chasing after strength.

[Wyrmbreaker] Morning.

The first snow of the season covers the ground in a light dusting. The lake is still unfrozen, except for isolated patches in shallow, stagnate pools at the edge. Hoarfrost touches what little plantlife there is.

The Shadow Lord is with his pack, all of them lupus, most of them drowsing or dozing, unafraid of the cold. Of the pack, three are dark; one is snow-white. The largest of the black wolves reclines atop a jut of broken concrete, his very location recalling his position in his pack.

He lifts his head from his paws as Bones to Dust approaches. Eyes as pale as lake ice pin the Fury unflinchingly.

[Bones to Dust] There was a thought there, something that sticks to her senses too heavy and leaves her with questions that were unanswered.

She's not cold. She's not tired. She's not beaten, even if she is a lot of other things.

A fair portion of her pack in confined to the bawn; Boy is to stay here as long as he possibly can. Wahya is to remain here as well, which leaves the blonde Fury to tend to their territory and keep the pack in order when she can. However she can.

But that isn't on her mind right now. She isn't thinking about Boy or Wendy or their baby-

But she does. Marrick thinks about that child all the time, in a mix of both wonder and joy and jealousy and fear. She wonders what will happen when the child is born, when they have to send Wendy and the child away since it won't be able to stomach Boy's rage or her own.

She wonders what it will do to him.
She wonders if it will break him.

Later, the blonde would chastise herself for the thought. She wonders about the expectations placed upon her, she muses over the sacredness of motherhood and finds herself wondering why it is not something that she desires. She thinks it selfish to want a child. She thinks it selfish to not want children.

She's selfish either way.

She approaches, and she is indomitable in her own mind. It is her strength, and it is one of her greatest faults.

Bones to Dust approaches Wyrmbreaker, and she doesn't flinch, but she doesn't make direct eye contact either. She's not here to issue a challenge.

"I don't understand you, rhya," because she has proven herself so elegant with words.

[Warcry] For her part, the dark wolf with hints of white along her paws and underbelly and throat is lolling nearby, not quite asleep. If she were asleep, Perun himself arriving with a clap of thunder and shot of lightning would not wake her. Sinclair's eyes open and close slowly as Marrick approaches, pale and sleepy. She's washed blood off her fur after the Revel. She is near Kate, but not touching the Philodox.

Her muzzle rests on her forepaws, and her tail twitches once as the Fury walks over. For her part, Sinclair never thinks about having cubs. Some would just say: Sinclair never thinks.

It's far from true. Right now, she looks very thoughtful indeed, but remains silent.

[Wyrmbreaker] Wymbreaker's tail thumps once. It's not a friendly greeting; nothing close to the sort. But it's a response, of sorts.

His head rises farther now, until he lays at repose, hindquarters sprawled, forelimbs on their elbows, head up. When he yawns, his tongue is pink and his teeth white, a flash of color on an otherwise black beast. The wolf stretches his forepaws too, claws flexing for a moment before relaxing.

He waits for more.

[Bones to Dust] "You didn't challenge me," the message is flat.

There's nothing about this exchange that amiable. It isn't to say that she resents him. It isn't something that she's entirely used to feeling; this is growth and change. This is what hating someone feels like. It is bright and it is passionate and it is almost uncomfortable.

Except now, because she's looking at him, and whatever feelings she has became complicated. Hating him was simple.

"You stood by me. Why?"

She cocked her head to the side. There was no other message there. The challenge had played out. She laid out her plans, which were sound, but followed with a less-than-rousing speech. She'd been upfront, said it to the sept without having to come out and say it. She admired him, once.

Maybe hating Wyrmbreaker wasn't so simple. Wasn't so pure and clean.

But she had fought. She'd set the terms somewhat foolishly, failed to know her opponent well enough, brought a knife to a gunfight. But she held her own against an opponent larger, stronger, and faster than her. Admittedly, she had a little spiritual backup, and it should have been enough to even the odds.

