Grouse Thicket no more innocence left to spill

He delved keep into the thicket, blending with shadows that grew longer as the day passed into night. The game birds were tempting but he had gotten his fill earlier of them along the forest’s outskirts where once again he and @Stjornuati had parted ways for another spell. The pair, though they worked in tandem as often as they could, knew they could cover more ground by splitting up. There was much to scout out here, much information that could be gathered as to what would make a suitable place to hole up should the snows come early and thick, and by the earliest tendrils of dawn’s light they would confer and conspire yet again.

The thicket itself reminded him of the great forests of home, though the hardwood trees were not as bountiful as they were here; the interior world he had grown up in had been choked with coniferous forests and staggering peaks. It was a place where the weather was prone to changing in an instant if the wind decided it and all in its way were left to its mercy or malevolence. A place where even the summers had their occasionally moments of trying to smother them all in batches of stifling heat and the only escape had been to try and scale those snow-capped ridges and jagged eskers.

But here…

This place had variety. Potential. Perhaps not as far north as he would have liked to be, but it had all the creature comforts that one needed to make a decent home out of them. Though he wanted it to be true, he knew that this place would not be without others—no, there were signs of travel through here too—and his body was guided almost mindlessly along a footpath well worn in by those who used it as a thoroughfare to another locale.

A quail cried along the path as the last ember of a setting sun pierced through the vista; Solpallur watched it skitter into the decaying undergrowth only to snap after it and spurn it along faster. He laughed about it, a raspy almost wheezy sort of sound that was far more delightful than his features could ever cast. Yes, he quite liked this little stretch of land, and he would revel in its void of common kin while he still could. He would have to bring Stjornuati through here to hunt another time.

This place was delightful! Lio was entranced by the denseness of the forests, and the strange little trees. They hadn't had apple trees back where the Carroch family was from, so these spindly little things were new to them. Though Lio had initially been apprehensive about taking their one year excursion on their own, the yearling was finding that it was far better than they had originally thought it would be. There were so many new things to see and smell and such new terrain to feel. 

One thing that was not as good as it was in their homeland was their ability to camoflauge. The evergreen trees were almost always coated with snow, nestled between two mountains, and Lio's white pelt had blended in perfectly. They were not as large and lanky as the wolves of their homeland - perhaps because of their mixed heritage - but that had not seemed to matter much to the Carroch wolves. Not an overly affectionate bunch, but certainly not a cruel one, they'd been accepting of the dog blood that traversed through Lio's veins. Their mother had also not been shamed for breeding outside of her species, so Lio assumed it was fine in their culture.

The apple tree forest they'd found themselves weaving through, leaving tufts of soft fur in the undergrowth, had been quiet until this point - Lio had assumed that they were alone here. Suddenly, however, that solitude was disturbed. A bird cried out and fled a few paces off to the side, pursued for a spell by a wolf, larger than Lio, and solidly black in color. He laughed, and Lio found themself smiling in return. It was a nice sound, and they imagined the smile would be pretty to match. Even if they couldn't make out much of his features in the impending darkness that crept through the little forest.

"It stood no chance against you," they assured the dark man, ears angled toward him with interest. One of the first wolves they would meet outside of their familial pack.

His mirth was immediately cut short when a voice called out near him; his gaze seemed electrified momentarily in the way that it snapped to the figure. It had been a long time since he heard someone else that wasn’t his bróðir that he questioned the validity of its reality. Which, given the bizarre shape and markings of the figure before him, only pressed this along further.

They were a very peculiar, curious thing in a way he could not quite place. Even so he bristled at the sight of them, a growl bubbling low in his chest as he rose to his full height. His lips pulled back briefly, their tongue lost on him in the rush of adrenaline. The bits and pieces came to him though and their demeanor was nonthreatening, so that curled lipped expression turned into a grotesque grin perfect for a wonderland Cheshire. Only he was not a pretty little kitty with riddles.

“Neither would you,” came his accented refrain, every bit as ugly and as raspy as his laugh. “But this one will make an exception for pretty little thing, yes.” His gaze bore into them, unrelenting, trying to assess the worth of their character in an instant. Perhaps this would be the point where they would rise to challenge him and thrill him, or perhaps they would run away and he would chase them, too.

He made his proposal: “Would pretty little frú like to see?”

The male changed swiftly when he noticed Lio's presence. No longer laughing and playing around, he turned toward them with a growl in his chest. But then he smiled again, and it only confused Lio further - why would he smile if he was angry with them? It made no sense, and they couldn't place the smile into a threatening category, so more than anything it just confused them.

