Mount Apikuni cat and mouse in partnership

Thade kept away from strangers as best he could after leaving Mother behind. He couldn't trust strangers. He remembered when Mother had been a stranger, and what she had been capable of without provocation. It made him mistrustful, despite his deep-seeded loneliness. But the boy was also starved — hungry enough now to reconsider his policy on unfamiliar wolves — and now he wasn't just putting his nose to the ground in search of food.
The first peak he saw, he went towards. It wasn't home, but he couldn't tell that until he had gotten to its base, and realized that he did not recognize the slopes, nor could he smell his family. But it had begun to drizzle again, so he couldn't be sure. He wanted to start ascending, but his belly felt cramped with tightness, and exhaustion wouldn't let him search anymore.
He turned a few circles in the gravel beneath a small ridge, out of the rain, and curled up to sleep.  

For @Wintersbane. Slightly forward-dated.

going to be vague w/sagtannet things as i'm not sure if he'll be accepted or not.

rain.

all it’s done since he made his way back into teekon wilds was rain. there is a permanent dampness that curls the tendrils of his pelage; seeping into the marrow of his bones. luckily, he’s in his prime because he had enough foresight to think that if he was older his joints might’ve ached with it.

he prowls through the waterlogged earth; paws sucking unattractively from the muck and debris as he walks, emerald grasses lush but offering no respite. even in the brief lulls they smear droplets upon ankles and legs, sharing the dew.

a deep breath is drawn; a second. the overwhelming scent of damp earth is riddled now with a more curious scent: another canine. for no real reason other than the desire to break the monotonous resonance of rain pitter-pattering against the ground, wintersbane changes his course, glacial gaze scanning the small ridge. a shape is curled against the shadows of the rock, sheltered and from the sounds of the even breaths; asleep.

wintersbane lets out a low chuff to announce his presence, unsure if it was loud enough to stir the other awake.

Thade remembered naps differently than they were now. He used to enjoy them, even insist on them, but sleeping these days required a level of peace that the boy simply did not have.
He jerked awake at the soft sound, even if under normal circumstances — with the current drumming of a steady shower — he wouldn’t have heard the wolf. He scanned through the rain, uncertain if he had imagined the noise or not, and froze when he noticed the hooded wolf looming nearby.
The lost prince got slowly to his feet and pressed his hindquarters into the stone wall protecting him; now trapping him. He glanced out into the rain, where he knew he must run, and hesitated. He looked back at the shadowy figure, and waited to see the move it made.

age isn’t an easy thing for wintersbane to guess; at least, not accurately. but he knows when a wolf has reached maturity and when it shows signs of still being a yearling, still a bit coltish. the shadows that swath the stranger that rouses at his chuff, shifting in the enveloping darkness of ledgecover and mistfall, conceal many of the other’s features, but he appears young from silhouette alone. younger than quellcrist, who was, by now, probably almost a woman grown. a child born of this season, perhaps.

wintersbane watches as the boy peers out into the rain, hesitating from his place of safety …from his place of damnation; unwittingly backed into a corner. wintersbane got the distinct feeling that if he did not minimize his appearance, if he did not speak softly and lowly to the boy that he might bolt like a doe caught in headlights; spooked. he did not harbor the fearlessness of most children wintersbane had met in his life.

a tragedy wrapped in flesh and bones.

it’s alright lad, wintersbane calls out to him, lowering himself upon his haunches slowly; making a deliberate show as if to assure that he meant no harm. i’m not going to hurt you. though he’s sired numerous children — some he knew of and most of them he did not — he wasn’t sure he was much of a father. still, paternal instinct unearthed when quellcrist travelled with him was a flame hard to stamp out. it resisted and persisted.

i’m wintersbane, he offers his name, hoping to coax at least some sort of verbal response from the boy, if nothing else. what’s yours?