It hadn't been enough, though. And for the third moot her pride was bleeding in the challenge circle.

Maybe hating Lukas wasn't so simple.

[Truth's Meridian] Truth's Meridian is weary.

The Silver Fang's fur is almost the exact shade of the snow dappling the ground now, the first of the season. She lays with her pack, her body curled almost as a feline might, her muzzle resting atop one paw, the other dangling over the lip of rock, eyes closed against the morning light. Katherine was without another shade to her pelt aside from black markings around her eyes and forepaws, against the darker colors in her packmates fur, the newly appointed Philodox Elder seemed almost luminously pale.

Then Bones to Dust approaches, the Silver Fang's eyes open and her head rises at once, suddenly alert despite her exhaustion. She makes no remark, but clearly, she is interested in what is about to pass.

[Wyrmbreaker] (Y'know, let's leave out the "You didn't challenge me" line. There's still the possibility that if Marrick retains her position, Lukas will challenge for it.)

[Wyrmbreaker] (Does that work for your post, or do you need to rewrite? Sorry! *LOL*)

[Bones to Dust] (this is true *boots that line* nothing to see there)

[Bones to Dust] (the removal of that one line doesn't really change the post)

[Wyrmbreaker] (sorry bout delay, btw, admin crap!)

[Wyrmbreaker] The black wolf shakes his head, thick ruff riffling with the brisk, irritated motion.

"If I hadn't challenged you myself, then implicitly I still followed you," Wyrmbreaker growls. "To deny your authority without risk, while hiding behind another's challenge, is cowardly and dishonest."

[Warcry] Theron is a heavy lump of sleeping wolf near the two females. Sinclair yawns broadly, sweeping the rock with her tail a second time as the two Ahrouns talk.

Then: Why did you choose the Cliath over the Fostern?

Curiosity. Not surprise.

[Bones to Dust] That's the million dollar question. The one Marrick didn't ask because she hadn't thought of it yet. She looks at Sinclair, then back at Lukas.

[Truth's Meridian] Katherine is silent, perhaps because it was she who had judged the challenge in question. The Silver Fang's ears flick, she turns her head toward Warcry as she speaks, tilts it, then looks back at the Black Fury before settling her muzzle back down upon her paws with a quiet whuff that blows dirt away from her nose.

The Philodox's tail sweeps the ground behind her.

[Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker turns his head to face Warcry -- something a little impatient in the gesture. It's clear he flatly despises this subject. Because, Warcry, I didn't think he was worthy enough to justify disregarding the implicit allegiance I'd given Bones to Dust by not challenging myself.

[Wyrmbreaker] A moment later, Lukas's more measured, homid voice on the totemphone:

His answers reflected no knowledge of the Sept's warriors. That above all else is critical to the position he sought.

On top of that, he ran with the Sentinels for a time, and then upped and disappeared without mention. Then later tonight it turns out he's with the Eagles. That makes him flighty and untrustworthy in my book. And whatever pack he's in, I've never seen him show any overt attempt at leadership. Standing up at the moot and calling yourself a leader doesn't count.

Finally, if kicking Bones to Dust's ass is all that's necessary to make an elder, then half the moot would be Ahroun Elder.
to Truth's Meridian, Warcry

[Warcry] The Galliard, younger -- though barely -- than both Lukas and Kate, tips her head to the side and considers the answer she's just gotten. Her ears are pierced several times over even in this form, and a bit of metal glints under her fur on her left foreleg. She's relaxed, lounging with her pack, and when Lukas finishes his explanation, she gives another wide, tongue-lolling yawn.

Her head settles back down and she closes her eyes for a moment, curiosity satisfied. A couple of seconds later something makes her chuff slightly, a snort of air through her nostrils that could be impatience, humor, or just dust in her nasal cavities.

[Warcry] Half the moot and a few Kinfolk to boot, she adds wryly.
to Truth's Meridian, Wyrmbreaker

[Bones to Dust] There is silence.

