Silvertip Mountain Trespass

Tonravik · just southeast of the mountain

Goldry followed her scent through the lonely pass in the Sunspire Mountains and over the flat valley beyond them, until he stood in the shadow of a jagged peak that jutted into the sky like a broken tooth. Her smell was stronger than ever, yet his courage wavered.

He glanced back to the dark valley and distant mountains, whose tips were wreathed in the golden light of late evening. Ookaan territory was back there, empty and desolate. He felt a stab for leaving it behind, although he assured himself he would return. But the promise felt as empty as his home, and in his heart of hearts he did not wish to return.

But he struggled to move forward, too, and instead found himself pacing a narrow goat path in the foothills. His face was brooding and intense. Their meeting had been amicable, but his time with Aguta hardly gave him an excuse to follow her without her knowledge or permission—and Goldry wasn't predisposed to stalking. How would he explain himself if she caught him meandering about her homeland after he'd made it clear he lived nowhere near it?

The better question was: how could he explain it to himself? Truth be told, Goldry felt let down and more alone than ever before; Ookaan held his loyalty, but for how much longer? They were a collection of drifters without faces or names—nothing to attach his affections to. If the hunting was any less good in the meadow, he might have left it long ago.

He came onto a small hill, where two towering larches bordered the path on either side. Here he stopped, sighed loudly, and glanced up at the forbidding Silvertip Mountain with a frown, feeling defeated and annoyed.

Marking was a task that Tonravik took to with gusto. She traveled miles within a day, and she was not the only one. The broad-chested bear of a wolf rubbed the entirety of her body on rock, grass, and dirt; and when she caught scent of a wolf nearby, she did not bother to shake her furs to rid herself of her homes debris. This mountain was the mountain of Tartok. No other could traverse it without becoming. The other being near it set Tonravik on edge, but she was aware that although strong, her mark was new. None would know yet that this land was claimed. So her posture was not aggressive despite its dominance. She would be the informant, and through word of mouth, others would learn that this land was not free to travel any longer.

She caught sight of the agouti male, standing atop a hill. She lingered upon her ledge for a moment before the Tartok descended to meet him fully. His proximity to the borders was not close enough for even discomfort; he kept near to the meadow, for one reason or another. Perhaps the markers were stronger than she thought.

Her tail was stiff behind her as she moved toward him, noting from afar a searching gaze. She paused, suddenly, ears erect and eyes upon him, stiff as she waited for him to come, or to go. Her attentions were very clearly upon him; she did not disguise her interest.

He smelled her before he saw her, and he recognized her faint scent from the mountain.

Goldry peered down the hill and spotted a big black wolf padding toward him. The tip of his tail wagged a little at first as he thought of Aguta, but this woman was a stranger. She looked similar to Aguta, but she had a different, genuinely aloof presence. Her steps appeared heavier and more deliberate; purposeful. She focused on him, and he got the feeling she meant to deal with him.

Goldry narrowed his eyes and lifted his tail until it was parallel with his spine, but otherwise remained still, watching and waiting to see what she would do.

She stopped at a comfortable distance away and assumed her own attentive posture.

His chest felt tense. He lifted his nose to smell the air, searching for a border marker he missed. There were faint smells, but nothing strongly confirming his sudden suspicion he was near pack territory. Goldry frowned, unsure. Aguta had said nothing of belonging to a pack, and he hadn't smelled one on her when they met. But she had traveled a long way, and he knew she didn't fully trust him.

If this wolf was her pack mate, he had to be careful. Slowly, Goldry lowered his tail and looked away, offering a calming signal; I am not a threat.

He returned his gaze upon her, swept his ears to either side, then took a few tentative steps in her direction, his tail wagging back and forth in small, slow, questioning arcs. I want to speak to you.

