Ravensblood Forest the tree who cried crimson
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Backdated to the 4th. @Derg; left the setting vague since Finley’s on his trail

Finley could get used to this. It was a cool, brisk afternoon as she trotted through the Ravensblood Forest, a light breeze keeping summer humidity at bay. Oddly quiet, she thought, for a pack lands, but it was just recruiting; with a canine like Donovan at the helm, she expected the place to be full in no time.

But it would be nice to meet the other recruits, sooner or later. There were two she knew of, Donovan’s volatile partner Nemisis and a weak, sniveling male named Derg. The former she was slightly afraid to meet alone; the latter, curious to see his development. If Donovan promised to turn even dogs like him into warriors….

When she caught a whiff of another male in the woods, decidedly not of Donovan’s mixed heritage, Finley decided she’d seek out company for once. So off she traveled, head high, to get a feel for one of the wolves she’d be living with.
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Derg was exploring.
He didn't have much energy about him so his head hung low and tail rested easily by his hocks as he wandered deer paths through the woods.

His ears tilted backward, the breeze blowing a scent from behind into him.
He did not yet recognize this scent, having not yet been particularly useful on the borders. Yes, he laid his scent, but most of where he lay his mark was within the territory.
Though he doubted this one wasn't welcome, otherwise Donovan would have already struck them down.
He turned on his track, waiting to face whoever sought him with his scarred face showing fully.
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Finley was expecting a downtrodden character—the half-missing face, less so. She found the sullen wolf on a sparse deer path, and despite their unfamiliarity, Derg hardly looked alert. Clearly, Finley thought, Donovan hadn’t trained him much; she wondered how long he’d even been here, to be comfortable among the Saints in a state like this. If it was an act, she was convinced.

Her stare was shameless, but it’d been long enough. Blinking, Finley greeted him with a small dip of the head, keeping her distance just in case. “Finley, new recruit,” she said. “You’re Derg, I presume?”
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In truth, Derg was proud of his scar.
Its story was one of valiance and gore; a perfect tale.
Though, he hadn't got used to the stares yet. Donovan didn't stare much, or maybe Derg hadn't noticed it. But either way, this woman was certainly looking.

His chin lifted slightly, feeling somewhat opposed. Wondering what she thought had happened to him.
He licked his lips. "I knew you weren't a stray," he stated after her correct presumption. Whoever had told her what he looked like wouldn't have a hard time.
His tail swayed softly, a good-natured comment. Hopefully she took it so.

He waited, wondering what she wanted. Just to see his face? To ask him something? What? Derg was patient though.
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#5
His chin lifted; he noticed. But he didn’t judge. Finley took his response as a confirmation—not that she needed much else—and the gentle wag of his tail signaled… good intentions? Every day she grew more and more baffled by the light spirits of these killers-to-be. Maybe there was merit to the old adage of strength in numbers.

Finley risked a few steps forward, keeping her focus on the other half of Derg’s face when she met his eyes at all. “Correct,” she said, as if her own status needed further establishment. “Thought I’d get to know fellow recruits.” She wondered if she’d have to pry for further information; how he’d ended up here, for instance. Life with the Saints. His scars. But surely he could volunteer it all if the mood struck him so.
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She had an air of confusion about her.
Did he confuse her?
The thought humored him, but he kept that to himself.

But she took him well enough, and he didn't mind her company for a bit.
Can't be worse than Nemesis tryna land some hits on him. He didn't care what she asked him to do as long as it wasn't putting his dick in her. That, for a start, was Donovan's job, so it seemed.

"Good plan," he complimented, turning and inviting her to talk and walk on his way.
"What you want to know?"
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#7
Derg carried on amicably, asking for further prompting. Again it struck Finley as unusual; who welcomed the nose of a near-stranger into their life and habits? Was he so willing to trust her on the mere basis of being packmates? Still his voice and demeanor were void of hostility, leaving her little choice but to follow.

It was dawning on Finley that she didn’t converse often, let alone carry one. Interactions with wolves she’d had during most of her travels were quick, useful, to-the-point. And she certainly hadn’t enjoyed a casual atmosphere before exile. But maybe she could get used to it.

