Sunspire Mountains the things that you've got coming will consume you

@Derg @Riley @Colin
backdated to 7/20, before this thread.
2pm, 70F, cloudy

it hadn’t been a week since renard had arrived at the saints’ new home and things were already hectic. not that they minded; that was what they were here for. the patrols extended out from their territory now, spilling into the surrounding mountains. a grasp of redsand was not enough when the saints’ leaders had drawn so much ire so effortlessly.

there were still several places left to familiarize themselves with within the canyon and it was frustrating that they didn’t have the time, but orders were orders and for now renard followed @Derg and @Colin as they combed the peaks of the sunspire on patrol. the sky was shadowed in a blanket of cloud as they descended the cliffs and into a narrow, tree-laden valley between towering peaks, all quiet and free of the scent of a competing pack. after a week of endless sunlight it felt cold and it set their teeth on edge.

first day they’d entered the teekons they’d been practically sightseeing. now they mapped everything out with the eye of the hunter they’d been. ambush points, caches, signs of someone moving through the area, those were much easier to see in a familiar place like this, a mountainside sloping into lush grass and pines – no sand to be seen.

birds sang. insects buzzed. renard’s nostrils flared, eyes sharp as they took up their position at derg’s back, and found the iron-and-salt tang of fresh blood.

The man had camped out in the mountain range for the night.
After the fight with Orlaith, he wanted to get a head start on any war band that would be making their way to the canyon.

But what he found wasn't a warband from the Court, but Renard and Colin.
They'd greeted each other and decided to head back out towards the peak he'd not explored.
They moseyed about, getting a gauge on the pack even closer to them and very likely also hated The Saints.

Renard seemed to catch something on the wind, and seconds later Derg did too.
Blood. And not from his own healing wounds.

Wide shot on a valley tight with shadows. It's another sweltering summer day, but you wouldn't know it here. A lens flare devours the screen from left to right as we center on the three:

Derg and Colin up front, Renard in the backseat. They comb through the steep, wooded slope, taking notes in the quiet. Colin stops every so often to inspect a scent, turn over a rock, get a closer look through the thick matrix of trees and bushes. When he gets back up, his elbows are covered in dirt and leaves. He doesn't bother brushing them off.

A change in the air-- Renard stops. He's noticed it first. Then Derg. Colin is the last to look up and smell the blood.

He grimaces. The metallic viscosity of it spills into his mouth like heavy gas. 

Riley hadn't gone far following his assault in the deepwoods. He'd stuck close to Esme, mostly resting -- alternating between languishing in a shallow brook to nurse his wounds, and drying in the sun. 

His ears flicked lazily, warding off the buzzing interest of several gnats that kept landing near his wound sites. Stiffly, Riley dragged himself down into the water again -- entirely unaware of the entourage that approached.

renard stopped. ears flicking, head swiveling as they tasted the air. in front of them, derg and colin noticed too; the procession came to an abrupt halt, and in the lingering pause, head rolling forward, they followed after. an eagerness colored their steps – a hope that this was one of the saints’ many enemies, offered so perfectly up to them.

the scent grew thicker as they wound through the trees. the valley opened up ahead, thinning into a grass-covered bank, a shallow brook that wound through the dirt. a large figure the color of wet mud, who slid into the river as renard broke the cover of the trees.

eyes fixed on the body half-submerged in the water, the gleam of open wounds just visible on his flank. they weren’t impressed by their find. just some kid who’d stuck his nose in something he shouldn’t have. by the looks of it he wouldn’t live to learn his lesson.

they took another half-dozen steps forward. inhaled. muted by time and water and blood, the smell that lingered on his coat was unmistakable, even if they didn’t know his face.

it wasn’t surprising that one of them had ended up like this already. they weren’t making friends here. something faintly amused coiling in their chest, they looked over their shoulder for the rest of the entourage emerging from the trees, expecting them, at least, to recognize this saint.

Renard took the lead in moving towards the souce.
Derg dropped his nose to the ground, searching for something that may indicate there was an assailant still in the area, but he came up clean.
No cat, no rabies, they should be ok, the three of them.

The stream burbled, and sat in it lounged the injured gasbag known as Riley.
Derg was quick to move forward, concern etching his features.
Shit, this was bad. They needed to get him back to the canyon.

