Bearclaw Valley a tale of the ragged mountains

her parents are killers. that's clear. in different ways, sure—the brute strength with which Astara had launched herself at the mountain man and giant woman was undoubtedly different from Merrick's cold violence, severing the man's throat with a single, fluid blow. they are both warriors, and Avicus wants to be one as well.

she seeks out @Astara first, picking her way through the tall grasses near the rendezvous. she trusts her dam more than anyone else; though the one-eyed man may have much to teach her, she still is uncertain about him. she does not hold the same reverence for him that Aventus seems to possess, and perhaps she never will.

but her mother. . . a goddess on earth, she reckons. a bringer of life and of death. she looks for the sleek shadow, the eyes the twin of her own. she is ready to learn. she is ready to fight.

she is ready to become a killer, too.

astara’s meet with revui and Ikkalrok had laid her low for some time — enough time for the wrath to simmer and bubble over. 

she slept in a patch of grass, waking only as she heard the light footsteps of her red-furred daughter. one glance to those curious indigo eyes and astara knew avi had approached for some reason. 

stirring to her stomach astara regraded her daughter solemnly, searching for any clue in Avicus’ posture for the reason such intensity rippled off of her in little waves.

her mother had been resting, but as Avicus approaches, the dark woman rouses. she isn't sure how quite to communicate her desires. she begins by dipping low into a play bow, lips set in a fearsome snarl. her fur bristles; her eyes glitter. she rocks back and forth like a pugilist preparing for a bout.

fight? the red girl asks, and gives her mother the barest of nips upon the shoulder. how fight?

she wants to fight like Astara. she wants to kill like Merrick. hell, any of the trained professionals within this valley would do as tutors— but she wants Astara. the more she can become her mother, to assert her dominance over the other children and eventually the valley itself, the better.

at first astara rebuked her red child's attempts at play -- she turned her cheek, shifted a shoulder away -- but the more it became clear that avicus was dogged, the more astara realized she would do the child no favors by being a lazy parent.

as avicus aimed a nip for her shoulder astara got up, standing square with her tail ever so slightly crooked to the side.

she might have looked menacing for any wolf who did not know her -- but a twinkle of mischief lingered in her gaze as she waited then, muscles tense, for avi to try once more.

Avicus would take offense if she knew her mother thought she was playing. sure, she's an aggressive child—her style of play consists of a lot of tackling her brother and stomping on bugs. but she is serious right now, in this moment. she needs to learn, and she needs to learn from Astara.

her eyes widen as the dark woman rises, and the girl suddenly feels much smaller. there will be others to tower over her, though. if she cannot take down her mother in a mock fight, she has no chance against adversaries like the mountain man and his mate.

so she takes the low ground: she dives toward Astara's legs, snapping her teeth at the delicate skin of her ankles. maybe if she can be enough of a bother down here to throw her mother off balance, she might be able to bring her down to a more equal level.

she has to try something, right?

so far, so good; astara measured the widening of her daughter's eyes, waiting for that moment where all began to unfold.

it came in the form of avicus lunging for a leg; low hanging fruit, in astara's opinion.

she did not move her leg. if she was too kind, or too easy, avicus would never learn. she would never be prepared for the outright hostility that was true fighting.

so, astara's leg remained, but the rest of her body shifted forward -- avicus could have her target, but it would come at a cost. she had revealed her back and spine to her adversary, and it was there astara's teeth honed in -- a sharp rebuke meant to teach her if she struck too low, she would not have much defense in terms of countering.

occupied as she is with her mother's leg, the teeth upon her back come as a surprise. she yelps, arching her spine and trying to wriggle away from the counterattack. okay, so that hadn't worked. what now?

growling, she rears up and starts to pummel her mother's ribs with her paws, nipping at the flesh of Astara's abdomen. if legs are a no-go, then perhaps the belly will do. but if her dam has this vulnerable area protected, then Avicus will fail again. this is harder than she thought.

briefly, she glances at her mother's throat. thinks of how Astara had squeezed death from the other woman. surely reaching the throat would win her the fight—

but death is irreversible. today she wants to learn. . .not kill.

