Sun Mote Copse burn the world that you call civilized

Didn't check stats, so if FB is full feel free to chase him away!

Months he had been alone. He had adapted, as one must, but still the weight had stripped from his body. While he should have experienced another growth spurt his was stunted; so he hadn't physically matured much, but there was a haggard look to his face; his pelt was tangled and muddy, shaggy all over. A lick of dried blood marked his chin - something he missed after his last hunt - so the say he looked like some kind of feral child wasn't far off the mark.

Thankfully he had fresh meat between his teeth now, or he'd have leapt across the border he had discovered to take his chances with a cache. The smell of pheasant was overpowering; his hunger was too great, so he stopped where he stood (so near a fresh puddle of piss that Tuvak ought to have noticed, maybe found somewhere more suitable to eat) and began to pluck the feathers from the bird's fat body.

It wasn't often that Figment ever actually came across anyone during his trips around the borders. They were typically quite uneventful, though he did occasionally come across a prey animal he'd give chase to, or the scent of another predator he'd taken some time inspecting. Other than that, he pretty much just walked along, peed a bit, sniffed at stuff, and called it a day. It wasn't exciting, but it worked for him.

When he heard the stranger a dozen or so yards in his wake, Fig felt an immediate jolt of what could've been given a kinder name, but I'll just admit was panic. He'd never had to actually protect the borders from anything before, let alone one of his own kind. The stranger looked like he'd seen better days (or at least Fig hoped so) and was going at the whatever-it-was with an almost desperate greed. His hackles prickled all along his spine as he watched and took a deep breath. He hadn't done this before, but he knew what to do. He could do this.

Stiff-legged, Figment turned back and approached the stranger with wary assertiveness. He lifted his chin as he moved to position himself between the yearling and the heart of the Copse. "You're a little close for comfort," Fig said by way of greeting as came to a stop, his eyes dropping to the puddle for a moment before he added, "...which I suspect you haven't noticed."

Bit by bit the downy feathers came away. The wings splayed out as he worked, battering at his snout to the point that it bothered him and he snapped, crushing the hollow bones and making the wider flight feathers bend. With a snort Tuvak raised his head and blew some of the dander away - and noticed the approaching dark shape, at first too invested in his work to care that he was being watched. When they spoke though, he listened. Movement paused as if someone had pressed a magic button; his jaws were wide and set to grasp at the fat bird, suspended.

A deviation of his eyes to where the ground was yellow, and he shut his mouth. His nose wrinkled. But it didn't put him off for long - and as the other wolf didn't appear to threaten his meal, Tuvak resumed the rest of his plucking and with a snap and shake of his head, ripped a wing off.

Fig's comment illicited a pause and a look, but little else. After a brief, wary interlude, the boy went right back to chomping on his kill, unperturbed. Fig watched him for a moment, then... Kinda just kept watching him. This wasn't going the way he thought it would, and having no actual experience with this sort of interaction, he really had no idea what to do next.

So... "I'll wait," Fig said, shrugging awkwardly and then dropping onto his haunches. He didn't sense any immediate threat from the stranger and suspected that, given his clearly weakened state, he'd be able to hold his own just fine even if the ragged boy decided to attack. So, the least Fig could do was let him have his meal. It at least gave him time to figure out his next move.

Before long the bird's entrails were strewn about the border like some kind of ritualistic display. The bulk of the creature's meat was gobbled up hastily, messily; then Tuvak went from point to point, puddle to evicerated puddle, either supping on the fluids or munching on bits of bloodied matter. The trail turned to red mud as he trecked through it, but once he was satisfied that everything had been consumed and his belly was nice and round, he stopped.

Initially forgetting that the guardian was waiting there for him, Tuvak began to clean the streaks of red from between the toes on one foot, but stopped, as he had before - glancing sidelong at Figment as he remembered. The paw made a wet noise as he placed it down again. Got more food? He asked suddenly, eyes alert. From the looks of this guy he was quite healthy, which answered the question even without Figment's input; so he plunged on to presume: If I share what I kill, can I hunt here?