Nothing said. Nothing ventured. No thank yous, no explanations, nothing of that sort. She seemed satisfied, by the rise of her shoulders and the way she seemed to be waiting for something to drop. She's not much younger than any of them.

This is the first year she can remember the moot not being on her birthday. She's nineteen now, wears another year with quiet pride.

She looks at Lukas expectantly. She's waiting for permission to leave.

[Wyrmbreaker] But he doesn't dismiss her. The Shadow Lord's eyes flick over Warcry for a moment. Then he turns back to Bones to Dust.

"Without excuse or justification for what failures you may have or what mistakes you may have made," he says, and for what it's worth there's no wrath in him now -- just implacability, "and without praise-singing bullshit, Bones to Dust --

"Tell me what happened to Walks the Track. Tell me how it is that you, sworn to protect your allies, could let one fall and come back alive."

A beat.

"And tell me how you are not ashamed to still call yourself one of Black Unicorn's."

[Warcry] That makes Warcry's eyes open, when Sheridan's deed name enters the air from Wyrmbreaker's throat. She lifts her head slowly, no longer drowsing, and far from simply curious. She fixes her eyes on Bones to Dust, her eyes a softer, more opaque version of Kate's and Lukas's icy, intense blue.

[Bones to Dust] "Rhya, what do you want me to say?.. Do you want me to lie to you? What do you really want?"

She doesn't growl, she doesn't move She is, in fact, painfully still.

"Who was the first person to fall with you in combat?"

[Truth's Meridian] Katherine's head shoots up, her jaws part as if she might snap at the air before her but nothing emerges, not even a growl. She tenses though, her muscles worn and tired, yet her attention is now fixed -- her gaze an uncanny duplicate for the darker wolf who sits above her.

[Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker, who is normally near-imperturbable in his control, who should be all but drained of Rage after the revel, is instantly furious.

"I want," he snarls, "the truth!"

The last word is a vicious bark, from the throat. His eyes are open wide, fierce, glaring, glazed with anger. He's no longer reclined; he leans forward, broad chest pressing to the ground, balance ready to spring to his feet, claws of the forepaws digging into the earth. A few more breaths snarl out.

Then a name.

"Jarek First-to-Strike. He was named posthumously when our Rite of Passage was done."

[Warcry] When Lukas snarls at Marrick, Sinclair rises. There is nothing sudden or sharp about the movement; she gets up smoothly, with a controlled roll to her feet and a push against the earth, and though her ears aren't folding back in anger, her tail is tense and motionless now. She says nothing, neither to help Marrick understand what Lukas wants of her nor to offer aid or counsel to her packmate.

She's just staring. At Marrick.

[Bones to Dust] She is standing perfectly still. Muscles tense, tail stiff, and she doesn't seem ready to attack, but rather, seems ready to bear the brunt of one. [she remembers that which she has sworn to, this will be short and vicious. This much she knows; this much she accepts.] The Fury's eyes are bright. She does not see him as an enemy. She doesn't know how to see him.

Hating Wyrmbreaker wasn't so simple. But she tried anyway.

"Sheridan fell because I made a bad call. That's what you wanted to hear. She was standing, we were fighting, things were looking fine, and some spiral unloaded on her before I had a chance to react. But you didn't want excuses. I didn't keep a close enough eye on her. I chose the wrong threat to protect her from. I didn't tell her to retreat when I knew we were outnumbered. I got lucky. I. Didn't. Stay. Dead."

[Bones to Dust] She is standing perfectly still. Muscles tense, tail stiff, and she doesn't seem ready to attack, but rather, seems ready to bear the brunt of one. [she remembers that which she has sworn to, this will be short and vicious. This much she knows; this much she accepts.] The Fury's eyes are bright. She does not see him as an enemy. She doesn't know how to see him.

Hating Wyrmbreaker wasn't so simple. But she tried anyway.