And he was correct - Lio probably wouldn't stand a chance against him, either, if he were to chase them like he did that quail. "No, I most likely would not. You are much bigger than I am," they agreed with his first statement, a very slight sway to their tail. He was playing, they decided incorrectly, based on his smile and the fact that he hadn't hurt the quail. So why would he hurt Lio?

Pretty little thing was another strange concept for the yearling, much like the smiling after a growl. Carroch Valley wolves were not particularly hung up on appearances, though none of them had looked like this man either. Lio had thought their family was beautiful, long legged and swift, but they had never said it aloud. It was... unimportant, so those things were thought, not spoken.

Lio couldn't make the connection between the chasing of the quail and his question, so their ears pricked forward in interest. Curiosity was an unfortunate trait that they possessed. "Yes...?" they questioned, head tipped to the side, as they racked their brain trying to figure out what he was going to show them.

They conceded, bending to the notion that Solpallur was indeed the superior here. This pleased him but perhaps they were a pleasing sort. Such a thing was furthered, bolstered by the curious inquiry that his newfound little frú wanted to be shown. The question was just what they wanted to be shown, of course, and he did not imagine that she cared to see in which ways he could truly be. The season was not appropriate, his interest waned because of this, and all that left was a show of power. His smile narrowed, teeth disappearing behind dark lips into a smirk that suddenly held much more darker things with it.

And then he was off towards her with a snarl, his intent not to inflict pain or damage though the very action betrayed such a thing. He anticipated her running, attempting to flee him as though he were some monster carved from the obsidian that comprised his coloration. There were far too few that would partake in the playful bardagi his kind were prone to; to test one’s mettle was a typical thing, to see at which point they would bend and break when they faltered to have a constitution strong enough to endure.

Fear was a powerful motivator, the very tactic they used on prey.

So would they be afraid? Or were they made of more than just a pretty face and body?

He wondered what would set these wolves apart from the rest.

Little surprised the pale man, and the fact that his brother had decided to próf a wolf of these lands provided no sense of shock or outrage. Actually, he was rather intrigued. By the outcome, by the wolf, the curious way in which he'd approached Solpallur all together.

With the grouse racing past him moments ago, Stjornuati slunk forth from the shadows while the male's attention remained on the sun eater, waiting for the moment the dark one surged forward like he was wont to do. Solpallur's próf always consisted of brawn and sudden attacks; always the compliment to his companion, Stjornuatji preferred tests of intelligence and wit.

What would the white wolf do when he found himself stuck between them?

Sol moved and Stjor moved opposite him, positioning himself behind Lio in a way that gave the wolf room only to turn and find the Nordic towering over him, liver colored eyes peering sternly at him.

Lio had no clue that they were being tested. Of course, they'd had tests back in Carroch Valley, but none quite like this. So perhaps that was why they were not immediately afraid of the massive creature barreling toward them, snarling as though he was truly angry. 

The impact of the darker wolf against their body was jarring - he was much larger than they, after all, - but Lio still made no move to run. They ended up on their back, round eyes staring up at their assailant in confusion. 

But there were no teeth that would connect with their face. No actual pain, aside from the ache of their body being thrown back like it had been. 

They were fine. 

"Was... that what you wanted to show me?" they questioned, tipping their head to the side as they stared up at the green-eyed creature. He had been smiling only moments before - they didn't know what had happened to make him so angry all of a sudden. 

Lio still had not noticed the other wolf behind them just yet.

Down they went, Solpallur suddenly standing over them with a snarl.

He did not get the reaction he anticipated and felt the pinpricks of anger arise in him. No fear, not even a challenge back. Just a string of words in a commoner’s tongue. A huff left him, taking notice of Stjornuati’s presence then, his eyes flicking quickly to the sight of his bróðir lingering close. A shame then, that they had not fled only to find themselves ensnared like a thieving kin.

“Þessi er þrótt-lauss,” he said to Stjornuati with a shake of his head. “Leiðinlegur.” Solpallur left the strangely marked wolf then, stepping over him to shove his bróðir roughly. Here too he did not anticipate a reaction as it was a means to exhaust his anger safely, though he circled around to glare again at the pallid creature in its supine position.

“This one is disappointed in frú,” he told them, “frú does not partake in bardagi.” His gaze went to Stjornuati, speaking roughly again. “Þú prófar þá.”

Surprise filtered through the man's gaze, intrigue close on its heels as the boy was bowled over by the dark wolf's heft. There had been no panic, no fear, not even a yip of surprise as he had been forced to the ground at the feet of the two. Something about this reaction, or lack thereof, felt amiss to the man but he would not take the time to over-analyze such. 