Fig watched the scene unfold, not entirely happy to play witness to it. Being a wolf, he wasn't unaccustomed to seeing gore during a feeding. Still, there was something different in this. A little less... controlled, or dignified, or... Hm. The Redhawk inwardly shrugged it off and continued watching, waiting until it was over so they could proceed (however that would play out, he still had zero idea). He couldn't fault the boy for the display, anyway. He was clearly quite hungry.

When finally, the stranger spoke to him, Figment was still unprepared for what to do next. But once the question was asked, he realized that this was really just a conversation. He could do those. "We don't usually let strangers run around in our territory, generous though the offer is," Fig commented thoughtfully, "Where are you from? What brought you here?"

Figment might've been ignorant about what to expect in his position, but Tuvak was equally unprepared - perhaps more so, after living for such a long period of time on his own in the wilderness. At least when adults did it they could come back claiming personal development or something. For a kid such as himself, it was an ordeal just to stay alive, let alone come out of it without some level of undiagnosed trauma.

The questions posed by the dark boy were met with a pronounced sniff as well as a subtle recoil by Tuvak, as if the answers which flooded in to his mind were too grim to detail. To say that Tuvak had forgotten his family wasn't accurate: he remembered the mountain home, his mother, his siblings, but when he tried to recall anything from that period in his life he only felt the rise of panic in his breast; a flash of gore in the grass, the stomping of hooves, the chill of winter.

Nowhere, he quipped for the first question, then, —food, mmn. Isn't that why you're here? Had the boy not come to hunt, too? Or maybe the smell of the pheasant was something of a lure? But then again, he hadn't tried to take from him - so for a moment Tuvak was perplexed, and his sullen features tensed in a little scowl. Your territory? He parroted, shifty eyes glancing around at the trees, finally realizing what was going on. Oh.

Fig watched the other boy react--every emotion seemed written across his face. The frowns, the scowls, the confusion. Figment read it all and considered it all with that empathetic thoughtfulness that always guided him. He was pretty sure that this stranger was similar in age to him, and yet he felt years older. He regarded this boy in a way that was similar to how he regarded his younger siblings--something to be protected, guided. Something that was too young, too naive to really understand. Fig pitied him.

That didn't mean he wasn't wary of him, though. It also didn't mean he thought he had any right to make a decision about whether he ought to drive the other boy off or invite him to stay. That was up to @Wraen or @Towhee. They weren't here, though, and Figment wasn't certain yet that he ought to bother them. "Yes, this is my pack's claim," he explained, "You're not allowed to enter this forest unless you're pack." He watched the boy's face for any recognition that would suggest he understood, but decided to venture the question just to be safe, "You understand what pack is?"

His scowl deepend. 

Of course I do, he all but spat. He'd come from one pack or another, tried to find a place in more than one after that, but nothing stuck for long. This kid was talking to him like he had no brain at all; clearly that wasn't true, or he'd have died within a week of leaving the wilds — or he'd have been trampled long ago by the running elk. I bet you've never been outside of one.

Not that either lifestyle was better than the other; but if this boy was going to be judgemental (which is how it felt to uncivilized folk such as himself) he would meet barb with barb.

Wraen did not meddle much in the doings of the pack's mercenaries, knowing well, that if there were situations, where her presence was needed and she would have to intervene, they would make a call for either her or Towhee. And with Arcturus joining the team she had a reason to feel extra confident that the pack was safe under the Watch's keen gaze. 

So it happened that she found Figment and a stranger having a conversation on her return to Sun Mote copse. She had spent the better part of the morning hunting frogs and voles in the nearby bog and still felt the taste of peat water in her mouth. "What do we have here?" she greeted Figment cheerfully, while approaching Tuvak from behind. She stopped at a polite distance from the young wolf, traced his features with her gaze and then asked: "Did you lose anything here?"

