfaya, she responds with her own name in return.

what brings you this way, arcturus of moonspear? she inquires conversely, wondering idly if there was a reason or if he, like her, was hoping that lake rodney might attract any returning herd(s).
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with the flourish of social courtesies out of the way, arcturus takes the time (albeit slyly) to study praimfaya. not so long ago, he had been her age -- yet to arcturus, it seemed a lifetime. indeed, it was -- half a lifetime ago for the beta.

yet he admired her all the same. as a man of the spear, it was his custom to assess outside stock. wolf-flesh in the spear was almost entirely ostregan, and those outside of his blood were often judged harshly. as clinical as it seemed, arcturus had an eye for measuring those around him -- and he felt in some way, praimfaya had only just begun to tap into the wealth of strength she now displayed.

"on the hunt for game." came his ready reply. he was not convinced he should reveal the food shortage in moonspear, but if roangeda was ever to prove themselves an ally, it was likely they would need to know of their neighbors' strife. "but i have had no luck. is prey plentiful in roangeda?"
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#6
okok, i kinda lowkey ship them now and their shipname is Arcfaya and no one can change my mind, lol.

frostbound gaze lingers upon him, studying him as he slyly studies her. ears flutter back to half mast before cupping forth, a coy tilt of her head given. as he tells it, prey is his mission out this way. before praimfaya can inquire loftily ( as she had planned ) about the fruit of his labor he adds that he has had no luck. it was unfortunate, but she relates. the famine has not been kind to them and though roangeda is blessed to have the fish that dwell in the river that cuts through their claim she cannot say she is fond of it. small game is what most of her diet consists of these days and she hungers ( heh ) for the days when she can fill her belly with venison once more.

enough for us to survive. she murmurs vaguely, with a lofty roll of her shoulders in a shrug. it wasn't a lie. they were surviving ...they simply weren't living like kings. it makes her worry about the impending season — a thing she had to be reminded of, for her young age makes her unaware of what awaits come mid-winter. could roangeda support new life? she worries about it, but reminds herself of what dacio has told her. roankru is strong. they would survive, weathering the storms as they came.

i come here often, hoping i might see the winter herds return. she admits, distantly, trying to imagine how great it might be to see the migration of them as they return ( and how relieved she'll be ). i must admit that hunting has never been my strong suit. praimfaya, like her mother it would seem, just didn't have the penchant for it.
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i love it !!

arcturus did not miss the way she studied him -- the exchange was likewise, and he knew he had been spotted by those icy silver eyes. he looked away, albeit reluctantly -- and the edges of his lips turned up ever so much in a subtle smile.

so they too, had only just enough to thrive. arcturus had lived through one winter, but this one was worse yet -- he feared for their future, should things remain so bleak. he nodded as she spoke of hoping to see the herds return - this seemed a prime place for hunting, if prey was actually present. praimfaya mentioned her hunting skills were not her strongest suit -- this elicited a slight snort of amusement from the male, who thought internally she was much too young to expect her skills to be burgeoning. "oh? what is it that is your strong suit?"
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soon, praimfaya would come to the harsh realization that this was not meant to last. every moment she spent out here awaiting the return of the herds, thinking roangeda would prosper would all be for naught. for now, however, it still does and she remains blissfuly, if not woefully, ignorant of what the future has in store for her. she casts a glimpse out over the lake, letting her eyes trail from arcturus for a moment before gravitating back to him at his slight snort of amusement. while it is true that praimfaya has a lot to learn still blodreina's near militaristic training has not been left to go to the wayside. she doesn't expect to win a fight against a full grown adult ( at least not yet ) but she can hold her own; even if for a while. even if to prove nothing else than she wasn't prepared to go down without a fight.

well, the worlida drawls on a breath. i've got diplomatic skills, a necessity; though to say she was as war hungry as her mother would be a lie. and my mother taught me how to fight. she tells him matter-of-factly.
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unexpectedly, praimfaya mentioned her skills in both fighting and diplomacy. these were two pursuits after arcturus' own heart: he looked to her sharply, with warm surprise mingling in his yellow eyes.

"is that so?" diplomacy, he did not doubt - was she not the warrior-princess of a nearby tribe? one did not rise to such station without some shred of tact.. but fighting.. fighting was something one learned, every day -- and the longer you lived, often, the better you became.