“What brings you to the Saints?” she asked cordially, deciding to resist the barrage of questions she wanted to spring on the hapless male. Donovan had informed her of Derg’s supposed homelessness prior to the Saints’ welcome, but perhaps Derg himself saw it differently.
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She seemed apprehensive. Like this wasn't normal, like something had to happen.
He gave her a sidelong look, glad she was on his left side. His good side he could call it now.

"I juss ended up 'ere." He replied simply. And it was really rather true.
"I lost my pack and Donovan took me in." He didn't know if it was right to give the surly man a nickname yet. They weren't really close enough for him to be flaunting that sorta stuff.
He was only given a nickname for the fun of it, right?

"What about you?"  He replied.
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#9
So the story hadn’t changed. No home: “I lost my pack.” Welcomed by the Saints: “Donovan took me in.” Derg sounded rather passive about the entire affair, as though he could have been found by any old leader and it wouldn’t have made a lick of difference. Had Donovan shared the pack’s vision with the scarred wolf at all? But Finley withheld any commentary, and was certain to keep her face unchanging, forward-looking. How to phrase the rest…

But Derg offered a question of his own. Without thinking Finley gave the standard answer she’d provided many a passerby: “I’ve been traveling.” No, not anymore—Was traveling.” Hm, that sounded just as spineless. The answer suited a fellow traveler, but less so a packmate. It was only fair, she supposed, to give an honest answer in turn. “Donovan’s made grand promises for the future of the Saints. No sane wolf would pass the opportunity to be part of it.”

It wasn’t as though Finley would have jumped at the first wolf to offer her a pack, a home, something. Anything. She’d never be so desperate, and of this she was doubtless.
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A traveler. A wanderer.
Men traveled and wandered, women less so. Grezig had left on her own accord, though.
He wondered more of Finley's story but didn't pry, as she didn't to him.
That can be saved for other times.

It seemed she had pressed Donovan for more answers than he did, for he didn't care how this pack turned out. He knew Donovan and Nemesis, their type, what sort of pack they would run.
Derg knew he'd be expected to be a warrior, a slave to dirty work like he had been to his birth pack.
He didn't care.

"You're right, this will be a good place to be." For to be on the receiving end of a pack that liked to wreak havoc, it wasn't a kind fate. As long as they kept moving, they wouldn't be caught up.

He gave the woman a look, a soft smile that broke his gloomy expression. "Wanna know about my face?" It was likely she did, but since he caught he she didn't want to ask.
A wolf who thought they were the shit until they were opposed.
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“A good place to be,” eh? Finley gave a curt nod of agreement; faint praise, but it seemed sincere enough. Passive submission must’ve been in this wolf’s nature, she concluded, and this was his way of expressing gratitude. Maybe with time she could adjust to this understated demeanor, even if the difference between Derg and Donovan or even Derg and her gloating siblings was stark.

Derg then offered a smile, to Finley’s surprise; she’d half assumed he wasn’t capable. It was a welcome change of pace, though, still sincere (if soft) as ever. His question had her raising her head in interest; she had made her initial curiosity obvious, after all, and denial from here would be pointless. “If you’re so inclined to share,” Finley said affirmatively, as if she hadn’t wordlessly prompted it already.
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Ah, wasn't the youth ever interested in everyone else.
His faint, all-knowing smile crossed his face at her admittance for thirst for knowledge.

So, he started into his grizzly tale.
"My ear was torn off by some Alpha when I hunted the attacker of my ward." He remembered that night, and the day he faced Damien, though he didn't know that was his name.
"My face was ripped off when I was protecting my Alpha in my lost pack. She grabbed me and it just peeled away." 
He looked to her, watching for a reaction. If she liked gruesome stuff, she should've been there.
Perhaps Derg will suffer another gut-wrenching injury.
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“Perhaps Derg will suffer another gut-wrenching injury.” derg pls

Ah. Finley listened with keen interest as Derg laid out his story, and from the first sentence alone: he’d hunted the attacker of his ward? An ear getting torn in a fight was vicious if understandable, but clearly the times had changed this wolf. Or he was hiding more, much more, than met the eye. Subconsciously Finley slowed her walk, still relatively close to Derg but increasing the distance, should he choose to turn these hidden strengths onto her.

