Firefly Glen fire finds a home in me

unforgiving bearing of winter presses down on him; demanding and merciless. survival demands sacrifice and lore is no exception to this rule of both nature and nurture. fresh into his bearing as yearling, the coywolf pushes himself into the land of his father’s once kingdom now as crumbled and ruinous as his bones. pragmatic as he is, he seeks the first pack’s border he comes across, knowing that he has to start somewhere and that winter will only push harder. instinct tells him he will not survive long on his own and he is absent the pride and blossoming with the humility needed to both acknowledge and accept it.

the scent of borders grows stronger still and he halts in his steps, giving a wide berth between their scent markings and his body before tipping his head back and letting out a howl announcing his presence.

@Osiris, @Atlas, @Antares

He would hear the call rise up from the borders near his current vicinity. As a patrolling sentinel who constantly haunted the borders, adding his markings with a pass along the edge of the glen, Bronco often found himself coincidentally nearby when a howl came from a joining wolf. Unfortunately, whenever it was family or friends visiting, he'd often be off along the borders that mingled with the slopes of Moonspear, and would have much further to travel. Given his proximity, he saw no reason to howl in response, to let the stranger know he was on his way, or any other reason to simply delay his approach. 

The figure in question was a dark phase wolf with narrow features, and whispy strands of silver highlighting the lines of his body, flecks of grey which might have aged him had he not such a youthful frame and brightness to his gaze. Bronco padded forward with a relaxed, hefty step before he halted and gave the stranger a nod of his head; his gaze was somewhat expectant. Most wolves who had ever attempted to join a pack in the past, knew the drill. As a Delta, and guardian, he certainly did. 

"Howdy," He said in q demure tone. "I'm Bronco Blackthorn, guardian of Firefly Glen. You called?" He asked, hoping to suss out for himself what the male's intentions were, so he could sort things out, more or less, in the time they awaited a leader's presence.

the male that draws forth from within the claim is robust, burly; a myriad of browns and golden beiges with whiskey eyes that at a quick glimpse he could drown in. a glance that is quickly averted out of respect — a memory: the flash of his father's teeth seconds before they come down upon his muzzle in reprimand for disrespect at meeting his fiery gaze. lore draws in a small breath; scenting the air and tentative but partially relieved that thus far everything feels amiable. or close enough to it not to put lore on edge.

howdy.

a strange word of greeting; casual, almost... and not one that the imperial wolves his father'd gathered would've dared to use. hello, lore returns the greeting, offering a soft clear of his throat as he quickly goes thru the words he's rehearsed. though he's never been the 'guardian' type, he's done his fair share of mandatory patrols and knew how this was meant to work. still, that did not quell his soft swell of nerves. joining a strange pack full of strangers, of course, brought to attention the lack of familiarity.

i am lore. he starts. and i was hoping i might, ehrm..., he gives a small pause. join your pack. he finishes lamely, his inner monologue, the eerie rasp of his father's smoky timbre criticizes him relentlessly; jewel among them being that he wasn't acting as he should be ( like a fearghal ) but rather like a common field mouse.

Like most who came to join the pack (and successful in their endeavours,) the male before him was respectful, and perhaps a little bit nervous, but remained composed nonetheless. Perhaps Bronco had gotten used to being greeted by wolves who were so well-mannered and quick to show deference and respect, and perhaps that accounted for his near-casual greeting. But he saw no reason to put on any more of a show of bravado than he bore with him when he carried himself along. He wouldn't dare pretend to boast the posture of a leader, and found himself falling comfortably into the position of a wolf who had experience patrolling- but who wouldn't have to be the one to make any final decisions. 

He would have made an excellent Wal-Mart greeter. 

