Moonspear dealing with danger

@Dirge or Altair; up to 1 crasher welcome

Being called upon to escort someone outside the territory caused Alya to take a step back from herself and examine her behavior. And, when she looked, it was hard not to see how... lacking she had become. She had been a decent scout, once, but after her Big Trip, she'd come home to rest on her laurels for far too long. And although she contributed to the pack, it was clear they had contributed at least in equal measure to her — she was now quite a bit heavier than she had been as a young woman. Heavy enough to set her apart from her sisters, who had scarred themselves to remain identical to her.

And, although her appearance was the most markedly changed of the three, Alya couldn't help but feel that her life had stagnated the most. Yes, she had a mate now, but no offspring to show for it. Her heat came around just like Hydra's, but each year, something in her held back from allowing herself to procreate. She chose not to examine that too carefully. And scouting, her life's mission, had fallen by the wayside. She couldn't remember the last time she had ventured past the altar or the Glen.

She didn't feel like Alya anymore, never mind how little she felt a part of the Cerberus.
It was high time, she knew, to try and reclaim these things. So, today, she was pretending to be Hydra. The best way, she thought, to become the Alya she used to be, was to take a walk in one of her other skins.
 This is my mountain, she thought as she stalked the borders, glancing back at the spear in haughty pride. My children live here. More will be born here. Moonspear will live forever, and my descendants will spread to all corners of the wilds. And, she went on, peppering in some compliments for her other self, just to practice: And my sisters will rule alongside me, and their children alongside mine.
 It was going swimmingly. Now, if only she could loose a few pounds, anyone might mistake her for Hydra. This in mind, her dark head swung out toward the flatter lands, blue eyes scanning for something big and dumb to chase. Perhaps a deer, or perhaps one of her beloved children.

He had slunk away once again, this time feeling a little bit more bold in his ventures on his own. Though there was a certain severity from his mother that he courted with by coming so close to their borderland, it was a pull that Altair could not avoid so easily. The glen was literally right there in his mind’s eye, close enough that even where their borders had thinned to merge with the ones Osiris laid down made for safe country.

There was a resolute chill in the air that he didn’t know what to make of either—his parents told him that winter was close, but he hadn’t the faintest idea of what to expect. Cold weather and snow, his father had told him, but Altair had no real opinions of them. The forest was frosted and pretty, but the faintest of snowflakes had yet to come raining down on them. Today, the sun wasn’t even enough to warm the branches that tried to hem him in and shield him.

He crept up closer to that marked, wavering boundary; his head was low, ears slicked back, he was quite the clandestine young man working some top secret mission to abscond to the glen and rendezvous with whatever sibling he could find first before they escorted him back where he belonged. His head on a swivel, Altair did not see anyone watching him, nor know if someone else lurked in the frosted, forested copse he made his path through.

Almost as if summoned by her thoughts, one of the naughty children appeared. He could hardly be called a child anymore, of course, but Alya had long since learned to overlook these things where her nieces and nephews were concerned. Of course, she liked their wandering spirits, and thought it was good for them to get out and stretch their legs — safely, of course. So, while Altair was misbehaving, he was also, unwittingly, under her care; she allowed this transgression for the moment, sneaking silently after him for a time.

It was only as they drew to the very edge of the border that Alya sprang, leaping from the shadows with a few short, savage sounds in hopes of startling the boy into fleeing. Then, she could give chase, and burn a few calories while also teaching Altair a valuable lesson.

And the coast… seemed clear… for now.

Altair had no more begun to relax along those outskirts when there came a thrashing through the brush behind him, followed up with snapping and snarling. He threw a glance over his shoulder only to see nothing more than black fur, sharp blue eyes, and even sharper teeth aligned straight in her maw. That jaw he saw seemed to elongate as it reached for him, sparking terror in a flash.

A startled sound cut off in his throat and choked him, the noise there and gone in an instant. He remembered well the severity of the tone and the words that his mother had laid out for he and his siblings if they were to be found trying to cross the border; paying for that transgression was not something that he particularly wanted to do right then and there, and he struggled for a moment to get all four legs to cooperate and send him off.

With his tail tucked and his ears plastered back once more against the dark-haired hood of his head, Altair managed to finally get going and not a moment too late. Smartly, he ran not out of Moonspear’s claim but rather inward—the point was across even if it wouldn’t save him today.