"Who did this? Where?" he asked. He needed to tell Donovan. He needed to know if they were still close by.

What he wasn't expecting: the Saint's resident l'enfant terrible nursing his wounds in a creek. But there he was, and Colin remembers the last time he saw him. Not a particularly pleasant memory; he shoves it back into his pockets without really looking at it.

Derg, unerring in his compassion, hurries towards the boy. Colin stays back for the same reason why no one wants to help a drunk get back onto his feet when he trips over his own feet. 

Renard is smiling his mysterious smile. Somehow he's managed to harness his facial muscles to exude even more irony and sardonicism than Donovan, something he'd thought was physically impossible.

Finally, he swallows and adjusts his collar, stopping right behind Derg, who's asking a series of questions with a professional therapist's poise, and he can't help but wonder how Riley would react to even the smallest dose of civilisation. 

The crackle of disturbed reeds had Riley’s attention; when he glanced above the pool of water, the scattering of light rippled away and not one but three wolves approached.

His fur was matted and damp but that did not stop the instinctive raise of his hackles — several seconds passed before he recognized the trio as his own.

He passed over each of them, from the male he did not recognize, to Derg, to the male who had let a woman ruin his life. His gaze was impassive, but not all together composed — for pain hounded Riley like a pair of hungering jaws.

I was over by the willows and got attacked. His tone was edged with discomfort. He struggled then to explain, remaining silent for several long seconds. They said they were a pack, but that’s not pack lands. I wasn’t trespassing even though they said I was. I didn’t smell nothing. Aka not his fault, according to Riley.

having led them to the kid, renard returns to the background, eyes trained on riley as his hackles bristle. the flatness of his eyes isn’t enough to mask the discomfort of wounds that deep, though they appreciate the attempt.

derg has already hurried forward. at least he has a grasp on the most important questions; colin lingers behind him but says nothing. renard still hasn’t heard him speak a word. they pace a slow loop behind the gathering, scenting the air, but all that lingers out of the ordinary is saints and blood.

“the willows?” attention drawn back by his admission, their eyes rake again over the deep wounds in the kid’s flank. doesn’t mean anything that they can chase him off, but at least they’re willing to get their hands dirty. stare shifting back to derg, they smile. “think donovan’d like to hear about this?” think this will be the kick he needs to do something?

The other two hung back.
Perhaps they didn't like him or something or didn't feel comfortable in approaching.
Renard moved off to scout the area, Colin standing just behind him.

The reply came, and he thought for a few moments.
Willows.
"Perhaps it is where that court is. From the woman that attacked me. Were you attacked by a tall woman with a white breast, black cap, and brown markings under her eyes?"
He needed to know if there was the same woman there.
Because if so, then it was a graver situation than what was on the surface.
He thinks Renard would be right, once he gets his answer.

The conversation moves ahead without him, unmoored. At Riley's pained voice, he's crushed by empathy, though he doesn't know how to express it. The blood billowing darkly in the creek makes him feel sick.

The willows-- it meant nothing to Colin, but Derg seemed to have more experience concerning their neighbours. Renard asks a question in his Mona Lisa way; he probably wore that smile to bed.

They attacked you too? It's strange to imagine Derg getting into a fistfight despite the scars on his face. Why? And why don't I know about this? Why don't I know about the neighbours biting chunks out of us? He wonders, does Donovan know, then? Are we going to war? 

Riley had never been a multitasker. He tried to keep an eye on each of the wolves - Renard as he paced then asked him a question, Derg as he pressed for more information, and Colin following the rear at last with his own voice casting into the wind.

He tried to answer each as they came. "What are willows?" Soggy trees, though Riley didn't know it. "This place had lots of droopy trees." He gave his attention to Derg, trying to recall the faces that had assailed him. Most of it was a blur.

"She was loud and bossy." If Riley had to give her a single epithet, it would be fire. "White chest, and I think red on her nose and ears." That was remarkably descriptive for Riley, and it was the best Derg would get.

Finally, Colin's question. Riley's lizardlike stare panned past the man as he tried to sum how he had found himself in that situation. "They told me to leave." Free fuckin' country, Riley seethed inwardly. "But I didn't think I had to. It's not their land. The bossy one got in my face. Bit me."

The flatness of his stare slithered off, a gleam of something malevolent replacing it. "So I pissed on "their" tree." Bad move, Riley. "They didn't like that." Mild understatement. "They chased me off."

