Raven's Watch ix tulugak

At the top of the Watch was a sprawling lake that fed down in to the territory proper. It had taken Kigipigak and the sister some time to find their way up to it and now, lingering at the water's edge, Kigipigak could not think to leave it.

Spires rose on either side; a slackened jaw with pooling saliva—the lake—and winding creeks leading off the cliffside, an array of drooling falls carving sheer drops in to the rock. The highest of these peaks were dusted in snow and Kigipigak wondered if he could climb to them. Were they an impossibliity or merely a difficulty?

The boy was not alone. He noted @Stjornuati's scent anchored among the pines. Overhead drifted the area's namesake scavengers lured close by the presence of the pale wolf, forming hungry halos as they spiraled closer.

FINALLY I've been trying to get to my computer all night so I can reply to this thread!

The mountain lake had quickly become a favorite spot of his. The cool, crisp air; The clean, clear water. In a way, it reminded him of home though there had been no picturesque scenes such as this. There were always mountains surrounding the Haven, always peaks to scale and conquer, but this...

Stjornuati stood at the crest of a ledge, overlooking the lake and all that surrounded it. Tail flicking behind him, the Nord experienced only pleasure as he thought of staying here long term, of gathering those that would become their family and making this place their own.

It was the appearance of his newly found brodir that made the man break from his  silence, casting a low and short howl to the cascade over the lake and catch his attention. Come join me. It was a language that needed no translation, for they were wolves, and this was the only language they truly needed to know.

The call sounded close. Kigipigak's head lifted slightly upon hearing it and he slowly turned his head, then his ear the rest of the way, to pinpoint the source. Copper gaze lingered on the ridge but he could not make out the blonde wolf immediately. He cast his chin up and called back, I follow!

It would take time for him to find a suitable route. Kigipigak had been enjoying the water and the rushing falls for a few hours—recuperating after the hike with Valmua—but wound his way along until he found a path up. His limbs were sore and stiff. He would not complain or show weakness.

When the figure of Stjornuati came in to view upon the next segment of stonework Kigipigak chuffed, moving closer.

The swiftness of the other's answer did not surprrise him, watching as he picked his path to journey up to where Stjornuati stood upon the ledge. The time was passed with an easy patience, watching the ravens circle above the lake in silence. The arrival of Kigipigak, both to the Watch and to his side, was expected; his tail waved briefly at the appearance of the male before stilling into stoicism once more, strides carrying him closer with purpose.

Having stood on the ridge for too long, Stjornuati found himself desiring something more, something to get his blood racing. Facing Kigi now, his head lowered, teeth baring as a silent invitation to spar.

The other man was watching the sky and Kigipigak need not turn his attention there to know why; the ravens were ever-present and oftentimes loud. 

Each had a call unique to themselves. In the last few hours he had listened to one which sounded like crackling ice, another that imitated the barking of a ground squirrel (though not with any great finesse), and the latest arrival: one which shrieked three times and paused between each series.

The wolves were like the ravens in some regards (certainly not in coloration, Kigipigak had mused beside the lake). They each had their own way of doing things, their own voice. It was Stjornuati's lack of a voice in Kigipigak's approach that put him on-edge.

The shine of teeth. The way the head lowered to protect the throat. Kigipigak knew these signs and welcomed them. His worry slipped away as he assumed a similar posture—not giving any time to wait between invitation and action, he swings his muzzle close to his bond-brother's face and begins the spar with a snap.

Perhaps in the coming days the ravens would learn this new song too.

Weeee my fighting posts are ruuuusty.

Words were useless in the language of teeth and snarls. Kigipigak accepted with little fanfare, launching himself into the fray with snapping teeth. His movement was large and noticeable, allowing Stjornuati to adjust his posture and avoid the brush of teeth. Shoving his body forward, he sought to throw his weight into the other and throw him off balance, teeth grasping for scruff and fur wherever he could reach.