A step forward was taken, bringing him into the boy's view as he lay beneath Solpallur, taking in his assessment of him while he yet remained silent. Only when the dark man was finished, and Lio had asked his (odd) question did the star eater speak, roughly nudging him with his nose. 

Up, He commanded. Why did you A slight pause here as he searched for the common tongued words. Why you not run? Not scared? was he brave? Or was he foolish?

So... Fru was their name now. Lio didn't really understand it, but they weren't understanding much about this encounter. Like why the black wolf was disappointed in them. Or why the cream-colored one was having a turn. Pink eyes narrowed a bit in confusion and very mild frustration, but they did get to their feet when the pale one nudged them.

They liked the way he looked. Tall, pale - like their family back home. But maybe that wasn't the most important thing right now.

"I..." they began, ears swiveling back a bit as they raised a dark brow. "I am... not scared. I don't understand what is happening." Honesty was the best policy, after all, and they truly couldn't begin to grasp what these two wanted from them. "I am not a fighter. I did not do anything that should cause him to attack me, so I did not think he would hurt me. I was correct." I think, they thought, but did not say. "Is... that what's happening? Do you want to hurt me?" 

The question was directed at them both, but they didn't ask it out of fear. If the males were to want to, they probably could hurt Lio very badly. But they hadn't yet, so why would they now?

The spotted one spoke many words and only some of which fell on Solpallur’s ears. Little snippets and strings that he understood clearly, would have understood better if he had been listening closer. Instead his gaze had long stared past him, only bringing the curious creature into focus at the words do you want to hurt me?

He understood that and for a moment, the fiery nature that burned both ends of his soul wanted to tell him yes. But they were no longer entirely bound to violent ideals though they partook here and there in them. They felt similar to growing pains; Solpallur knew that they were no longer bound to a world where the rapid shift and alteration of things required them to always carry hostility. Yet it was difficult to yield to a sense of perpetual listlessness; a languorous lifestyle was not the sort of thing he saw for himself, or for Stjornuati.

A heavy breath of air flared his nose for a moment.

“This one knows we could,” he told them pointedly.

Perhaps most of all, Solpallur was bothered that he had been saw through, that his front had been so transparent. Shame should have burned in his cheeks rather than the tempest of anger that made his gaze seem opaque.

The pale boy with the blotchy face got to his feet as instructed, a new air around him now. Or perhaps it was the same air, but now Stjornuati understood it better. There was less tension here than he had originally thought, replaced with confusion and ire (from Solpallur). And while he did not know all of the words that came from the others mouth in explanation, he caught on well enough that he could answer.

Nei.

A shoulder jostled his brother, a pointed look given to him. We could, He confirmed, looking to Lio again, studying him, watching the expressions cross his face in a way that they never would upon his own. We do not want this. Solpallur, He indicated his darker half. prófar þig. Mm. Tries you. See what makes you. Were the wolves here not tested as they were when they were babes? How did they discover who they were, he wondered.

These men were... confusing. Their language was thick and hard to understand, and Lio was pretty sure there was a permanent, very confused, scowl on their own face as they listened. 

Solpallur was the dark one's name. Lio made sure to keep that in mind. 

Tries you. See what makes you.

Oh! That was something Lio thought they understood. 

"To know what I'm good at?" That was something the Carroch wolves had done with their children. Tested their abilities and directed them in certain life paths. "They told me that I would be good at traveling. Learning. I am good at communication." Emotion, too, but they doubted these men would care much in that regard. "I am not a fighter." 

Maybe that would disappoint them. Lio didn't know.

Not a fighter—that much was obvious.

Solpallur huffed; he had heard enough, had seen enough. These lands were untamed and wild, not at all for the faint in his eyes. But it was a narrow scope of what he did know and what he would come to know in the days to come. Even though he had been loosened to this world from his natal pack, he thought it would always be a harsh place. In some ways, that had been true though thus far it had been bountiful in what it had to offer, even if it lacked in the divinity he had hoped to find.

“Við skulum fara, yfirgefa hana,” he decided then, gaze flicking to Stjornuati. “Þolinmæði mín er þunn.” The only thing now that would hold him would be if Stjornuati had interest, but somehow he did not think he would.

The boys are exiting! Feel free to archive or post an ending! <3

His brothers words were unnecessary for the most part, sensing his disinterest the more the spotted male went on. With a simple grunt, he agreed, dark eyes settling on the smaller wolf once more. Good luck in all things, kom auga á einn. With that, Stjornuati would turn, leaving alongside his darker-furred brother.

Stjor and Sol exit!