Tonravik bristled as his tail lifted, lips lifting to reveal a row of fangs that would make good on any threat. But swiftly, the other changed his demeanor, and so she visibly relaxed herself. Her own tail remained high, perked ears twitching slightly in case he would speak. Many found words necessary. She rarely catered to them by truly listening, but this wolf appeared to have intent in being here. Perhaps it was to join them. Perhaps not. His nonverbal way, in that time, pleased her immensely. His lack of barking questions allowed her to believe he was smarter than she had initially anticipated. As his plume swayed left and right, she understood well enough what he desired. She was still for another moment longer before she nods. Come.

She shifts her own body so that she is facing him, head on; initially, her side had been exposed so he could note the length of her, but now he could see her bearish girth. How very much like her mother she was! Her brothers were smaller than her, only just, bearing her fathers height. That she was as tall as Siku meant that she was not so very stocky, but she was still boxy and broad. Everything measured out in the end so that she appeared to be proportionate. He is large, too, a handsome wolf by appearance. But Tonravik was only attracted to wolves who had won wars, and who she had seen fight and kill and ravage the enemy. She thought of the agouti stranger in that element, and imagined he may do well there—but so many wolves here were soft. Could not go through with the execution of another as means to an end. Peaceful, docile. Not even kind—it was cruel to allow fools to live, they would only die at the fangs of another!—or wise in their allowing others to continue living past their crimes committed.

He felt a rush to see her snow white teeth and her body grow taut. Then relief as she relaxed, accepting his offer of peace. It had been unwise to provoke her, though a calculated risk. A wolf of lesser heart would have left him alone, despite having the home advantage. But this one was formidable; dangerous. She was the size of a small bear with the focus of a hawk. Her eyes were unwavering. In a way, she was attractive, as an embodiment of physical prowess, of strength, of purpose.

As he descended the hill and approached, Goldry lowered his head so that it was in line with his back. His tail wagged slowly and gently, and his eyes were soft. He had no intention of fighting her, though they would have been well-matched. He realized he would not lie or waste her time, either. She did not seem one to suffer fools.

He stopped several feet away, but close enough to talk comfortably. "I followed someone here," he said at last. Although he did not look directly at her, he watched steadily and gauged her reaction. He wouldn't bother asking her to relay a message, give him information, or call Aguta to them. He wouldn't even bother explaining he posed no harm to Aguta, or the pack, if there was one. Empty platitudes meant nothing. Instead, he remarked, "She hunted well with me, and I want to hunt with her again."

Deliberately, Goldry shifted his eyes to the tall, stoic mountain, then back to her. Obviously it was her mountain, her territory, but the lack of distinct boundaries was suspicious. Did she occupy this place alone or did she rule others here—he could only guess. He disliked the mystery. Had he been as reckless as Aguta, and plunged headlong onto the mountain trails, he imagined this meeting could have gone in an entirely different and horrible direction. One in which he would have exchanged violence for violence with teeth and claws, as he was almost certain she would not have given him fair warning for his mistake.

His eyes were diverted even while her imploring gaze remained steadily upon him. He did not waste her time. Good. This was a wolf Tonravik could appreciate. There were so very few of those! He did not waste his breath, either, only saying what he felt was necessary for her to hear. He left few things to be desired, but he was vague. Still, that could be considered appropriate; she, too, could be vague.

She wondered who it was. Tuwawi? Aguta? For those were the two women within her ranks. She could not think back to the seconds where he seemed to recognize her—that would have been answer enough, for Aguta was as dark as she—even though she was keen to minute details. So instead, Tonravik could offer him his way to hunt with her, the mystery woman he spoke of. She would have to speak with whoever it was on being more discreet in their return home; Tonravik was typically not interested in many knowing of she and hers location. Let them smell the borders, and then let them depart. Tartok was a pack that clung to its secrets and its aptitude at discretion. Still, Aguta also did not know that she had returned. There was little fault in that.

We hunt with our family, she speaks at last, And our family is our pack. They could not waste their meat upon a wolf who had no intent to join them, surely he could understand that? Outsiders were never welcome. Still, there was a chance he could be welcomed into the fold, should he so desire it. She was poignant in her choice of words, and she looked to him, audits twitching and nostrils flaring. Who do you run with?