Given how this seemed to be a regular role of his, he slipped into it quite comfortably, though he suspected, due to the slight falter in Lore's voice, that this was perhaps his first time asking to join another pack. He wasn't sure what made him think that- maybe it was how self-conscious Lore looked. Either way, he responded by nodding, and sitting down so he could spend some time with the newest of hopeful additions, to suss out where he might fit, if he fit within the pack. "Nice to meet you, Lore," He said. He'd never heard a name like that before- but he thought it was something that his friend Wraen might've found pretty. "Well, you've come to a peaceful place. The Glen is part of a sort of...sister-system of packs, including Moonspear which resides on the mountain, there,-" He said, gesturing to the peak not far in the distance, "And Redhawk Caldera, which is to the East. The Glen, here, is sort of the newest branch, formed by sort of...My generation of wolves from both Moonspear and the Caldera. You're a year old ish, yeah?" He asked. In truth, the male looked as though he was at least a few months younger than Bronco- but he looked older than his younger siblings as well, so he assumed he might've been born somewhere in between- a winter child. He waited a moment for a response, before he continued. "I'll be two in...May," He said. "We're a fresh pack; we hunt well together, and have had no serious incidents with trespassers or enemies on our lands. Sound like anything you're interested in?" He asked. Lore had already said he'd wanted to join the pack- but Bronco had taken it upon himself to make sure that Lore knew what he was actually getting himself into.

likewise, lore returns the pleasantry with a soft wag of his tail in the hopes of showing that it wasn't entirely just a knee-jerk reaction. lore is rapt, silent as the assumed guardian who calls himself bronco explains a bit about firefly glen. peaceful — a great way to start. a sister-system — that catches his attention with a curious tilt of his head. try as he might, lore can't quite comprehend what, exactly that means or entails but it sounds nevertheless interesting. lore is contemplative as bronco goes on to explain that firefly glen is the newest and founded by 'his generation', followed as it was by a question of lore's own age. just turned a year old a few days ago. while admitting such might've brought a burn of embarrassment to his cheeks it wasn't really anything to be ashamed of, aside from that it meant he was painfully youthful as to which was tell-tale anyway.

yeah, definitely! lore exclaims, hoping he didn't come off as overly enthusiastic. it sounded nothing like shiverfallow vale ( as to which despite it's possibly cute name was as imperial and strict as they came ). he desires to ask more about the sister-system bronco mentioned but bites his tongue on it for a moment as he focuses upon the fact that aside from his name he hasn't really given any useful information about himself. i'm a decent hunter, he begins. and i can fight although i'm not ...a fan of it. he'd rather stay as far away from fighting as he could, for reasons he didn't want to say to anyone, least of all himself. i'm more naturalist inclined. i'm good with medicines. another, however fortunate, gift from his father.

"Oh!" Bronco said, perking his ears. "Well, happy belated, then," He said with a slightly awkwars laugh. It seemed that he was fresh out into the world, having only come to the Glen days after his first birthday. Lore wasn't the first wolf that he knew who had taken leave of their birth pack before they turned a year old- though in his experience, that generally meant that they were running away from something, or trying to get away from someone. 

Hunting was always a good asset- it meant that in the very least, he could feed himself, and potentially participate in a hunt with the rest of the pack as well. And while Bronco did like to see wolves who were capable of holding their own in a fight, he wouldn't have expected much from Lore. He was smaller than Bronco was, and younger- he still had some growing to do, and regardless of how much Lore eventually grew, it didn't mean that he should ever be forced into choosing a mercenary trade. "That's alright," He said. "We teach a bit of self defense here, but we've no aim in training up an army of soldiers." He said. "We have a couple wolves who know a bit about medicine, and they tend to share their learnings with one another. And then oafs like me," He said, lifting up his paw to show Lore where he'd broken one of his claws the week earlier, "Put their knowledge to good use." He said with a chuckle. The claw was broken, and still stuck out at an odd angle, but he knew best to leave it until it eventually fell off. It'd bled so profusely when he'd first injured it, that he had the self-control to leave it alone. 

"Well, I don't really see any arguments here, though I'm not the wolf who can make the decision. So, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself, while we wait? Where've you come from?" He asked, hoping the topic wasn't too sensitive. It seemed a lot of their joiners had come from a place they were glad to be free of- but not all the time.