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Fig hadn't really planned to just sit and watch when he'd followed the scent trail to where the herd was now gathered, but he found he couldn't help himself. The air was filled with the aggressive sound of grunting and antlers crashing against each other. The tension in the herd was one even he could feel as he crept near enough as he dared and settled in to watch.

This wasn't the first time he'd seen this behavior--stags battling it out for mating rights--but it always interested him. He watched with studious scrutiny as they charged at each other again and again, wrestled, disengaged, circled, and charged once more. The does of the herd ambled around them, some interested, more not so. None seemed at all concerned that a wolf was watching them, if any noticed him at all.

Fig shifted in the snow to get more comfortable, content to watch the show. His sister and brother-in-law were off doing whatever mated pairs do together (he wasn't going to think about that one any further), so he had time to kill.

The sea at last—it was close. She couldn't see it yet, but she heard the distant crash of waves upon the rocks, and remembered the sound from what seemed like an eon ago. 

What distracted her from the path ahead was a much closer clatter, and she whipped around to find the two behemoths in battle. . .and a dark wolf nearby.

The pale girl crept quietly closer, trying to minimize her footfall on the fresh snow, giving the barest of chuffs to let him know she was coming.

Lanky Blueberry pulled up beside him, a silent wraith, deep indigo gaze fixed firmly on the the melee. What're they doing? she asked sotto voce, words slipping from the corner of her mouth.

His alarm at being approached suddenly by another wolf was short-lived once he took in the sight of her. She was small and thin, young as well. There was nothing familiar about her in spite of the closeness of their families—a story entirely unknown to him. So, he regarded her as a stranger, one that came without threat, and gave her a smile.

Her question drove his gaze back to the battling stags as they began their dance again. ”They’re fighting for breeding rights,” Fig explained, ”Like two males in a wolf pack sometimes do to see who will be alpha. The strongest is awarded the highest rank and all the spoils.” Or so he believed. He’d never seen Planet Earth to know for sure—they took it off Netflix before he was born.

Oh. She hadn't ever seen the phenomenon he was describing; inter-wolf strife in her life had been more subtle, more of an emotional charge constantly simmering beneath the surface. Never had it boiled over like this, and she watched the fighting beasts with some awe.

Eventually, she glanced over at the man again. Will one get killed? Blueberry queried.

Her stomach tightened at the thought, not with unease but with anticipation. A fallen stag would make an excellent meal, especially if they got there before the vultures did. It had been a while since she'd had such a feast, and to have one with pretty much no work involved. . .

The girl didn't question his explanation, so he offered no further information. Not until she asked a question that made him smile. There was something hopeful in her voice he'd picked up on. He glanced at her again and felt some concern rise in him. Was she alone? How long had she been? How long had it been since her last meal?

"Probably not," Fig replied, "One usually concedes to the other, often without bloodshed. Or such has been my experience so far." He didn't want to completely dash her hopes, so he reasoned that maybe some fight, somewhere, had once ended with a death.

"What's your name?" he asked, wanting to learn more about her now that she'd activated his protective instincts.

Her face fell. Darn it. She had hoped to get a free meal out of this show. He spoke again, and she noticed a change in his voice, but was too disappointed to scrutinize it.

Blueberry, she told him. What's yours?

One of the bucks let out a particularly anguished bellow, and she jumped half out of her skin. She folded herself down against the snow, afraid she'd given them away, and took a deep, steadying breath. 

She chuckled, self-deprecatingly so. She must look like such a baby.

Fig somehow found the name fitting for her, and he didn't spend much time wondering why. Her eyes were like twin sapphires, glinting bright against her pale fur. Except now, they were dulled some with disappointment at the facts she had shared.

"F--" he started, only to stop when she jumped, causing him to start himself. He whipped his head back towards the herd to watch for a moment, but it didn't appear that the wolves had been spotted yet and so they weren't in any danger that he could tell. He settled with a smile.

"These fights can get pretty loud. Sometimes they hit so hard, it sounds like thunder," he mused before turning back to her, "My name is Figment. Most call me Fig, though."

She was very embarrassed and only slightly registered his name—Figment. Fig. Fig, she repeated. That was easier to remember. Slowly, she stood up, as if afraid the world beneath her paws would shift and crack and disintegrate into nothing should she make too loud a sound.

