Ravensblood Forest mummy don't know

tags for reference but ATTN: @Violante and/or @Vagabond

their steps follow in the fading trail of @Ash Paw; curiosity gripping them along with the instinctive urge to seek shelter. at least for the winter. they were not friends, the dreadfather and the ashen pawed woman ...but they weren't enemies either. at least, not at the moment, and out of the others that has come across them ( unusual as it is ), she is the one who has crossed paths with them more than once.

the pack scent ashpaw carries upon her pelage grows stronger until the border smell of urine marking the borders becomes almost nose burning.

it is so different than their island; which has been a change from ingram's birthplace.

a place to work on their rituals and ride out the winter; they affirm in their mind. a place to wait for their nightwife's return, where she will not return to wasted mortal flesh. obsession and devotion had a very thin, very transparent line ...but survival; primal and archaic holds strong.

their steps stop: a respectable distance away. a howl rises: for their leader(s).

Vagabond had been running their border when a howl reached his ears. He was quick to respond, arriving within minutes of the stranger's call. They were large, and draped in black, silvers and greys. He squared his shoulders and smiled politely, Welcome to Sacrarium, why have you called for us today?

it does not take long for someone to approach; leadership, if the dreadfather's quick assessment is correct. then again even the lowest peon of this pack would outrank them. they are a loner, carried along by the whims of their instinct and the darkest whispers of the void. loathe as they were to leave the islands: there was nothing but hauntings to keep them there. it was not sustainable, not on their own. not with winter barreling towards the wilds like a soul clawing free of their prison.

i am the dreadfather, the title and name jumps to their lips naturally, like a childs' comforting blanket. i come to see if there is room in your pack for another. though they do not exactly find the idea of castrating themselves before leaders that were not their nightwife ...they would do what they must. survival was key and if they had to dawn the mask of a thespian to survive: they would.

Vagabond was taken aback by what the stranger called himself. Dreadfather? He was not sure he liked the way it sounded, let alone whether or not he wanted someone with that title around his children. He raised an eyebrow questioningly and squared his shoulders. He knew he was being overprotective, again but he couldn't stop himself.

there is a good chance, they know, that they will be their own worst enemy in regards to finding a pack. it was simply the way of things. they were lucky that their nightwife had been leader of blackwater...but this sort of luck was not bound to last. there was a hesitation when they offered their preffered name; small. but there nonetheless. it draws no surprise from the dreadfather that it is not taken warmly.

one of many, they offer in a breath. i will answer to ingram, too. cloying words linger sweet like honey upon their tongue. the name tastes familiar but not entirely pleasant: like lukewarm tea left to brew for too long. sweetly bitter. they prefer the dreadfather: as names, titles, they were important.

Vagabond nodded in appreciation at the newly offered name. He understood why the man had a second name readily available, even if it was bizarre. He wondered about the first name again, and whether it meant anything. Vagabond's brown eyes studied the man's sea green, seeking answers. Do you have any skills to offer? Do you plan to stay after the winter?

giving the name of ingram appears to appease the sacrarium man; though it is not their favored. the dreadfather is a holy name; saintly. sacred. revered. ingram is ...common. tied to their mortal flesh.

i am a ...priest of sorts, a small twitch of their lips; a soft ghost of something almost wily in it's nature. i know many rituals that might be useful. but not if wolves were not 'religious', they know.

i am also a warrior. guardian. mercenary. whichever you wish to call it.

The man's next words cause him pause. A priest of sorts. Do you come from the Island? He had gone to make peace with their island neighbors after their meeting with Bartholomew had gone poorly, but he had been left waiting in the water. It had left a sour taste in his mouth, he wondered if they had decided to go their separate ways. Regardless, though, Sacrarium was not made to turn away a stranger in need. Still his other question was left unanswered, and he waited patiently for answers.

there is a soft spike of suspicion within the dreadfather's breast then; wondering if the druids were the only 'priestly' wolves 'round these wilds. a moment was taken to weigh whether they desired to be honest or not. i have, they speak. but the druids have not been there for many and more moons. just them.

i was the last to leave when it was apparent they would not return.

guilt gnaws at them but they banish it quickly.

perhaps i will stay past winter. it is hard to know how life will yet play out. perhaps they would be called elsewhere; this was not something they were able to discern in the here and now. not without consulting their reading bones ...and even then the spirits of the commanders did not always know the true path.

Druids? Vagabond shook his head and rolled his shoulders restlessly.  He was quickly growing to understand that there were all manners of wolves that he hadn't heard of yet. Having a belief didn't make the man dangerous, necessarily. He was still wary of the man though, but that did not change the fact that Sacrarium was meant to be a sanctuary for all. Winter was coming, and he knew their were plenty of packs in the area, but regardless, the man had come to Sacrarium. He closed his eyes briefly, hoping desperately that he wouldn't come to regret his decision. He opened his eyes and with a polite smile he gestured with his head for the man to cross over the boundary that led to their territory. Come on, I'll show you the way to camp and find you a den.

He would call out for his family and @Violante so they knew all knew that a new face was in their home. Assuming the other would follow he would tell him more of their pack, My mate and I lead our pack together, her name is Violante. Our children are half a year now but already skilled hunters. He smiled with pride. He decided to leave out Vale's being a guardian for now. Our other pack mates, tend to keep to themselves, but are also very close to us. He heard the faint sound of rushing water and felt any remaining tension leave his body. Welcome to camp. The caverns is the communal living space for the family. He gestured with his head. He ran to the left of the caverns for a couple minutes where a small cave entrance poked out. Will this work for you?

a soft twitch of their lips is given; unsure how to explain what the druids were to him. they simply were. that is what they were titled as. though this explination far from encompasses everything the druids were it was the simpliest way the dreadfather knew how to explain it without going into depth of their religion. they sense there might be some lingering unease, uncertianty and though they had begun this journey with the assumption it might take them a while to find a new pack to run with ( for however long ), they do not exactly revel in the idea of continuing the search.

they follow along as vagabond leads the way, seaglass gaze taking in the terrain of the territory they would now call home.

it is so very different from their islands; and though the mainland is far from quiet there is a hush that lingers in the absence of the constant crash of waves.

they are quiet, but nevertheless attentive as vagabond gives them the rundown of the pack. led by him and his mate, their children were half a year old — not unlike their shadowchildren, the dreadfather thinks with a soft pang to their heart.

this will work. the dreadfather murmurs in agreement, giving it a once over. they would find a place here...or carve a niche out for themselves. thank you.

once they are settled, they begin their first hour of the being apart of the pack with a patrol, seeking to familiarize themselves with both the borders and the forest itself.

you get my 300th post!