The hulking figure shrunk slightly, and Thade kept his ears forward to catch its relaxed tone of voice. He suspected the wolf of trying to lure him into a feeling of security, just like the others, and though the stray retained remnants of his previous sense of bravery, his sense of trust, on the other hand, had been severely eroded. That was, at least until he heard: “I’m Wintersbane.”
The boy’s heart leapt into his throat, and his green eyes grew wide, trying to see better. I know that name! Winnersbane? he repeated, taking a tentative step forward. Eisen Winnersbane?

the lack of trust is almost a palpable thing; snapping thru the air like a lightening strike. wintersbane is a beast, first and foremost, and reading the tension in the air, the body language — despite being draped in shadow — is as natural to him as breathing. winnersbane? his name is repeated and wintersbane gives a firm nod of confirmation, expecting words to follow but not the words that tumble from the boy’s mouth. eisen wintersbane. he was of sagtannet; wintersbane knows it instantly from the strange word mahler had for ‘leader’. the title wasn’t accurate anymore — might very well never be again — but it is how this boy knows him.

that’s right, wintersbane encourages, frowning only slightly. though i am not eisen anymore. it feels important to add, glacial gaze giving the boy a once over. he’s malnourished and filthy …and wintersbane must do the mental math in his head. too old, surely, to be star’s children or nyx’s. which left either astraeus or thade.

despite that the boy’s taken a tentative step closer there is still too much grime for wintersbane to be able to tell. what has happened to you? wintersbane asks softly, knowing he hasn’t been under a parent or guardian’s care for quite some time. are you hungry? i'll catch you something to eat.

Does that mean I’m not a Skarp anymore either?
Thade couldn’t bring himself to ask, and while lost in introspect he only managed to look forlorn. Hopefully, the shadows — and sheets of rain falling over the edge of his thin shelter — hid his sadness well enough. He took several more hopeful steps forward, now standing at the clear line where shelter ended and a cold drizzle began.
The tip of his tail wiggled, and he readily shared: Mother took me a long, long ways away. She said, well, she promised we could go on a a’venture a-an’ come right back to Saggannet… but she wouldn’t never bring me. I tried t’get away a lot, but I— He stopped, unable to admit that he hadn’t been strong enough to escape.
At the question of if he’s hungry, Thade’s entire body visibly perks up. His tail began to thrash and a soft whine sounded as he burst out into the rain, flinging himself towards Wintersbane hungrily. But with the offer of food also comes the threat of abandonment, and Thade will not be left alone. No, he choked out in fledgling wail. Please, don’ leave me!

wintersbane is patient and attentive as thade responds, glacial gaze watching the boy as he shares; and is grimfaced at the end of the tale. he’d assumed by ‘mother’ thade meant wylla but doubts that because wylla was in sagtannet and didn’t add up. he makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, glacial gaze lifting from the boy to glimpse; sharpeyed, at their surroundings. but this ‘mother’, whomever she was, doesn’t appear to be around. the gauntness of thade’s appearance suggests obvious neglect. i see, wintersbane intones, voice rasping over the pitter-patter of rainfall. well, you’re safe now. and i will take you home. to sagtannet.

if wintersbane could do nothing else right, let this be the one thing he did. for the boy’s sake.

the visceral reaction from thade startles the tundrian with the ferocity of his rejection and the heart-shattering wail; pleading for him not to leave. alright, thade. it’s alright. i’m not leaving you. i won’t leave you. wintersbane promises fiercely, hoping to soothe the obvious fear of abandonment the boy had. tell you what, lets go hunting together, yeah?

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his real name. He couldn’t remember who had spoken it or for what reason. He’d nearly forgotten what it sounded like coming from someone else. But the sound of his birthright now touched him so deeply that a sob broke through and racked his body with terrible shudders. He buried his teary face into the plush, comforting boa around Wintersbane’s chest, and whimpered himself quiet again.
Thade swallowed thickly as calmness returned. Y-Yeah, the boy hiccupped. Can we.. d’you think we can c-catch a rabbit? They’re m-my favorite. He looked up at the tall, tall wolf, his green eyes heavy with a child’s imploring sadness.

the press of the boy’s head against the soft fluff of his neck, broken only by the pink scarflesh, startles the tundrian; but only for the briefest of moments. he might be older than wintersbane last remembered him …but he was still just a kid. a kid that needed a watchful eye over him and needed to be told that everything was going to be ok. a kid that has suffered more than he had to; as to which wintersbane felt a unique kinship towards. his own childhood had been rife with trauma and uncertainty. wintersbane, however, had been good at faking bravado and using hostility as his armor.

he was glad that, that didn’t appear to be the case with thade ( at least, as far as wintersbane could see ).

sure. we’ll hunt you a rabbit. wintersbane agrees, smoky reticence bearing heavy relief that thade hadn’t asked him for something he couldn’t procure with just the two of them: like a deer. a rabbit, however, was doable. i think i saw a warren in the territory a little further east. wintersbane gestures in the general direction with a twitch of his muzzle.

you know what signs we look for when hunting rabbit, right? wintersbane asks, the paternal instincts in him figuring it wouldn’t hurt to sneak a lesson, or at the very least, a refresher course as he was uncertain just how much thade had been taught.