"show me." he squared up with a flick of his tail, a smile edging along his dark muzzle.
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yes, the young worlida replies ( though she wonders after if it was a rhetorical question ) with a quirk of her brows, a twitch of her ears; a coy smile tugging at the edges of her lips. show me, he says as praimfaya watches him square up. she doesn't go into it thinking she's going to lose ( because then she's already lost as her mother told her ) but she acknowledges that if nothing else this will prove beneficial to her. it's been a while since she's actually sparred with someone and perhaps there are tricks he could teach her; things that even blodreina hadn't known.

she draws nearer to him, tail flicking behind her, ears risen, frostbound gaze studying him; sizing him up. each dancer's step she tries to give the illusion that she would fight elegant instead of the brutal way her mother taught her. she comes from a line of commanders, from a line of maidens of myth. fighting gentle wasn't truly in her nature despite what her well-tempered tongue might suggest.

she knows that the size and experience gap between them would garner him all the advantages; so her tactician's mind works. deception, attempting to throw him off his guard enough to garner some good attacks would need to be her tactic. her muscles coil tight and doesn't let her eyes linger in one place for too long so he cannot judge where she ultimately aims to strike.

praimfaya lunges for his right, motion suggesting she's aiming for his right front leg before feigning left quickly, hoping to land a small strike to his left shoulder instead.
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squared up and waiting, arcturus noted praimfaya gave him no quarter when it came to predictable moves. she was clearly trained, in some manner -- for her gaze betrayed little the way it moved from target to target with no clear direction. he recognized that tactic, and so, remained still: let her come to him.

so she did -- rearing with a speed he underestimated. at first it seemed she went for his right leg, and arcturus prepared for that by swinging his muzzle towards her -- but at the last minute she feigned for the left. her teeth raked his shoulder, loosing dark fur from his hide.

so this match was to be one of subterfuge - arcturus had learned from the best (hydra) when it came to guise. he smiled, countering her move with a gritty push of his shoulder towards her. she had gotten him by surprise, but would not again.

with their bodies close, arcturus met praimfaya's gaze, and then followed his counter with a snap towards her elbow.
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#12
eep, i'm so sorry for the wait on this.

her attack on his shoulder hit though she did not draw blood ( and really that wasn't the point ) but she did take with her some loose fur. he counters with a shove of his shoulder and it hits; forcing her to stagger back from the force of impact. their gazes locked for a hairsbreadth of a moment; silver and yellow. his snap at her elbow takes her off guard and hits, his teeth drawing across her flesh.

drawn in close as they are, though her body tenses to put distance between them she fights the primal instinct to regroup and instead aims to land a lash of her teeth upon his neck while he is presumably distracted at her elbow.
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no worries <3 i am around to spree tonight + this weekend if you'd like to conclude this for trades! otherwise no rush

his teeth graze her elbow, light enough no blood is drawn -- yet forceful enough she would not soon forget his contact. he began to step back for his next attack, when praimfaya lunges for the half-acre of neck arcturus had left wide open.

he could have concluded as such, given he had delivered to her such ample opportunity. with his stance low, arcturus countered with a rough heave of his shoulders, attempting to offset the force of praimfaya's blow, which in his present position, would graze roughly through the back of his nape.
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#14
take your advantages dirty or not, wanheda. there is no fair play in war.

blodreina's fierce words echo to her now, a lackluster imitation of her mother's voice tragically forgotten. this wasn't war but praimfaya trains herself to seize opportunity whenever it presents itself to her: such as while his neck is exposed to her. he pushes back — shoulder to the curve of her chest again, utilizing his size and strength against her. a noise is given in protest as he makes contact, her teeth skimming his nape.

she stumbles back to collect herself, putting distance between them; eyes sizing him up, breath heavy. head hangs slightly, ears fluttering back as dramatic breath is taken; followed closely by a steel of her shoulders as her muscles pull taunt and she strikes. this time, she means to feign left and dodge right, her goal: to ram her shoulder into his ribcage if she manages to get that far.
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in war or in fights, there's seldom fairness. there is little honor in it, and so when one is staked to lose all, certain tactics are apt to come into play.

and play was simply another word for contest, contest for fight, and fight for war.

he winced as praimfaya's teeth left their parting mark. she began to pull away, and he let her, tracking her movement with his yellow eyes. when she swung back around he was ready -- ready to counter with a terrific heave of his shoulder

only, she feinted -- and he was left shoving nothing but air

and then the collision came which knocked him sideways.

he laughed, for she had utterly played him the fool, as he recollected himself into the snow. he shook powder from his muzzle and looked upon her doggedly -- and then surged.

if trickery was what they would play, he would do oblige. his gaze was kept to her forepaws and chest as he drew close, yet in that last stride before collision he did an improbable flourish -- he slammed heavily on the brakes and spun in a pirouette, collecting momentum as he went -- and then lunged not for the front of praimfaya, but her flank.
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her feign works; he shoulders air and her design to shoulder his ribcage hits. praimfaya watches as he is knocked into the snow, smirking at him as he laughs. all is fair in war — she singsongs coyly, teasingly; thinking that blodreina would be proud of her for utilizing that move. it had been her mother's infamous move, after all. it was how blodreina had won the challenge against the then commander and earned her title of wanlida. it was a proverbial pass of the torch that wanheda should utilize it too.