"Sheridan fell because I made a bad call. That's what you wanted to hear. She was standing, we were fighting, things were looking fine, and some spiral unloaded on her before I had a chance to react. But you didn't want excuses. I didn't keep a close enough eye on her. I chose the wrong threat to protect her from. I didn't tell her to retreat when I knew we were outnumbered. I got lucky. I. Didn't. Stay. Dead."

She remembers the arguement with Boy, remembers him asking her what she thought made her worthy to live instead of Sheridan.

"The first person who fell in combat with me was a girl named Emily. Silent Strider, Galliard, we went through our rite of passage together. She told the worst jokes and the best stories..."

a pause
"Did you blame yourself when Jarek died?... did... didn't you wonder if you'd made a different call or hit harder or done something different, that he'd still be here?"

Survivor's burden.

[Bones to Dust] (there is the post in its entirety, sorry loves!)

[Warcry] Sinclair speaks immediately after Marrick questions Lukas about Jarek, and her irritation is evident across their link. Rhya, and she rarely calls Lukas this, not privately, can I try something?
to Truth's Meridian, Wyrmbreaker

[Warcry] [Remove the 'immediately' from that post.]
to Truth's Meridian, Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] "The difference is," Wyrmbreaker bites the words out, "I never swore myself to a totem that protects its allies above all else."

A hard beat of silence.

"Why did you not say that at her Gathering? Why the misdirection, the bullshit, the praise, the excuses between the lines?

"And how," repeating now, harsher, "are you not ashamed to call yourself one of Unicorn's?"

Abruptly the black wolf settles back on his elbows, claws unflexing from the earth. There's a sense that he steps back from the conversation without moving.

[Wyrmbreaker] On the totem: a sort of wordless sense of assent.
to Truth's Meridian, Warcry

[Bones to Dust] "That wasn't what I asked, rhya, I didn't ask what the difference was, I asked if you blame yourself for his death."

She was restrained, if for no other reason than the fact that she was drained. Tired in a different sense.

"Because it wasn't misdirection, and it wasn't bullshit, rhya. Her Gathering wasn't the time for self pity, and I wouldn't show her that kind of disrespect. It wasn't about me, it was about her. Her memory. Her deeds. Her glory. Her sacrifice... No amount of wailing and self-hatred would bring her back."

He asks again a question, and her ire raises, but she is painfully still. The accusation makes her fur stand on end, makes her tense beyond belief. But still? She does not move.

"Black Unicorn has not abandoned my pack for our failures, not permanently. And I will not-" she is choosing her words carefully. Using every bit of language and focus she has on picking the right words instead of frothing- "-disgrace my totem by doubting its wisdom or faith in those he chooses to ally himself with. It's not my place to decide if I'm unworthy."

A beat. And a growl

"And it ain't yours either, rhya."

[Bones to Dust] (eek! Disregard that post *kicks it away*)

[Warcry] Sinclair was born a human. She looks like a human most of the time. She is eminently comfortable in hispo, familiar in lupus, but when she takes a step towards Marrick, she steps also into her birth form. One moment she's a wolf, standing alongside her packmates. The next moment she's a young woman, older than Marrick, wearing a pink bra and a pair of jeans, her feet bare. She's cold. She's very, very cold.

They can all see the scarification across her lower back now, delicate and carefully carved into her flesh. They can all see the names on her right bicep, the spikes on her left, the metal here and there. Sinclair doesn't shiver yet. She crouches so she is not standing above the wolves, looking down at Bones to Dust. She gets onto one knee, looking straight at the Fury.

"You have admitted fault," she says levelly, and slowly. It takes more time for English to be processed by the lupine mind, just as it will take Sinclair longer to understand anything said to her in the speech and manner of wolves. She speaks slowly not because Marrick is stupid, but because Marrick's entire being is in lupus, not just her body. "You have expressed shame. And you are aware of the mistakes you made that led to the wasteful death of the Fostern who would have been my elder and our sister."