Thade sniffled and wagged his tail as Wintersbane agreed on the meal, his mood improving drastically and his traumas temporarily erased. He couldn’t help the few happy whines that escaped him, nor his youthful instinct to praise and supplicate the superior wolf. Thade lapped his tongue shyly — gratefully — towards the former Eisen’s high chin.
A warren? he parroted, curious. His abductor never said more words than necessary, and she certainly hadn’t been educating the boy. Despite having been fed nothing but rabbits since being cleverly stolen, he knew next to nothing about them. Mother had needed him to be as dependent on her as possible; and it was one of the only parts of her half-baked plan that had been successful in any regard.
He hesitated to answer at the next question and felt shame dawn across his expression, even if he wasn’t familiar with the feeling. Eventually, he just shook his head slowly, trying to look a little braver.
Can you.. show me? Th’ signs?

the boy’s tongue smooths over the fur upon his chin and wintersbane feels his lips tug into a small, albeit soft smile. a warren is what we call a rabbit’s home. it’s like their den. he explains, hoping that thade doesn’t point out the obvious question of why don’t they just call it a ‘den’? the question crosses wintersbane’s mind often and each time he finds he has no answer for it; knowing that if thade did ask that wouldn’t change. someone he knew once called it a ‘rabbit warren’ and he simply picked up the habit.

of course, wintersbane encourages as soothingly as the rasping, smoky reticence of his voice would allow. he makes to give the boy a small nudges as he leads the way; keeping his pace slow so that thade could keep up and to keep from spooking their flighty quarry.

tracks are a real good indication of your prey’s presence but with the rain, they’ve no doubt washed away. so then we turn to other signs. tufts of fur caught on broken branches or twigs, wintersbane explains. droppings too. we’ll be able to see those even with the rain.

Despite the upheaval in his life, Thade had never quite lost his tendency towards introspection. He knew better now than to present his personal thoughts to strangers, but Wintersbane was not someone unknown to him, and better still, he was an adult who seemed willing to tell him things. Not like Mother, who had been just as prone to berate him for questioning her as she was to give an actual answer.
 
Conditioning made the boy hesitate to ask anything, but indomitability always seemed to make him want to anyway. In the end of things, he decided to trust the hooded rescuer with his inner thoughts. What makes it diff’rent? Thade inquired — unintentionally asking the very thing Wintersbane secretly dreaded — and he’d be surprised at anything other than a confident response.
 
He kept uncomfortably close to the male, often bumping into him, as they went. Despite this, he listened on raptly, taking in the information with an eager look on his haggard face. At the end, he asked: What’re droppings? Repeating the word precisely enough for a keen wolf to pick up on the fact that his current manner of speaking was a product of his education (or lack thereof) and had little or nothing to do with his level of intelligence. Just a sharp mind trapped in an untaught body.

the dreaded question comes and wintersbane lets out a soft, near inaudible sigh. he doesn’t like not having an answer but it was one of the many things in life he had no answer for. i don’t know, he speaks truthfully, frown tugging at his lips. i heard someone call it a warren once and i guess i picked the term up. surely, there was some sort of reason behind the distinction but if there was wintersbane didn’t know. if wintersbane were a different sort of man he might’ve jokingly suggested to thade that they ask a rabbit; but rabbits were prey. food. not something to converse with — in fact the idea was kind of laughable to wintersbane as he considers it for the briefest of moments.

you can call it whatever you want, really. since they — wintersbane, at least — had the tendency of being over specific by placing ‘rabbit’ in front of it. a quirk of wintersbane’s brow is given as he looks to thade at the following question. feces, wintersbane clarifies and then says, just in case: poop.

glacial gaze studies the ground and he stops suddenly, gesturing for thade to do the same. here. see? this is what rabbit poop looks like. he gestures to the small littering of round feces upon the wet emerald grasses with his paw, and taking a small step away to allow for further investigation if wanted. it smells, so it's fairly fresh. that means we're close. wintersbane explains in what he hopes is an encouraging fashion.

