Redsand Canyon Such a dark destiny
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#1
Joining 
A spy, he thought to himself as he crossed over the mesa’s borders and into the unfamiliar wilds beyond.

The journey from Akashingo to the mountains was nothing like the trip before, when he had walked beside Germanicus. The trip he took was lonely, frightening, and there had been several times that he had turned around to venture back to the mesa and the bizarre comforts of the wolves there. Each time Crowfeather had felt his courage waver, he had been reminded of the harsh glint in Germanicus’ eyes, that night in the man’s bedchamber… the bruise where his ribs had struck the wall. It chased thoughts of fear from his head and ushered him onward.

Crowfeather had spent days traveling. He had done everything he could to conceal the scent he carried – that fragrance of berries and mints from the mesa – and he had done well to hide any remnants of the Akashingo wolves from his frame.

It was not until he had bathed himself in the river that the last of the fragrances had slipped free from his dark pelt. Even still, Crowfeather had rolled in wild mint until his head was filled with the sharpness of that smell. The drizzling of rain had cleaned him of any other sign that he had been in the heart of Akashingo. When the dark wolf could no longer smell the rough scent of Germanicus, he knew that it was time.

At the border of the canyon, Crowfeather felt his heart grow heavy in his chest. He knew that if he was going to do this, he would need to have a story – a runaway from the eyes of Pharaoh – it would not have been hard for him to appear as though he had been used for pleasure, he knew the pains of that role well enough.

Drawing his narrow muzzle upward, the shadow called a tentative summons to the borders of the Saints.


Germanicus would not allow Crowfeather to fight in the war, but the shadow could not live with the thought of losing him. The idea that he would never gaze at those intelligent yellow eyes was his only compass, his only guide into the shadows of the unknown.
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#2
Crowfeather you poor fool
 

Nyra herself answered, of course. 
The monolithic woman was nearby anyway, preparing for the move the Saints would make soon enough. 
Looming and dangerous, the Grandmaster prowled to the scene. 
She could swear she recognized this kid...
Wasn't he the poor brat she terrorized back in the Hinterlands?
Ah, yes...he was. 
Recognition lit her hellfire-golden gaze and she wrinkled her lip with a dire, nonverbal warning.
"I remember you. Ramesses and I terrorized you once before." 
Her predatory stare held an obvious disbelief that Crowfeather would want to be here at all after such an encounter.
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^^!!! I am so thrilled.

It was the large white wolf from before, and she approached with a similar expression worn upon her face – the face of a warrior. Crowfeather could not help but to shrink slightly at the sight of her, recalling the day he had met Ramesses and Nyra in the woodland and she had threatened him with a sharp snap of her teeth and a forceful motion of her body. The shadow had not stood a chance against both together, and he worried that he did not stand well when facing them on their own, either.

Y- yes you did. I- I had thought Ramesses was better… I thought he was nicer, so I found him and he made me one of his prizes, one of his pleasure wolves, the boy lied carefully, picking his words with great thought so that he did not reveal much of the Akashingo wolves, but enough for the white wolf to take interest. He is not a good man and-

Crowfeather drew his eyes up to the white wolf before he bowed his head to her.

I wish to fight against him. For my freedom, as a warrior under your ch- charge.
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Rolled dice to see if she believes him. Nope ;w; this poor boy
 

Nyra narrowed her eyes some as Crowfeather spoke. His words may as well have been small waves of water against an unyielding wall of steel. Though she didn't know Ramesses personally, she very much doubted one of his own wolves would so quickly change sides after she attempted to kill the arrogant bastard. They all seemed pretty damn loyal. 

The Grandmaster considered her options... Send him running? No, that would risk further confirming their location to her enemies...
Hold him prisoner? Kill him? Kill him and eat him? Frankly the last two and a half options seemed much more enticing to the battlemaiden. 
He seemed to be a fast little thing, so she'd need to go about his capture carefully...

Assuming she could bait him long enough.

"Follow me." She rumbled after some silence. 
Turning to prowl further into the canyon, Nyra would keep a close eye on the boy, assuming he followed her. 
Once she led him far enough into her kingdom, she planned to subdue him, then she'd throw him somewhere he couldn't crawl out of. If everything went her way, she would interrogate Crowfeather with the relentless ferocity of a war monster.
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#5
Oh, it's certainly not necessary for you to have to randomize a character decision! Please feel free to just follow what Nyra would naturally do moving forward. I am very good with handling and adapting to the unknown. You do not need to feel obligated to use a dice-roller. ^^; <3

The white woman wanted to lead him into the canyon.