His jaws clenched. His eyes wavered. Then make an exception—the words rose like bile in his throat into his mouth.

He swallowed them.

She protected the resources of her territory to ensure the survival of her family. His mouth, his hunger, would rob them. He understood her position. Maybe he even anticipated it. He would have said the same to outsiders at his border despite Alo's tenet to be generous. But insight into her decisive remark did not preclude his frustration; his resentment.

Family. It was a bitter word; it meant exclusion. Family eluded him. Ookaan eluded him. Alo was gone. He knew then that he would not return to Wapun Meadow. And then, though he felt remorse for leaving the pack that inhabited it, he knew it was the concept, not the reality, the loss of which made his heart sore.

Goldry shifted, breathed out, glanced at the mountain. “I could hunt with you. For you,” he offered, pleaded, in a quieter voice, though it lacked none of his earlier confidence. Perhaps it was his own brand of recklessness prompting him to be so hasty now, but this she-wolf had the makings of a strong and powerful leader. She could be someone worth following, someone who could provide what he was looking for. Aguta was here, at least: the first friend—acquaintance, really, but counted as a friend in this friendless place—he'd made since leaving his brother behind last Spring.

“For the pack.”

Tonravik did not know where it was that he had come from, did not know that previously he had run with other wolves. The scent upon his furs did not tell her that he had wandered with anyone. They were so scant that it was hard to tell that he had been in a pack at all; but his good health were signs enough that recently, he had taken to traveling. It was no surprise. Often, males drifted to forge their own beginnings. Still, leaving here would not be so easy.

By doing so, you would—if worthy—become initiated into our family. Take the name and the oath. Her words were dark. Tonravik and her pack did not harbor the weak or the weary. They drew first blood. They took what was rightfully theirs, as they were the strong and ensured that the fittest survived. All that they did was for their own survival. Sometimes, others found themselves in the way. That was no fault of hers. No fault of Tartok. Life was cruel. Fate, equally so.

But perhaps not to the man before her.

What skills do you have? What could you bring me? What would you be willing to do for the path? The world was so very black and white. Tartok was by no means a darkly aligned or evil pack. They did what was necessary. And her subordinates were obedient to her, and the only voice that could speak above her own was her mother. The Matriarch of Tartok, as Tartok was her fruit. She would explain this all to him, of course, prior to anything at all. He would not be oblivious. None of them were.

Goldry felt the weight of her words, for they were as heavy as the mountain and filled with consequence. Initiation; oath; family. One of these was not the same. The hairs at the nape of his neck bristled. A disagreeable feeling settled in his chest. Family or cult? He wondered if she knew the difference. But he reminded himself he had no home to go back to, and he was tired of being alone. He could carve out the life he craved here, and he would do it with such tenacity as to prove to her he was worthy of it.

He nodded solemnly. I understand.

But the devil was in the details, and secretly he wondered if he understood anything at all.

Skills he could bring in abundance, and immodest was he in saying so. “I've some skill in navigating mountains, and guarding them. I'm a good hunter, a competent fighter, a decent tracker.” He remembered following Aguta's trail, even at times when it seemed to have disappeared completely. There was something to be said for her own expertise at leaving little behind for him to follow—he had almost lost her track more than once—but his greatest strength was why he succeeded, in the end; “I'm a strategist. I figure out how to win.”

I can bring you victory.

The truth of it was was that Tartok was very much its own vessel. Left to its own devices, its requirements were that the wolves that carried the name practice and hone their skills of battle and maintain their physical shape so that it would be the best it could be. Siku was a wolf who was real and who was true, and who had given many a purpose. Tonravik was one of that number. She could not see survival wrong when her instincts demanded it of her and any other. The will to live prevailed. As wolves, that will was constantly challenged. Battles for territory, for game, for leftovers and scraps. Battles for mates, for rank, for procreation. Everything was a fight that one would prevail in. Those that bore the name Tartok were certainly not on the short end of the stick. They did more than merely survive. They lived, and lived well.