Fig saw the look and instantly realized his faux pas. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment as the other boy replied, making it clear that he wasn't some stupid, helpless child in spite of what appearance may have suggested. Fig sucked in a breath and steadied himself, his brows furrowing in thought. He certainly didn't want this interaction to devolve into a back and forth of insults, so he made himself ignore the jab. But, without the option of stooping to the same level, he realized he didn't really know where to go from here. Again. Still.

Fortunately, he was saved by the appearance of Wraen. Fig was visibly relieved when he looked past the boy and saw her approaching, though he caught himself before he completely dropped his protective, guardian stance. She asked a couple of question, which Fig considered answering, but decided not to in the end. He merely looked at the other boy expectantly. In all honesty, Fig wasn't actually sure he knew what they had here anyway, so how was he really supposed to answer the question?

A masculine figure appeared beside them, coming up to flank Tuvak, and as he turned to look sharply at it he thought they looked cut from granite. The closer they got the easier it was to differentiate their gender; aside from the swagger they possessed, their scent was different from the boy's just enough for Tuvak to figure it out. When they spoke, it was further solidified.

Her question was met with a protective step over the last puddled remains of the bird, as if to say, mine! But as he glimpsed between the two wolves, Tuvak realized he couldn't let his guard down. Pack wolves or not, he was outnumbered now. His gaze dropped to the dirt, thoughtful, perhaps even a bit submissive. Tuvak.

Whether that was a greeting in a foreign tongue or his name, he left for their determination. It didn't feel right to name his parents or mention the mountain of his birth, as they probably wouldn't care - plus his life before was so far removed from him now.

"A tuvak - I do not know that kind of animal," Wraen replied and shot a glance, full of good-humour to Figment, who had not offered much on the subject, leaving all the talking to the stranger. It was a very young wolf and judging by how fiercely he guarded the remains of his lunch, he probably did not see square meals on regular basis. 

"So - Tuvak - what are you doing here?" she asked. "I am sure that Figment here explained already that these are claimed lands and, though we are not a murderous bunch, we do not take it very kindly that people hunt on our land without permission," she explained. 

"If a hunt it was, then you can take, what's yours and leave. If there is anything else we can do for you - now is a good time to say it," the Sovereign looked at the stranger expectantly.

Fig was anxious to see what Wraen would make of this stranger. He certainly wasn't sure what to think. He felt his hackles prickle again as his protective instincts were triggered by the look the stranger gave Wraen and he tensed, ready to lunge if the need arose. He certainly didn't want it to--he still felt sympathetic towards him. But that didn't mean he was going to let anything happen his Sovereign because of it.

Figment was attentive as the conversation moved forward. He cracked a brief smile at Wraen's initial reaction, though it was short-lived as he kept a wary eye on the boy--Tuvak, as it seemed he was called. He glanced over again at Wraen when she mentioned Tuvak's kill, his ears slipping back and then forward again as concern rose in him. "He didn't hunt within our borders--just very near them," Fig commented, wanting to make sure the record was straight.

"Too near," he added under his breath. He and Tuvak had covered that already, but Fig couldn't help himself.

It felt like he was being ganged-up on. He didn't like the tone of the woman's voice, unable to fully parse the humour within it, which he took as outright mockery, and then when Figment made his little aside, Tuvak shot him a sharp glare. He looked back to the woman and restated his proposition: Hunted this back that-ways, his tail swayed as he shrugged towards the forest further off, outside the claim. And like I said to your boy, if ya got more food I'll happily hunt it for you. I could... Use the practice. A flicker of humility was all he offered in that moment. And maybe show this one a thing'or two about bein' a warrior. He gave Figment a vaguely predatory once-over and then smirked, amused by the leggy boy's agile appearance. If you have the room.

Tuvak's overconfidence reminded Wraen strongly of Bronco's early days and did not impress her much to begin with. She preferred more humility and good manners in those, who asked for home on her doorstep, and she was seeing neither in the rugged youth. But then she had lived long enough in the world not to let first impressions influence her judgement right away. 