Riley shifted uncomfortably in the stream, his attention returning to Derg. His eyes were vehement. "I was not trespassing. I know a fully controlled border when I smell one. I didn't smell nothing." Of this much, Riley believed -- and it was partially true, for the woods had been free of any formal claim at the time, though wolves did reside in it.

renard was sadly unfamiliar with the court’s members thus far – and how long would that last. they were familiar with connecting the dots. they slid forward, shadow-quiet, until they stood behind colin’s shoulder, the violet gleam of their eyes sliding from the back of his neck and to derg, echoing colin’s question: “and where?”

they were not aware of anyone having stepped into the saints’ canyon lately – surely someone would have found that important information to pass on. ...or maybe they were giving the saints too much credit. the likelihood grew with each passing day.

there was no doubt that if the court didn’t already have it out for them, it would soon, but this on its own was hardly a pointed statement. renard looked the kid up and down – he had guts, but what did that matter if you didn’t have the brain to use them? “that's the same we’d do if someone pissed in redsand canyon. and it’s not formally ours yet either.”

Derg looked down at the boy.
Regarding him.
He admitted to his foolish act, and Derg may have clouted him in a different time.
But he was more placid these days, and only grumbled his displeasure at the act.

Derg already suspected where well enough. The direction the woman had gone was further north-east.
His lips pursed, holding his tongue as Renard explained what the kid had foolishly done.
Derg started to turn, grinding his teeth together before telling them his plan.

"They've not followed him, so I shall fetch Donovan, and he can do what he sees fit." A glance to Riley, and a soft whisp of a smile to Colin, "Try and patch him up and get him walking back to the canyon. He's already come pretty far and should make it, but stop that blood flow."
After he saw some form of confirmation in them, he would take off, trotting to let them catch him if they had another question.
But time was pressing, and if that court was planning for war against the Saint's, they'd have more shit than they could deal with.

Crusades in the movies were always born in massive warrooms with arching roofs and wall-to-wall maps, but they really started like this: gunfire along borders, a fighter jet flying too low, land mines in the marketplace, Riley's blood in the water.

One thing to note and remember: fairies had teeth.

Another thing: by all accounts, Goliath should've torn David into two.

What he sees fit, he murmurs bitterly, turning to Riley who was still stiff with teenage wilfulness despite bleeding from so many places; he wants desperately to shake him or anyone by the shoulders. 

Diplomacy had one of the shortest shelf lives on Earth. Imagine bringing spoiled food to a party, and everything will start to cave in around you. Donovan had promised him a desert. Perhaps if he had noticed the fine print, it would read terms and conditions apply, you may or may not be annexed. 

He could've laughed.

Riley fitfully withstood Renard's scrutinizing of him, ignoring the man in favor of Derg -- who now turned and trotted away.

What he sees fit. Well, what about what Riley saw fit? He might not be as aggressive as Nemisis or as clever as Renard -- he clearly didn't have the scars like Derg, or the baggage life experiences which hung around Colin's neck like a noose -- but he had been wronged here, and all of them were acting like he was just another burden.

Riley stifled his hot tongue, turning to Colin. Colin, who had been given a smile (where was Riley's?) and been instructed to tend to his wounds. "Don't fucking touch me." He hissed, submerging himself deep into the water while bubbles gurgled darkly around him -- ready at any moment to come at both with teeth, should they nurse him like he was some weakling baby.

He was tired of being treated like a baby. He would come along on his own volition, but would under no uncertain terms allow either of them to touch a hair on his festering hide.

the situation was out of hand already. renard had no interest in laying into the kid, spelling out the problems one by one; he didn’t seem the receptive type, and they had better things to do than waste the effort. particularly with the way he met derg’s offer, spitting, coiling back into the water. they had no doubt he’d bite, either.

what a group donovan had made. if he wanted to die from infection, they wouldn’t shed any tears. the saints might lose a blade, but what good was a blade if it didn’t go where you directed it?

“your funeral.” they were no healer, even if he was to let anyone touch him. their head swiveled a fraction to watch derg trot towards the hills: the rider bringing the message of war. all he needed was the banner. ”donovan will be eager to speak with them.” whether this would be the final spark to light the ocean of grass they had laid for each other remained to be seen.