Duskfire Glacier The king in I died [post-raid gathering]

Post-raid gathering open to all Duskfire wolves... this is an optional activity :) Takes place in early dawn after Ankyra's attack at dusk.

Twilight glittered with morning dew as the forest thawed in anticipation of Spring's tepid embrace. However, the peaceful alpine wood harbored violent creatures. Duskfire's blood was still hot from its wolves' confident assault upon the sirens, but the wretches were were slick dogs and had escaped with their torn pelts and shattered pride. Yet, Tuwawi questioned if they dared return for a second wave, unsure of their tenacity. Duskfire's matron had successfully smothered the dominoed leader and slain a young follower -- even if it was unintentional at the time, for she had truly been aiming for Caiaphas' pale hide -- and felt all the more powerful for it. After all, these wolves... these insidious worms...deserved this punishment. It was clear to the ember, now, that Caiaphas (as Malachi had named) was not associated with the Bay at all. Who knew where Larus had been kept? What other lies had they woven?

She took a headcount of those who had defended their borders, and gestured for @Bassilth @Manauia @Accalia @Tyrr and @Sen to regroup by the ice grotto, deep within Duskfire's heart. There, they could evaluate wounds and decide their next move. With a toothy grimace Tuwawi dragged Kevlyn's lifeless body towards their meeting point and away from their defiled border. 

They had successfully protected the boarders this time, but that doesn't mean those wolves that attacked won't come back. Bassilth feared this most, but at the moment she had other problems to deal with. After the attack had ended, the pale female went to her den, and gathered as many herbs she could carry ready to search fr any wolf who needed medical attention. However is seemed that Bassilth would not have to go searching for her pack mates, but instead they would come to her. Tuwawi had summoned the wolves who stood by her in the attack, and the pale female instantly went to see if her alpha was ok. 

In her mouth she carried several herbs, and ran as fast as she could go. When arriving at the place Tuwawi called for her, there was both her alpha and a dead body. Bassilth only took a glimpse at the young wolf's body before turning her head away, and making sure she didn't look at the body again. The pale female didn't like seeing death, and so she tries her best to prevent it. She sat and dropped the herbs on the ground, and faced her leader, giving a bow to show respect. Bassillth herself was injured with new wounds and knew some would scar and others wouldn't, but for now she wanted to focus on healing her packmates and help herself later. She waited for others to join in this important meeting, and hoped no one was seriously injured. 

keeping this vague as I am waiting to see how much damage Manauia deals/was dealt!

They had thoroughly dealt with the intruding force and the Amazon was rather pleased with the battle, if a little put out.  She still wondered if Tyrr would stick around should something happen to his ember idol, and it was a thought that grew even more prevalent after speaking with her Queen.  She would not deal any blows yet, for should such a motion come from here, it would surely alienate him, but it wasn't too hard to see that Tuwawi was on a course for destruction.  

With little outward emotion, she walked into the midst of those gathered, passing by to seat herself on the other edge.  There she waited patiently.  She knew that Tezcacoatl had been injured and hoped that he would come have it seen to.  Such things could fester if left unchecked.  She had minor wounds so would not seek care yet.  Instead she waited to see what would come of this.

For once, Sen had followed quietly. She'd heeded the living flame's want for them to regroup without resistance, though her steps were somewhat slowed as she moved after her. Such injuries had never been dealt to the girl before, and she honestly could not tell which would scar and which would not. The one her shoulder seemed the worst of them all, so she expected it to scar over eventually, essentially ruining the untouched coat she'd possessed prior to the battle. The one along her side seemed bad, as did a few of the gashes that littered her form in various places, but she couldn't even guess as to what would become of them. Whether they would scab and fall away after, or mark her body for the rest of her natural life, was not something she could figure out. For the sake of keeping the pelt she treasured in top condition, she hoped for the first option, but not even her own conscious could agree to her wishes. Secretly, she knew that battle would leave marks on her, but she tried to ignore it.

Sen's amber gaze met the form of the deceased child as she reached the grotto, and she couldn't help but grimace slightly. They were the enemy, yes, but had the child even known what he was fighting for? Who he was protecting? She would never know, but a part of her doubted that he truly had. The woman wasn't a huge fan of the young, but even to her it seemed wrong to bring some kid to a fight, especially when such a battle had none of the punches pulled. Forcefully, she tore her gaze from the boy's body and laid it upon the girl who spoke strangely at times. The herbs she held seemed unappealing, and were something Sen would avoid entirely if she could. Healers weren't her thing. Once more, her gaze was pulled away in order to look over the others who had gathered, before settling her gaze in the direction of their leader, awaiting the arrival of the others.

Pride was an insufferable thing and Týrr's was no different. He could feel the throb of his wounds, of the nerve endings in his neck, close to his throat where the ebony creature's teeth had dragged through flesh as the Rekkr had instinctively attempted to recoil in a feral jerk of his body. Whether he had made it worse by attempting to dislodge the sea man's grip upon him or not was unclear, and a mystery that he had no intentions of solving. Still, he was hard on himself for it, nevertheless. He should have timed it better. It had been in the coil of the ebony man's muscles, in the position he'd been from when he'd came at him. Not all was bad for it, though, because if he had not anticipated the move as the other man had lunged at him he would have been nothing more than a stiffening corpse, in a puddle of his own life blood. He was alive. He had won and for now, that was enough. The ebony man could have his life: for now. After all, Týrr undeniably had a bigger enemy to deal with, first.


Blood had began to dry in the chocolate brown fur of his neck, matting it in thick clumps. There were minor scratches and scrapes upon him, too, but of those he did not bother to rise his concern for. The metallic smell was pungent and hung heavy in the air, and with every move of his head – in the off chance that he happened to forget as the pain numbed momentarily – he would wince and feel the ooze of fresh blood seep into his already stained fur. His muzzle, too, was stained but not with his own blood. The Glacier wolves, against the odds, had came out as the victors; a sure sign that they were indeed strong under Tuwawi's rule, and that better things were to come for them.


It was only after letting a mark upon the borders, distilling the freshly urinated upon earth: a warning should any of their opponents decide to return, he doubled back to where he had left his pack mates. He found them soon enough, his eyes going, naturally, to his wildfire Queen first, crystalline gaze assessing her fiercely to make sure that she was okay. She was alive and breathing, at least, and he noted standing proudly over the body of a child. Unlike the others who seemed to be pointedly avoiding looking at the child's corpse Týrr did not blanch, nor look away. It should have bothered him, he supposed, but on the other side of the coin he couldn't help but feel that a child should not have been meddling in things he did not understand. War was not a game. War was not for children; and the wolves that had allowed him to tag along would suffer the consequence for their believed to be arrogance. Or perhaps, the Rekkr amended mentally, their ignorance. “Are you hurt, Dróttning?” Týrr asked Tuwawi as he approached, lowering himself into submission, cringing visibly as the action tugged at the muscles beneath his wounds, pulling at the lesions. 

He was not yet to focus his attention upon his own injuries, less concerned for himself. His gaze wandered then, seeking out those whom had risen to the call. Two women whose names escaped him, and in the far corner, secluded from everyone else, the Amazon Huntress: Manauia, whom he hoped would avoid fussing over him and in injuries like a mother over a child. Whether he sought medical attention or not he would live, that much he knew. While he could not see Manauia fussing over him, he knew, at the very least, that she would be concerned even if her concern was more or less secondhand. Concerned only because his death would affect a mother that he could not even remember beyond a name and a title. Her loyalty to Quetzalcoatl was unquestionable, whilst her loyalty to him was nothing short of enigmatic at best.