Five months old — nearly six — he still had too much leg to handle. This was why he had no business here; he could not even escape his benevolent aunt, so how could he expect to escape all the evils of the world? Every year, from every corner of the wilds, there came rumors of children missing, stolen, and killed. Alya had even been called to search for some of these. Alya had once been a child with legs too long and a heart too full of adventure.

It'd gotten Dash killed. It could have been both of them just as easily.

Alya gave chase, heavy paws thudding after her nephew's whip-like figure. Apart from that, the only sounds from her were her breathing, and the crash of foliage as they broke through it. She was careful to keep some distance between them, unwilling to pounce before they were somewhere soft and flat enough to cushion the blow. When that moment came, however, she was quick to power forward, her teeth reaching out to bruise — but not harm — Altair's flanks, paws reaching to grab, body barreling forward to bowl him over.

If he escaped her, then perhaps this was a lesson he did not need to learn. Perhaps it was proof he was ready for an excursion.

I’m ahead, I’m ahead, he kept thinking, like a mantra, in his neck-breaking run. Not a chance of looking back to know just how far ahead he was either, all Altair needed to know was that he hadn’t been caught yet. It gave him confidence and finesse however gangly the latter was, and if it kept him ahead until he had exhausted his pursuer then it was all for the better.

Even if it meant he’d get his rear snatched later for being disobedient.

His steps slowed ever so slightly, feeling more sure of himself and his lead.

Yet almost immediately thereafter that confidence was rattled a bit when he felt something snag at the hairs at his hide; the pulling of loose tufts and unrelenting wintry coat made his flank smart. It gave him another start, but she didn’t have him just yet either. It was with another burst of speed that made his muscles burn that he aimed to put space between them again, breaking through the cover of the forest for a rocky, open expanse along the lowland slope.

To a surveying eye of hawk overhead, they were nothing more than two dark streaks against the autumn pelage.

Alya was tiring, but she still had some steam left in her. That, and she was tenacious once she had her prey in sight, rarely stopping until she'd made the kill or her legs could carry her no longer. Still, when Altair evaded her that first time, another snarl escaped her, half real anger and half approving cackle — perhaps once or twice more, and she might be willing to let this go.

Come back, she called to the boy, wasting some of her breath to nettle him, I'm hungry.

She she spoke, he realized it was not quite his mother’s voice that called to him.

He tucked and rolled along the earth, flipping himself over with more grace than what would have been expected of a rough-and-tumble boy to face her then. His hackles bristled at what he thought was a playful challenge, eyes alight with an ever-burning eagerness to perform. His head held low, ears back; it was clear that he expected her to come to bowl him over yet. It would not have been a surprise—his mother and his aunts were rather known for flipping children heedlessly.

“Hungry for what?” he needled at her, panting.

Hungry for what? he asked, and on that word, bowl she did. But this bowling ball — while traditionally round and black and sporting, at the very least, three holes — was not smooth, but bristling with teeth and claws that sought her nephew's tender flesh.

For little boy meat, she snarled in reply, but by then, her anger had burned out, and any violent action would leave no more than a scratch upon him as she sought — as he predicted — to force him onto his back.

She'd just about run out of breath, anyway; it was just as well the battle turned to a melee.

She swooped in to get him and though he knew her anger was a farce, Altair couldn’t help but feel that momentary urge to be flighty again. Of his caretakers, Alya may have seemed the most matronly, but he knew that she was every bit as severe as his mother in the right places. Her teeth would seek to pinch him and make his flesh smart, and with the experience he knew she had at doing such things he was at a disadvantage.

Still, he rose to meet her challenge by way of jaw-sparring back, letting their teeth clack together as he noisily answered her comment. It was a challenge too—a ’come and try’ sort of rally he had often announced in any tumble with Mira or his elder brothers. He sought to pinch her right back before she could grasp him, however futile the attempt. At least if he was going to be reprimanded, he wanted something for her to have praise for too—his mother had been teaching him to defend himself, and who better a competitor than his aunt?

Of course, she would know all his tricks. She had been there too.

194 words

She was not, she decided, angry with the boy. It was only natural to want to explore, and he was now holding up admirably under her assult, even if that wouldn't have stopped a wolf truly determined to harm him. She grappled with him for a time, testing his progress and measuring his snaps for their speed, since their force was only a farce. All of it was pleasing to her, and so when it came time to end the game, it was relatively painless for curious young Altair.

Alya stepped back just enough to disengage, her tail whisking idly at her hocks.

"If you wanted to take a field trip, you only needed to ask," she told him, her tone low and conspiratorial.