In this, the wolf would abstain from drawing the blood of his northern brother, not looking to harm but to train and know one another better in one of the many languages they both knew.

Stjornuati took the prompt and lunged in to Kigipigak; they became a pair of mist-hewn leviathans dancing on the precipice of the ridge.

When one threw their weight the other welcomed it. Accepted the brutish wedge of a shoulder against a chest or the curve of ribs. Kigipigak was off-balance from the hefty blow but then was rooted in place by a grapple to the thick mantle of his shoulder furs.

He rolled a shoulder and ducked in to the grip, finding his feet long enough to push against Stjor in an effort to reverse the odds; pushing in to his mouth so that he might overwhelm the hold and make him gag. 

Should Stjor release him Kigipigak would lift his head and proudly poise a moment, then reach for some piece of his friend to continue the game.

The grip of his teeth would release, yes, but the off-white wolf was not so easily distracted by grandiosity or posturing as he might have been in his younger days. The moment of peacocking would cost the boy, snapping his head forward to crash his skull against Kigipigak's. While the move would rattle his own mind as well, it would, perhaps teach him a lesson; the lesson being that taking even a moment to model and pose would be his undoing, especially if he were foolish enough to do so when the stakes were higher than they were now.

In retrospect, when he thought back to this fight later on, he would be surprised that a wolf that had earned the name Tartok had made such a move but for now, Stjornuati focused on his recovery, and another move to rush forward towards his sparring partner mouth agape once more.

The truth of Kigipigak's name-gathering would come to light eventually; that he might not be worthy after all was a fear he harbored and kept anchored deep within, and this flaunting of himself in the face of his opponent was only the trembling surface.

The crack of Stjor's skull left Kigipigak reeling. He staggered backwards while his eyes rolled, a dazzle of light patterning across his gaze for a moment as he saw spots, and then Stjor came in for a second wave; it took all of Kigipigak's remaining wit to deflect those teeth but he could not make a rejoinder of his own.

His opponent recovered enough to avoid the grab of his teeth but made no advance in his attack, leaving the opportunity for Stjornuati to make yet another move. Darting in, he would seek once more to displace Kigipigak's wait and shove him to the ground, where his teeth would find find purchase upon his neck, a steady grip held until movement ceased in lieu of submission. This was, of course, if his rough-and-tumble approach worked as he willed it to.

Stjornuati took the initiative, seeking a gap in Kigipigak's defenses while they parried and moved for an interception. As his teeth scythed through Kigipigak's scruff the young man tried to pull back and down, but was faulty in his own follow-through. Next thing he knew those teeth were pinching through the fur and grabbing skin, scoring the flesh. Stjor's strength won out; as he levied it against his opponent Kigipigak went down with a twist and soon found himself flattened upon the earth with the older male pinning him from overtop. He shimmied his tail as a white flag of surrender.

Sigur.

The gentle smack of the other's tail against the ground sounded a clear sign of submission. Yet, he did not let up yet, grip holding Kigipigak there a moment longer, to allow the victory to sink in. When it was done, he released the male and allowed him up, though Stjornuati did not move from his position over the northerner. It would be Kigipigak who had to move to accomodate him, for that was the law of strength.

Your want for show brought your swift downfall. In the future, do not waste time or energy on such things. It was a critique, one offered to help him in the future. Come. Let us descend the watch together, He said, turning and waiting for the other to fall into step beside him.

Kigipigak had let his tail flap as the sign of defeat and expected a prompt end to the spar - he was not let up immediately and fought against the pin the longer it lasted; but finally, Stjornuati released him. 

As the boy rose he felt warm with frustration for the loss. His ears rang with Stjor's commentary. Kigipigak shook tension from his shoulders and pawed the ground, scoring it with blunt claws almost as a bull elk might during the rut. 

Once the agitation died and Stjornuati invited him down the cliffside, Kigipigak huffed, then followed in forlorn silence.