For a moment, Crowfeather nearly followed her. His own assuredness had almost led him to the actions of a fool, for he had not thought of what the leader of the Saints might do to him once she had gotten him inside her hold. The dark wolf had not spent nights preparing for this to make such a simple error.

No.

The seer’s voice was firmer than he had anticipated it would be. He had listened to the way the red guard had spoken, the brazen confidence he had so easily used against the wolves of Akashingo – wolves that had made Crowfeather quake. There had been several nights he had found a quiet area of the territory and practiced, only to himself, to make sure that he could speak without quavering.

It was different in the face of his threat. His task had not changed, however.

Not until I know that I will not be harmed here. You must understand before I will follow. It is for my own safety.

Crowfeather eyed her warily, but he held his ground and drew his narrow snout upward.

I have information that would do your wolves a great deal of good. Information on Ramesses, on the others of his clan, he spoke carefully, body tense and ready to flee if she should try to attack him there and postpone any efforts she might have prepared to get information from him. The dark wolf felt his heart clench tightly as he spoke his next words, aching over the thought of any harm coming to her. I know where his wife-to-be sleeps, how many guard her doors.

If I am to follow you into the heart of your lands, to trust you to free me from the servitude I have been living in, you should understand that I have valuable information that I can give to you, that will benefit your efforts. Even knowing how many allies Akashingo has acquired, would this not be of the utmost importance?

The weight of his conversation was immense. Crowfeather fought against the tremors in his figure.

If I go with you and you kill me, you will never hear these words. If I go with you and you torture me, I will close my mouth and never open it to you again. It will not matter what force you apply, at this, the weary flicker of his golden eyes shifted to her own and he held her gaze.

Even the fang of a wolf pales in comparison to the pains I have suffered.

Do we have an understanding?

Or would he need to run as quickly as he could?
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#6
<3
.

As Crowfeather said No, Nyra faced him with a sudden, unwavering baleflame in her intense gaze.
As the boy started to give terms, the Grandmaster interrupted with a deadly ice in her voice, quickly looming closer to invade his space.
"You don't come to my door and give me terms." she purred with the promise of doom, still moving in on him. Smoothly, Nyra pulled into a vicious lunge, aiming her wicked fangs for whatever part of Crowfeather she could hit. Face, ribs, rump, legs, anything. 
It didn't matter to her. She would chase him, maul him, possibly kill him, if she could.
Nyra was giant, sure, but she was also shockingly fast for her size. The speed and stamina came with intense training, and not at all easily.

Her hotheadedness was a price unto itself to pay. But she had no reason to believe Crowfeather wouldn't lie. In her mind, this was better.
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The white wolf whirled on him with madness in her gaze.

Crowfeather held his snout high, still. His heart raced wickedly in his chest.

Nyra’s first snap found purchase in the flesh of his snout, slicing it clean and spilling blood down his muzzle. He had reared back, pulling himself away from her as though she would light him ablaze if she so much as touched him. Be smarter, he cursed at himself internally.

For every step toward him that she made, he jumped backward two more. The days traveling along the mountains, chasing goats up the slopes of the stone faces, living off the world with only the strength of their two bodies, those days had changed his figure. Crowfeather was swifter now, he was sharper than he had been before. Germanicus had done more for him than he ever could have imagined.

The shadow whirled so that he could remain out of her reach.

You’ve made a terrible mistake, the yearling called to her boldly, his voice caught in the back of his throat only once.
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She sliced his muzzle, but seemed to only catch him once so far. 
As he clambered backwards, Nyra pulled towards him just as fast.

A bold little brat.
"So have you." Nyra purred with deadly sweetness, alive and undying as she burst toward Crowfeather in a sudden explosion of speed. 
She aimed for his throat, for his arteries if he hadn't fully turned his face away. 
If that was the case, she'd instead aim her teeth for his hind legs, to hinder him to break him to get him to the ground--
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#9
The plan had shifted, but Crowfeather knew better than to allow himself to be captured by the savage beast of a woman at his heels. He could almost feel her breath on him, faster and faster she pursued.

The seer had scouted the area before he had attempted his call. He had walked every stone and climbed to the peaks that a wolf could reach. There were several places that he could hide, that was if he did not believe he could make it to the flatter terrain. Crowfeather was not afraid of scaling the mountain on his nimble legs – his speed and slightness would give him the advantage when it came to a chase, Nyra would have no hope.

It was wise not to have allowed her close enough, he realized. If he had tried to hold his ground, her teeth would have torn him to shreds. If he had tried to fight against her, her abilities in battle would have savagely outweighed his own. It would have been the dark wolf’s demise.