As he supplied her with his skills, she listened. She was pleased he did not merely leave it at hunting and tracking. She had her own nose and, including herself, four hunters that were more than adept. Not only that, but each of her wolves were brilliant fighters, trained well by their many months in Tartok. But that he was a strategist was good, and that he could navigate and guard mountains was good as well. Tonravik sought strength more than she did numbers. The agouti wolf before her seemed to have it, but he would be tested.

She would not yet reveal herself to him, or her packs name. Its ways, though, she could vaguely feed him. We do not tolerate the weak. Trespassers are rewarded with death, regardless of who they are. Our mountain is our mountain alone, we do not give tours and allow none safe passage or rest. Those that leave without word or given mission are hunted. Those that betray will find themselves without a tongue to speak against us again. Her dark eyes flashed. Tartok's laws were common sense that most other packs refused to follow. And if you are foolish enough to trespass into another packs territory, you are utterly at their mercy. There is no redemption for stupidity. Even Tartok wolves could be meant for death. Some that were believed bright could be truly arrogant. Tartok could not remove all of the weak, after all. But, of course, that pack would be sought quietly, hungrily, as they waited for it to make an error. Family was family. An eye was always taken for an eye.

With his final remark, Goldry committed himself fully to this venture. A new confidence surged through him as he shucked the shackles that bound him to a lifeless pack. Ookaan was no more. This pack was; and it was strong. It was new. It held the promise of purpose and unity the likes of which could rival his natal pack. This stranger seemed to know it, for Goldry could tell she was proud. Cult or family, the difference mattered little. He wanted to feel a piece of that pride for himself.

He nodded as he listened. Her philosophy seemed inline with his own ideals and those of old Beartooth Pass, so much so that he could hear his father behind her words. Aptitude, strength, and adaptability were the hallmarks of his kin. The weak grew strong or succumbed. Trespassers were chased out of the territory, or killed if they were caught. The Pass belonged to his family and no other. It was their home and hearth; it provided, and they protected. Goldry realized, and felt relief, that his good luck continued to hold; this she-wolf would not have granted him forgiveness it he had trespassed. With the exception of retribution, which Beartooth wolves did not seek or see wisdom in doing so, her pack now sounded so much like home that Goldry felt shame for thinking any less of it. To a stranger and a straggler, Beartooth could easily come off the same way.

Goldry's eyes narrowed, committing all she said to memory. But her last sentiment elicited a smile, and his ears twitched in silent laughter. “I understand,” he said. So, the whole pack would not suffer a fool to live, even if it was one of their own. A harsh, but not undeserved atonement for the sin of arrogance; for if a pack mate risked his or her own life, they jeopardized the well-being of the pack itself. “And I agree.” But he wondered just how far this sentiment extended, and whether it was truly as black and white as she made it out to be.

Regardless, this woman sounded like an exceptional leader; like she had been groomed specifically for the role. He wondered whose pupil she'd once been, and what training she'd undergone. Whether her proclivity for ruthlessness had been part of the curriculum, or if it was simply in her nature. “Is there anything else I should know?” he asked.

SORRY FOR SHORT POST, but I figure we can end it with your next response?! Maybe new thread where we can summon Charmzzzz

She nods at his words. And his next question was responded to briefly: You are merely Goldry. Your surname, gone, to prepare you in truly becoming a part of this family. You will learn of the rest, in time. Her eyes flash as she gestures beside her. Come. I know who you hunted with, she rolls her shoulders and waits for him to move beside her before she—alongside him—would seek Aguta. Many had abandoned their last names, believing in the power of their sacred blood; but Tonravik found no merit in that, only in action. Tartok became. And when one became Tartok, it was earned. An honor.

psh no prob at all! sounds good to me :DD

She knew his name!

He stiffened. His eyes flashed. Then he remembered Aguta. If she told her superior about their hunt, of course this she-wolf would know who he was. He made a mental note to be more careful; this pack seemed to value its secrecy.

Goldry nodded. He stepped alongside her and together they set off to find Aguta. He had a grim, small smile. The question now was how Aguta would react—whether she'd find his attentions endearing or creepy.