Blacktail Deer Plateau 'bout the shit

would love to do a simple/quick spree thread to get the last couple threads we need done. <3

ingram takes to the borders. it is where he can be found most of the mid-mornings and late nights. sleep is taken when he can, but his focus, now that they have a solid number of wolves, is on food caches and fortifying borders.

now, he would not tolerate wandering stragglers. teeth would meet the woefully unprepared.

black leathery nose lowers to the ground, snuffling at the tall, dry and dying grasses, tree roots sprouting up from the ground. he lifts his leg and marks the border on the roots of the nearby tree.

It was also with a leg hiked that he caught sight of Ingram.

The two of them marked borders in unison, unknowing until now. The young man offered a warm rumble deep in his chest. A wave of his tail.

He planned to tag along this patrol, if his company was not declined.

a warm deep rumble greets ingram; seaglass gaze cuts towards the increasingly familiar sight of baudelaire. he is glad to find the potential wocha on the borders. ingram was glad to accept any help fortifying that he could get. not all the wolves within basilica would spend time upon them: and he is ok with this. but he would make use of the wolves that were not opposed to patrolling them.

a low rumble is offered in reply; an invitation.

he does not slow down to make idle conversation. he is focused upon his purpose.

They moved and it felt like one

A force brought together, prepared to guard what they both called home. He was not sparse in his markings upon the earth. He covered places where scent markers lacked.

Never over Ingram's, out of respect.

His pace picked up some with a bit of boyish eagerness as they traced the growing borders. Their scents would strengthen and others would know the claim the Dreadfather made. He felt certain of this.

the quiet is companionable.

a nice change of pace from the constant chatter he oft feels obligated to offer.

ingram does not mind it as they work as if they were two cogs in one machine: fortifying.

ingram rubs his cheek against the rough hewn bark of a tree, claws scraping across visible roots; digging beneath the bark to the soft inside of the root. sand colored and even green in its youth.

the smell of cedar fills his nostrils, mixing with his own unique scent before he moves forward, pausing at another tree to lift his leg and mark it.

His methods were not thought out, they only were.

He dragged himself along the side of a tree, leaving tufts of a growing coat in his place. The birds or rodents may steal it for nests, but the scent would remain. Especially when he pooled a small puddle of urine at the roots of a tree.

He chuffed, heavy and hearty, towards the Dreadfather.

Then loped ahead, sending a few birds flying off above the treeline.

he moves a few feet along the treeline, digging up dirt as he utilizes the scent pads in his paws; digging up roots of a small bush in the process. for this, ingram is not mournful.

he peers back over his shoulder at the hearty chuff sent his way —

and baudelaire was loping past them. a soft rumble is given — though not the most enriching of activities, ingram believed patrols were better taken slow and steady.

Whether the other man followed or not did not bother him.

They stilled work as a unit. Each mark they left, whether here or there, served as a signal to others of the growth of Basilica. He wore groves into the earth, long stretches of claws turning up soil, parts of his body where scents clung heaviest were pressed into the earth. The trees.

He weaved himself into Basilica deeper this way.

He growled with excitement and delight as he leaned a hip against a cedar tree.

ingram is content to let the druid continue in ahead of him. it would be easier this way; he thinks. more of the border can be reached and marked if there is distance between the two men reinforcing it.

when he finally catches up with his companion, ingram’s scarred lips part to speak —

words are stolen; rewritten in his mind as a call rises for him. an ear twitches. i am needed elsewhere. though the call explains enough, surely, ingram still offers his patrol companion an apologetic twitch of his lips before heading in the direction of the call.

Go, I will finish here.

He assured with a broad smile and swing of his head to usher the man off. Ingram was a busy man, as Dreadfather, as bone speaker.

Baudelaire did not fault him one bit.

He continued his way along the border of the plateau. Content to spend the day in a reinforcement of it all.