"Tell me first, who are you - where do you come from?" the sovereign asked, fixing the boy with her gaze and preparing to listen.

The other yearling didn’t seem to recognize Fig’s efforts to defend him, or so he assumed judging by the sharp glare he received. The Redhawk frowned thoughtfully at him as he continued, answering Wraen’s question in a way that allowed him to shoot another jab Fig’s way. Fig felt his annoyance stir, but he didn’t rise to the bait. He was more curious to understand what drove it—clearly nothing rational since fighting skills hadn’t been a topic of conversation at all previously.

Fig was left to assume the boy was just trying to get a rise out of him, and Fig had spent too much time with Fennec to let that get the best of him. So, he merely looked over at Wraen to watch as she steered the conversation.

What did it matter where he came from? He was here, he could clearly be useful to them - but instead they kept on asking questions. The boy huffed and sank back upon his haunches, deliberating what to say; he no longer cared about the eviscerated bird and hardly noticed as he sat down in some of the cooling blood that touched upon the grass.

Finally he remarked, I was born in the mountains. Not these ones, but close. My -- dad died he could have divulged, but caught himself at the last second. He was bristling slightly, though not on purpose, trying to remain guarded. My caretaker died during the quakes, and I've been alone since. That was better; it wasn't the whole truth but enough of it.

Remembering the now-hazy moment where Kazimir had been crushed to death by the many hooves made him feel a bit squeamish, and he swallowed a lump in his throat, hoping he didn't look too green around the gills; he did not like questions.

"You seem to be a bit too young to have been entirely on your own, since the earthquakes," Wraen observed, her tone neutral. Her gaze traced the boy's features and, though there was not anything that would give her a tell-tale sign of "BEWARE", she could not quite say that she liked the fellow. And this came from a wolf that was generally inclined to believe in the best in people.

"Though that might show, how good you are at survival. Why do you want to join a pack?" she asked, still hesitant to say "yes", though she hid it well.

Fig listened to the tale, feeling his sympathies stir again. There had been something hesitant in the word caretaker that suggested to him that it hadn't been a caretaker at all that had died. Or if it had been, there was more meaning behind the word than it suggested. He wondered if Wraen had picked up on it, but he continued to stay quiet. He'd clearly proven to himself that while he was good at preventing strangers from entering his territory, he had no idea how to actually talk to them. He observed Wraen in order to learn, and he wasn't going to interrupt his lesson.

He couldn't tell what she thought of him, but he thought he might've seen her attitude in the lack of it. He knew Wraen to be warm, funny and welcoming. The fact that she wasn't now said something to him, though it was too soon to tell if that was necessarily a negative. For his own part, Fig felt inclined to give the other yearling a chance, but he was torn over it still as he in no way wanted him anywhere near his young siblings. He frowned thoughtfully.

He could not help but bristle at her assessment even if it was accurate. How could he expect them to believe that story? It was ridiculous. It was true, despite Tuvak's resistance to speaking of it, and to be called a liar so swiftly only served to irritate him. He couldn't tell what the woman was feeling but she seemed closed-off; perhaps mirroring his own attitude back at him, which was fair.

Why do you want to join a pack? She asked next, which Tuvak found incredible.

Because I don't want to starve to death, maybe? He snapped back, unable to help himself. The fur along his shoulders was prickling but he tried to take a breath and curtail his annoyance with this whole exchange. What kind of question was that? A pack was strength; a pack meant security and food when you needed it, so why wouldn't he want that? Look—I am telling the truth. The quakes happened when I was very young and as a result of them I lost everything. I don't want to get in to my whole life story, here. I can be useful, and either you agree with that or you don't.

He stopped there, and watched both of them with a shifty gaze, intent on hearing a yes or no.

"That's a good point as any," Wraen remarked, completely unfazed by the youth's emotional outburst, but liking him even less for that. She felt similarly to Figment - there was sympathy for the parentless boy, but was not confident, whether she wanted him around the little kids. If he lost his temper this easily with adults, she did not wish him anywhere around.