But the second part was what really made Finley’s eyes widen. A wolf had done that!? “Wh-what kind of Alpha…?” She was floored by a grotesque mix of shock and horror and awe. To serve under a wolf with that strength was straight-up admirable, but to protect them only to have one’s face torn off…. No sane canine did something like that. And Finley could not fathom how leaving such a mark could have been a mistake. (It did not occur to her that she may have been conflating, quite mistakenly, “my Alpha” and “she,” Derg’s attacker.)
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A, he realised his mistake. His mixup of words had led her to believe Raleska had shredded him.
The thought almost made him burst out laughing.
Though he didn't miss her sudden wariness of him. Did she think he was just some docile dog before?
Poor girl.

"Ah, not my Alpha, no. She was very kind and fair. No, my attacker was a blonde woman who did this." He wasn't very good at having his words in order, but at least he could realise this mistake before he left ber believing wrong.

"Though the Alpha of the pack where I was born would've done this if I were to protect him and failed to do so well." That man was evil. And the reason why Derg had run. And run far he did.
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#15
minor assumption that Derg’s not being too subtle, since he almost laughs

Something shifted in Derg; did he find her horror amusing? Pitiable? Finley flattened her ears, tail ducked, glancing aside; she’d been too obvious. And she counted herself lucky that Derg seemed to have no intention of taking advantage of it.

Instead he corrected her (an addition to the shame nonetheless), and described his attacker as “a blonde woman.” A vague description, but duly noted. The way he spoke betrayed no urgency, but still Finley decided she’d have to press for details once his story was done. This was not a wolf she wanted to encounter.

But first Derg continued his story, now tracing further back to the Alpha of his birth pack. Finley shook her head, embarrassment shoved away by disgust. “That makes no sense,” she said plainly. “Failure to guard is one thing. But mauling your own? Just for that?” Heinous.
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She noticed his humour, which wasn't surprising. He wasn't very good at covering up what he was feeling. Oh well, if she wanted to live under a man such as Donovan, she'd have to get used to seeing another wolf being strung through the branches of the trees.

In truth, Derg didn't note much of the woman. She was blonde and he hated her scent, but he'd know when he saw her. A soft, pale underside that folded over her back. Not very yellow at all, but he didn't care. He didn't manage to take note of her eyes, and wouldn't have noticed they were different colours anyway.
So when, or if, Finley inquired further, he'd not have much to give.

He nodded merely at her exclamation. There were very cruel wolves in this world. Very much so.
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#17
Derg nodded simply; Finley hadn’t expected much to start. She let silence fall over them for a time, still following the deer trail, the quiet interrupted only occasionally by the ravens above. It felt strange, being able to walk alongside a not-quite-stranger for no reason, no goal. Even stranger, Finley couldn’t say she disliked it. While she wouldn’t let herself completely trust Derg, not yet, she had to afford him more lenience as a packmate. And he’d prove himself with time, she was sure. Clearly, he was no stranger to a fight.

But eventually the unease of quiet overtook her. With some reluctance, Finley pressed for more: “Your attacker, the blonde woman—was this recent? Where was this?” She wouldn’t have minded a more thorough description, either, but given the severity of the wound and Derg’s plain description as-is, Finley assumed he hadn’t had time to identify the assailant in the midst of their fight.
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He settled in the warm breath of sunlight that reached them through the foliage.
The passing call of a raven.
A sigh of the wind brushed the bracken as if the talk of gore had never occurred.