Thade did not know adults were allowed to not know things. This was news to him; a surprise that showed on his callow face. He was stunned into a contemplative silence, drawn out of it only by the introduction of a hunting lesson.
 
He tipped his head at the word feces, but a disgusted sort of understanding befell his expression at the word poop. They needed to find that to catch a rabbit? Oh, okay… if y’say so, he frowned, before steeling himself to the thought. His skepticism hadn’t made him any less hungry — he was well past that point — and so he found no place for it to remain in his head.
 
His eyes started to search the ground, finally occupying himself with something other than making sure he stayed as close as possible to Wintersbane. The stray child looked for something — anything — that looked like fur, footprints... droppings. Oh, my. But it was his guide who made the first discovery.
 
Thade craned to see the grass jutting above a tiny moat, and the short mound of droppings on top. His tail flagged as he hesitated to advance on the pellets, leaving it up to the sincere confidence of his caretaker to reassure him forward. He took a quick sniff, and filled his nostrils with a surge of information he didn’t yet understand. There were things like age, sex, diet, and health to process, but he could decode none of it. He looked up for further instruction, his face more eager than before.

with the subject of the warren vs. den debate behind them — at least wintersbane takes the liberty of assuming — thade follows him as their hunt begins in earnest. never having the opportunity to teach quellcrist in these things ( nor his current children roaming about the wilds ), wintersbane is left to trust his instincts, imploring hard-earned patience and offering instruction while still wanting thade to learn on his own. guidance, wintersbane thinks. it was important to guide but not to entirely takeover.

the scent, while not entirely pleasant, tells us a lot about our quarry. all useful things when hunting larger prey. not real useful beyond not wanting to chase after sick rabbits. wintersbane explains. lucky for us, these rabbits smell healthy.

he gestures for thade to keep going. now we follow the scent trail and we listen. when we get close enough we will be able to hear them. wintersbane offers. can you see any prints? while it was true the most recent rain might've washed them away if they were fresh enough the mud would offer a nice trial for them to follow, as would the scent of dampened rabbit fur. can you smell their path?

If this was the squalor that passed for healthy, then, what dussit smell like when.. when it’s not healthy? Thade rebounded dubiously, his curiosity burgeoning. Yet, in that same moment, he felt himself becoming overly forward, and he was suddenly back to a time when Mother had struck him for asking too many questions.

Thade was deep in this memory, when he noticed Wintersbane move within his peripheral vision. He flinched, even though his guardian had simply gestured for him to advance, and averted his gaze, shamefaced. The boy seemed to recover on his own quick enough — shaking out his grimy coat, then resuming the hunt as if nothing had happened — but mentally he still felt jarred, which showed in the slight drooping of his posture.
 
Trying to find a rabbit’s trail turned out to be a decent enough distraction.
 
Thade was soon immersed in the act, turning several circles before he noticed small footprints where the rim of a puddle turned to silt. He sniffed along the muddy path, following the tracks onto drier land. The rain fell softer here, with the canopy above acting as a natural umbrella. These feetprints smells like rabbit droppings! he announced with a proud whipping of his tail; forgetting to keep quiet in his excitement.

the flinch doesn’t fall beneath wintersbane’s notice though he chooses not to capitalize upon it. if the boy wishes to speak of his trauma then he will, but wintersbane will not draw attention to it by pinning it beneath his scrutiny. it doesn’t take one with much imagination ( luckily for wintersbane ) to imagine the horrors that befell the boy during his time with this stranger he calls ‘mother’. wylla is strict and unforgiving but wintersbane cannot conceive that she would allow this to happen to her son, to inspire an ingrained desire to flinch as if he will be struck with a movement as simple and small as a gesture of wintersbane’s muzzle.

seemingly engrossed in the hunt, wintersbane allows thade to take the lead, convinced the boy will learn no other way. he follows close behind, careful to never stray too far ( though wintersbane is easy enough to spot ). he watches with a small chuckle of amusement as the boy circles and then announces, with gusto, that the footprints smell like the droppings. we must be quieter, thade. we don’t want to scare off our dinner, do we? wintersbane chides with soft amusement. but very good. the tundrian makes sure he praises. lets follow the tracks and see where they lead, eh?