Are you alone? she whispered, bringing her muzzle to his ear. I'm looking for an island—do you know where that would be?

He seemed more worldly, so it was worth an ask. Blueberry continually flinched at the bellowing and clashing, pressing closer to him as it carried on. Eventually, she began to get a fluttering feeling in her belly, not unlike what she'd felt with Bronco—

She swallowed, confused. What—

She went with ‘Fig’ which worked just fine for him. He couldn’t remember anyone ever actually calling him ‘Figment’ in his life. He wondered momentarily if he ought to call her ‘Blue’ or maybe ‘Berry’, but soon dashed the thought. She hasn’t said so and he didn’t want to get overly familiar. They had just met, after all.

Fig get her breath on his ear and shook his head to answer her question, paused, and then shrugged. ”At this moment, yes,” he replied, ”But I’m traveling with companions. My sister and her mate.”

”I don’t know of any islands around here” Fig continued thoughtfully, ”I haven’t traveled all that much. If I had to guess, I’d say try the ocean. North of here.” He grinned a little, ”You going on vacation or something?”

His mention of a sister made her stomach sink, and she grew even more depressed as he went on. I wish, she mumbled. Blueberry didn't quite know what a "vacation" was, but he said it in a way that suggested it would be a lovely adventure. This errand was far from that.

I'm looking for my sister. Our pack broke up and she went missing, she explained. We were born on an island, and I thought she might've gone there. But I'm not sure where it is.

She gave him an insistent look. She's, like, golden-brown with big black ears and nose. A little bit older than me. Have you seen her? A longshot, but worth asking.

Further down, one bull was managing to gain the upper hand, bearing down on his rival now in near-retreat.

Another crack--a particularly loud one--briefly stole Fig's attention away. He turned to watch as the two stags twisted before each other, heads bowed and antlers tangled. While he had no antlers to spar with, watching other creatures fight always gave him some insight and ideas into his own methods of self-defense. Like a football player watching videos of old plays (I think that's how to say that) before a game, he studied the way they fought, learning what he could.

"I'm sorry to say I haven't," Fig answered, turning back as the two stags finally parted, for good this time, "I've not run into too many wolves since coming back to these parts, except for my own sister." He frowned sympathetically. He knew what it was like to be on his own, missing his family.

"I don't know where my companions and I are headed, specifically," he went on, "But you're welcome to travel with us. The way we've been moving, I believe it likely we'll end up on the coast. I could probably persuade them to head that way if I need to, as long as I trick my sister into thinking it was her idea." He smiled, trying to cheer her with a small sampling of humor. He had no idea what Fennec would think of him inviting strangers along on their escapades, but he didn't think she'd mind so much that he couldn't eventually get her to agree to it.

It was what she'd expected. She sighed, looking down. He spoke, and she let every other word move through her ears, staring at the ground.

Once he fell silent, Blueberry looked back. Who's your sister? she asked.

A loud clatter of antlers had her stumbling sideways, ears lowered. She sank upon the frosted ground, dark blue eyes darting, wary.

She seemed disappointed, which was understandable. Fig knew how he'd felt in all the times he'd ever been parted from Fennec. It was like a piece of himself had been missing. He'd always felt a bit lost, like he wasn't entirely certain of his purpose. She was his North, and he just the arrow of a compass.

I cannot tell you how badly he needed a girlfriend.

"Her name is Fennec," he replied, "We--Fenn, her mate, Bronco, and I--are looking for a place to settle." He turned away from the herd to study her for a moment, watching as she cowered from the noise once more. Such a skittish thing. His heart ached for her in that way it always did when he sensed someone was hurting.

"Why don't we move away from the herd, hm? I think I've learned what I can of them for now," he offered kindly. 

think we can wrap thissun up? :)

yes omg i am sorry i'm slow

Her jaw dropped a bit. Fennec? she exclaimed, though in hushed tones, trying not to give their position away. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him. I know Fennec, and Bronco—I lived with them for a while at Redhawk Caldera.

The two shuffled away from the duelers, chattering all the while about their shared connection.

What a twist of fate!