Fortune favored he who planned carefully, it seemed. As Crowfeather put more space between himself at the leader of the Saints, he began to adjust his course of action.

The shadow did not need to be inside of the canyon to spy on the Saints. All he would need was some time away from their entrance points and better knowledge of the mountains that surrounded the secluded territory. It was not ruined, not yet, or so he tried to convince himself.

Nyra drew closer to his hind quarters.
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The thing about these mountains was...
Nyra knew them too.
Too well, given the many months she herself spent within these peaks, especially before their first move. She knew them inside and out. Had never truly forgotten them and their many pathways.

The Warmaiden picked up speed behind Crowfeather as she got ever closer.
She knew who to watch for, who to smell for, assuming he would live long enough to try again.

She silently dared him to try again. He would die if he did.

 The Grandmaster pushed herself to match his speed as closely as possible. While she wasn't as nimble or quite as able to change course as quickly, she was hellbent.
And so, Nyra pushed herself even harder. And somehow even harder than that.

And she shot forward with her fangs again, willing herself and fate to catch this damn brat by the hind leg, specifically as it elongated.
If not, the Grandmaster would chase him a while longer before turning to go home.

It was time to move, regardless.
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It was shocking that such an event would clash with excitement and fear inside of him. Crowfeather could not pull his mind from Germanicus, from their conversation in the man’s bedchamber, and the cold emptiness he had felt when he had been faced with being left alone. Perhaps it was love that drove him to the borders of the Saints of the Dying Light, perhaps it was only a desperate plea for the shadow to prove himself useful.

Nyra’s teeth sank into his leg. He called out in shock and pain at the searing sensation of her fangs embedded in his hind ankle.

Crowfeather kicked wildly at her with his other foot. His claws aimed to score at her eyes and blind her so that he might know freedom from her hold.

The excitement had withered inside of him. Like the first true frost of winter, the petal of hope had been crippled and had fallen to the earth. The black wolf looked on the white wolf and snapped his teeth for her face, praying that he might find his mark and slip away again. Crowfeather felt his lungs heave.
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Permission has been given by Teo in PM for massive damage, excluding removal of limbs and death <3

Nyra latches to Crowfeather's leg with cannibalistic hunger. Her teeth sink in deep, her goal to hinder the use of that leg extensively and long-term if she had her way. 
As the boy yelped and kicked for her face, Nyra ducked her head to avoid claws in the eyes, digging her teeth in deeper and jolting him violently in a shaking motion in an effort to break his leg. 
Whether or not she succeeded was left to fate. 
His fighting against her was desperate, and the Warmonster felt alive in the thrill of her attack. 
She arced her teeth for more of his face, his neck, shoulders, sides, everything she could bite and maim and tear, she did. 

In the end, Nyra stopped her assault on Crowfeather when he was a few feet from death's door. She knew he wasn't quite dead yet, and if he lived long past this, maybe the little brat would think twice or three times in the future. 
Spitting his fur and flesh from her jaws, the Grandmaster growled loudly through bared teeth and hovered over Crowfeather. 
"Do not cross the Saints again." She purled like personified nightshade.
With that, Nyra would glance to the steep downward slant of the side of the mountain they stood upon. 
Not keen on leaving the battered yearling right outside her door, Nyra considered tossing him down the mountain, but her scent would be on Crowfeather all the same regardless of where she left him. 

She'd take what would inevitably come to the best of her ability. 

And so, Nyra turned back the way she came with a grave expression. Her face would stay cold and murderous the entire way home. 
It was moving time.
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None of his struggling movements seemed to meet their mark. Crowfeather yipped and churned with frustration and fear, fighting against the white tyrant of a wolf that towered over him. Her fangs were so sharp on his skin. The Saints’ leader tore through his flesh with ease, snapping his leg until it had broken and moving to the remainder of his figure.

By the time her teeth had found his neck, the pain had overtaken him. Crowfeather coughed blood into the back of his throat, looking fearfully up to the indomitable white monster.

This was it, then… this was dying.

Crowfeather smiled, knowing that the Saints would fall. They were just one pack, and the actions of their leader were rash and heartless. She did not act for anyone but herself. Ursus, Akashingo, perhaps even the wolves of Redhawk Caldera and Brecheliant would lend their fangs to the cause. The Saints would not survive a war of four clans against their one.

Darkness crept into his vision, and he slipped away from the world at last.

On the mountain he bled until his breath fell in weightless little gasps. Crowfeather did not stir from that place. His body had been broken.