learning took time, astara had come to find. her teeth grazed her daughter's pelt, and she pulled away.

her counters would be swift and merciless, but not unkind. each would be a lesson.

each would teach her little daughter to become savage, feral -- every bit the cunning predator her parents were.

astara balked as avicus came for her again, this time rearing and pummeling along astara's ribs. her teeth nipped and stung, but astara only winced as she dealt her second counter, this time aiming a sharp nip at the girl's exposed belly followed by a rough shove of her shoulder.

one day she'll thank her mother for not holding back. right now, though, she's frustrated beyond measure, her eyes flashing, her breaths coming in irritated snorts. each counter feels like a reproach— and they land again, and again, and again.

and each time she tries to strike, she is foiled yet again.

Avicus is sent tumbling down by Astara's shoulder check, falling hard onto the grass. snarling, she quickly tries to right herself, knowing that the position only means vulnerability. her muscles are beginning to ache, and her brain is tiring fast. she doesn't know what to do next.

she doesn't know what to do next.

a burst of hellfire as she launches herself at the dark woman, snapping, shoving, losing all sense of control and finesse as anger overtakes her.

damn, was her little daughter mad.

astara hid the grin that threatened to break her countenance as avicus was sent sprawling. she righted herself almost immediately (good), and for a moment seemed she was intelligently formulating a response. this assumption was proved erroneous as avicus came at astara then like a spitfire, hellish and overrun by wrath.

wrath quickened the blood and reddened the mind; it was a sharp and furious reflex and could often be a boon in thick waters, cutting through reality like a crimson knife.

yet, wrath had a double edge, just like a fang or tooth or knife -- and often cut the hands that wielded it.

avicus would learn, as astara had learned, that wrath clouded judgment. that wrath was a tool, to be used respectfully to awaken the red vision, and no more.

she met her daughter's furious charge with the coiled ease of a cobra; collected. calm. assured. her daughter's teeth landed many hits before astara made her move, waiting for a fresh charge to dole out her counter.

as avicus approached again astara brought one forepaw up to slam on her daughter's shoulders -- to knock her off balance just enough that she could hopeully grab the girl's scruff.

she's exhausted. by the time Astara grasps her scruff, Avicus is ready to give up the fight—at least for today. her shoulders drop and her fur settles. the rumble in her throat fades away. silence, then, the only sounds the murmur of bugs and birds and the girl's pants.

once released, she flops back onto her haunches and tosses her chin aloft, giving her mother a dubious stare. the size difference is significant, sure, but even when she grows, how, how will she be able to hold her own?

another afternoon will bring a newfound hunger for sparring. but she is sated, shattered, irritation sky-high and confidence at its nadir. she swipes her tongue along her jowls, tasting blood. she hadn't realized she'd bitten her lower lip sometime within that fight, but she feels the sting now.

understandably, avicus was less than pleased. astara released her with a slow wag of her tail, watching as the girl set out her chin and delivered a chilly look towards her dam.

astara aimed a lick at her daughter's red-proud brow, and then padded softly to the cache. if avicus was anything like her mother (and day by day, it was becoming apparent she very much was so) she would have roused up a fine appetite -- and nothing settled an unhappy mind like a good meal.

murder mommy gets post #100 <333

her ears perk as Astara begins to walk away. she knows the direction after a while. her stomach gurgles—she really can do with a meal after that strenuous spar. she trots along after her mother, tail wagging, looking undoubtedly happier at the prospect of food.

even in failure, in frustration, she loves her dam. and she thinks that will never change.

POST 100!! I AM HONORED. i will archive here <3

the growl of her daughter's stomach hastened astara's steps to the cache. upon arrival she drug out from the loamy earth a sodden woodchuck, its meat slimy and stench ripe. she dragged the thing to avicus and gave her but a single lick: good girl.

in spite of her daughter's frustrations, these practices would serve to polish her -- eventually, her children would be honed warriors, with very few things mortal that could deign to stop them. astara chewed on her own thoughts as she ate her fill from the cache, watching her daughter with a strange species of fondness she never knew she was capable of: love.