But she was still interested. Good.
It meant she didn't want to find this woman, or either did for whatever reasons. Finley didn't seem vengeful for a stranger.
"It was last fall, on the ridge just over," he gestured towards Horizon Ridge where it bordered the forest. "My alpha was looking for her brother."
Poor Illidan. He wondered if the lad was safe.
"There were two attackers, from a pack that had had a conflict with ours, but had dispensed since a war." A war he wasn't part of, but that wasn't important.
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Last fall. Recent. Derg gestured towards the eastward mountains, sparing a mention of his reasonable Alpha’s intentions before divulging more context to the situation. So it was a pack conflict, in the aftermath of a war. Perhaps the attack had been one of crazed revenge, then, the attackers soured on Derg’s Alpha by their own group’s dissolution? Given Derg’s description, Finley found it doubtful that his “kind and fair” Alpha would have instigated the attack. Even if she’d been “trespassing,” it sounded as though the lands were no longer the attackers’ to claim.

Still, Finley had assumed wrongly of Derg’s capabilities and would not make the same mistake again. “Any idea what motivated the attack?” she asked. And are they still out there? was the silent follow-up, left unsaid; if Derg had lost his pack, Finley doubted he had any better idea of the attackers’ current status.
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She seemed...fearful?
Probably not, Derg was just misinterpreting it, surely. She shouldn't be fearful here.
He doubted they would still be there - he hadn't checked. But Donovan wouldn't be here if they were there.

"Hatred." He replied simply.
It was true. Raleska, as far as he knew, had been in the attack of Drageda and had resulted in being a target.
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Wrap in a round or two? Unless you want them to hunt or spar or the like, I’m good either way :>

Again Derg’s reply was simple, now a single word. Hatred.

That was always the killer, wasn’t it. For all their brutality, the pack in which Finley was raised had never promoted mindless grudges. Sure, Donovan had mentioned his partner Nemisis had a violent streak, but even then—at least without having met the wolf herself, not yet—Finley could assume such attacks were only dealt to those who deserved it. Violence alone she would not condemn. But to such an extent, from those unjustifiably aggrieved…

Maybe she was buying into it too easily. But, if Derg was honest, then Finley understood more distinctly why Donovan wanted to reestablish the likes of the Saints here.

If not afraid, then she was thoroughly unsettled. “Thank you for this information, Derg,” Finley said at last, with another quick shake of her head. Maybe she ought to stop grilling him soon, unsure if he was enjoying her sudden arrival and subsequent interrogation, but she had one last concern for the moment: “Is Donovan aware of these wolves?”
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We can end here if you want
This world was run by hatred. By wolves hating each other for how they look. how they act, for what they believe in. Hatred that they have better things than they do, and hatred because they have no other feelings.
Derg hated Aries, and Derg hated Opalia.
But only because they deserved it for their crimes of hatred first.
Derg didn't believe in forgive and forget.

But he loved more than he hated, which kept him sound enough.
"Yes," he'd told the man of them in passing.
"I will kill her if I meet her again." He uttered so blatantly, so calmly. Like it wasn't even a big deal, because to Derg it wasn't.
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Alright; Finley out. Feel free to reply again and/or archive, and thank you for the thread!

Donovan knew. That was enough for Finley. If they faced Derg’s attackers again then there would be hell to p—“I will kill her if I meet her again.”

This was the wolf who Donovan had found “lying in a puddle of his own tears.” Yet Derg stated his murderous intention as if commenting on the weather. Finley still didn’t entirely understand what Donovan saw in him, from that first impression, but there was clearly much, much more to this man than met the eye. Maybe time with the Saints could mold Derg back into the warrior he’d once been—if he wasn’t still formidable in his current state, lurking beneath melancholy and informality.

His intention was clear as the scars on his face. Finley could appreciate the resolution. She dipped her head, in some parts agreement and newfound respect. For now, he’d earned his peace.

“Understood,” she said. “I look forward to serving beside you.”

With that, she had nothing left to say. Never one for theatrical exits, Finley allowed that to serve as her farewell, and unless Derg prompted her further she’d part ways at the next turn of their path. He’d given her much to chew on.
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He had no odea of the levels to his personality he'd created. He thought of himself as a broken warrior, but perhaps those parts can be separated. 
Or maybe he was reformed. Or reforming. 

"As do I," he replied. He also had no idea of the respect, but perhaps there was an inkling from her statement. 
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