her pride, however, is smothered as he lunges for her. her attention is back on their spar and despite that she just utilized a move of trickery she does not expect him to adopt her own tactics. when he feigns she tries to dodge but having realized too late his lunge for her flank hits. praimfaya sinks down to the snowy earth; knowing that he has advantages of skill and experience over her and that she will not win this spar. though it hurts her pride she knows from linkoln and blodreina's own words that a good commander knows when to yield. she still has much to learn.

ai giv op, she pants in trigedasleng, wincing slightly and then translates ( though it is close enough to it's common equivalent that she simply does so out of practice ) i yield. best to admit her defeat now than lose her dignity when he truly defeats her.
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arcturus is after her with a dogged grin, determined now that he had learned of her favored hand in trickery, to utilize it best against her. his blow was hard -- not so hard as to truly harm her, but hard enough to be remembered -- for that was the way of the moonspearian spars. in terms of torches, he did not have any move to pass up to the mantle (besides, you know, tossing his loved ones off of a cliff, which was not in any way his style), but he would have approved of the girl's mother, had he ever the chance to truly get to know her.

he halted quickly in response to the girl's words, the first of which he thought he only scarcely understood. panting loosely, with his tail waving slowly behind him, arcturus studied the girl and came to the conclusion that was quick. "a swift end." he remarked dryly, licking snow off of his forepaw with one sly yellow gaze affixed upon her. "who taught you that trick?"
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it only occurs to praimfaya in the moments that she rises from the snowy ground that she has given up far too soon and quick. regardless though, she recognizes he has skills above her own and it has been some time since she's last sparred. there hadn't been time since her mother died; too busy founding and then leading roangeda. on the topic of her being more out of practice than she should be, praimfaya knows blodreina would whole-heartedly not approve. still... is it not better to admit defeat and live to improve and fight another day then to fight until your death? of course, this wasn't one of those scenarios specifically but this is how her tactician's mind works even if it does not fully align with how numerous past commanders felt.

my mother, praimfaya tells him with a soft noise of affection in her throat. it was how she earned the title of wanlida against her own commander in a spar. dirty as all get out considering at the time her commander had, had broken ribs but it was effective and praimfaya did not intend to let the usefulness of such a move go to waste.
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he set on his haunches, observing the girl in the snow. she was stronger than she let on, he concluded - and while this spar had been quick, he believed praimfaya was no spring fool.

as it turned out out, she wasn't. she revealed her reason for doing so, and arcturus thought it sound enough logic - at the very least, he could follow the lines of thinking that gave her such conclusion. he had his own reservations and spoke them, gently. "that is true - but maybe wiser, to not pick a fight at all if you know you are not to win. lie down like a lamb, and you are unlikely to rise again." he commented darkly. any time he was roused enough to truly fight fang for fang, no amount of submission would stay his course -- if he had an enemy, it was best to be put in the ground.

"your mother sounds wise." arcturus appraised, a hint of jealous longing betraying his own grief - for his mother was dead. how he wished he could learn anything from her again. it did not occur to him that praimfaya shared his loss in a similar way.
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he has a point and he makes it well as he tells her that sometimes it's wiser not to pick a fight at all. lie down like a lamb, and you're unlikely to rise again. she contemplates it for a few seconds more before giving a sage nod of agreement. you're right. she murmurs in vocal agreement, tucking that tidbit of advice away. not all would be so kind to submission as to spare a life...would she be? for that, praimfaya has no immediate answer.

your mother sounds wise. the moonspearian speaks to her and for a moment grief twists in the worlida's heart and a grimace, briefly though it is, takes shape upon her lips. she was. praimfaya both acknowledges his words and subtly offers a correction. she died saving my life. praimfaya isn't sure why she offers this tidbit of information unprompted.
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something arcturus knew well stole across praimfaya's visage like the blackened plume of a raven -- grief. he is first alarmed -- and then ashamed -- for his involvement in evoking such emotions, and he listened with dread to every word that came thereafter.

she died saving my life. arcturus bowed his head in shared grief, allowing a moment of silence to collect about them before he spoke again. "i am sorry for your loss." the words felt flat even if he spoke them in earnest; with a quiet grunt, he attempted to remediate what had just been undone: "that makes us both without."

drawn to silence, the mountaineer remained reflective. pleasantries were exchanged — but after some time the two parted company, fated to meet on moonspear’s rocky realm in mere month’s time.
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