"I would like to remind you that you are not the one to talk from the position of power at the moment," she told him, trying to meet his eyes. "We have resources, you don't have any and nothing deters me from calling other guardians to either chase you out or rip you to pieces," this was quite murderous from a wolf, who was generally considered kind and friendly.

"So, either you pull yourself together, be an adult and answer all my questions politely or leave now and don't show your face here again," Wraen said.

Fig made up his mind in the next moment. His eyes narrowed at the way the other boy snapped at Wraen. A low, warning growl rumbled free of his chest, though he otherwise kept his tongue steady. He fell silent as Wraen began to speak, interested to hear her judgment of him and hopeful it was along the lines with his.

She refrained from passing judgement still, but Fig was pleased with the energy with which she met Tuvak's attitude. He lifted his chin a little as she spoke and narrowed his eyes further, silently backing her words by subtly indicating that he would certainly be among those guardians to chase him out. Ripping him to pieces might be a stretch... He would think on that comment later, though. For now, he waited to see what would happen next.

He did not think he had done anything wrong. She had asked questions and he had answered—that's how all of this worked, right? Did she not like his answers? Was there something wrong with being able to fend for oneself, or was his state-the-obvious approach an irritant to her? Either way, Tuvak found her resistance to him grating on the ears, and felt immediately alienated with the way she condescendingly spoke to him. 

The boy was hot under the collar and stubborn too, which was a bad combination. He wasn't sure if he should continue speaking or if he should clam up, and since she hadn't asked any further questions for him to answer, he remained silent and fuming. Tuvak felt the other boy's eyes on him and he didn't like that either, he didn't like having to beg for something as simple as a meal and a place to sleep, but it was necessary. He didn't want to starve, as he'd stated; the rest was his reiteration of the truth, and somehow it was offensive.

He took a breath. Maybe it would be better if he left this entire situation behind? They clearly did not want him. He wasn't good enough, or maybe his story sounded too far-fetched. The image of Kazimir being pulverized by spidering hooves made him flinch and look at the dirt—pensive for a long moment. Then, gradually, he began to speak again: I want to join a pack so that I can survive. That's what they're for. His voice was level this time. I can hunt for myself but it would be easier with backup.

My — my parents wanted me to be a warrior, so that's how they raised me until I was separated from the pack. What more did they need? The woman had only asked the one question. He kept explaining, hoping some part would click and help her make her decision; evidently that meant sharing things he'd rather not think about. My caretaker, a woman named Kazimir, tried to bring me home. The earthquakes spooked the herd living near the claim, and she died in the stampede. I... I ran, and I kept running, but I don't... I don't want to do that anymore. I can't go home because I don't know where home is, so I have to start over.

As Tuvak fell silent finally, the hollow expression on his face seemed to cement itself. He hated having to explain all of this, sharing things with strangers that had no right to know these painful details; all just to prove what? That he was worthy to live among them? He hated having to grovel and prove himself, but these were the hoops that he had to jump through, and he just had to bite the bullet and get it over with.

Perhaps, Wraen had been too harsh and condescending in the manner she had addressed the young nomad. Not too long ago both Elfie and Bronco had been of the same age, been exactly that much stubborn and hard to communicate with. The only difference was that you did not choose your family members, but you could choose, who you wanted (or did not want) to live with. 

The boy seemed to fight an inner battle with himself and Wraen waited for him to make a decision - leave now or try again. He chose the second and earned the first point in the good books. She listened to his story and felt sorry for all that he had gone through, but appreciated more that he was honest and open about himself. He did no like to show his vulnerable side - frankly speaking, who did? - but Wraen was not going to press for more details in the story that was so painful for the boy to remember and tell.

"What is that you want to be yourself? To become a warrior still or something else?" Wraen asked after a moment of silence. "Do you remember, what was the name of your pack?" she asked next. Maybe not all was lost yet and they could still help the guy get back to his family, if that was, what he wanted.