There's a pause. "Wyrmbreaker-rhya is not asking for your sincere regrets, Bones to Dust-yuf. He does not want to hear stories about how bad you feel or who else you have lost. You only come across as a scolded cub angling for sympathy, and we are not the pack to seek such a thing from."

Her hand touches the concrete, though she arguably doesn't really need the help keeping her balance. She shudders, the cold getting to her, but her attention doesn't go to her core temperature's steady drop. She keeps her eyes on Marrick. "You know your pack has failed, time and time again. You know you have failed, time and time again. You make the same mistakes... time and time again. Yet you follow a spirit that demands more of his children than any of you are able to give. You insist on chasing after the strength of a totem that not a one of you has proven worthy of, defending your place as Black Unicorn's and standing up in gatherings of your people vomiting pretenses that you have, contrary to all evidence, actually done a good job."

Sinclair cocks her head to the side, loose strands of sunbleached blonde falling over her eyes. "I think what my Alpha wants to know, Marrick, is whether you are going to do as you have done after every other failure and offer up a new load of bullshit that vascillates between self-pitying and defensive only to go back to chasing a totem you are not equipped to follow... or if you're actually capable of learning from all these many...many," she snaps the repetition, "mistakes.

"So far," concludes the Moon Dancer, "I don't believe my Alpha trusts that you even understand what the problem is well enough to stop. Fucking. Up."

[Bones to Dust] She looks at Sinclair, and she is... watching... she is watching... she is listening... she is trying to understand what she is saying. Over time, she relaxes. Over time, she is making sense of what is being told to her, and intentions are clarified.

And, for once, she isn't seething or furious, or anything of the sort. She is pensive.

"That makes sense," as though it bore mentioning.

She stops and she thinks.

"I can't make that call right now," she tells them, "I can't make that decision for my pack. And I can understand he doesn't trust me to understand the problem. Or to trust me on much else, really."

she is really trying to think this through, here, and it's clear. The Fury is an averagely intelligent creature, but she is also young. Operating under strange pretenses with adolescent defense mechanisms.

"We saw in Black Unicorn what we wanted to be. And, right now, the totem is favorable towards us... I don't know how long this will last."

Something seems to hit her in that thoughtful moment, a pang of something hard to describe, and harder still to translate from lupine senses elsewhere.

"... beta's job is to talk their alpha out of a bad idea, sometimes."

[Wyrmbreaker] As Warcry shifts to homid to better employ rhetoric, Wyrmbreaker settles back, his pale eyes watchful, flicking between the blondes, staying mostly on Marrick. When Marrick responds, Wyrmbreaker's eyes are exclusively on hers. But as she speaks his hackles go down. At the end, he shakes his head again, side to side, a loosening of muscles gone stiff with tension.

"No pack is without failure. No wolf. But if you make promises you cannot keep, you will be scorned as an oathbreaker."

There's a flicker of something, some expression, in the Shadow Lord's eyes. It passes.

"And the beta's allegiance is to the pack first, then the alpha."

[Bones to Dust] [Wassat?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 3, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7) [WP]

[Warcry] As for her part, the Galliard slides back into lupus, moving slowly from form to form until she's covered in fur again. She goes back to where Truth's Meridian is and, this time, does not hesitate to familiarize herself with Kate's body heat. She tucks her tail around her back legs, lowers her head, and after a brief closing of her eyes, opens them and watches the Ahrouns speak to each other again without translation.

[Bones to Dust] "Then I will make you no promises, rhya..."

There is silence.

"I appreciate your council," a pause and a look to Sinclair, "both of you."

[Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker's response is not really a response at all. Goodbyes are a human invention, and right now, the Shadow Lord feels very far from human indeed.

The black wolf simply lays his head back on his paws, turning his pale eyes back to the horizon. Some time after Bones to Dust departs, he closes his eyes and drowses in the pale morning sun.

[Truth's Meridian] Kate yawns suddenly, reawakening. She raises her head, momentarily alert despite the hour and her weariness.

What did I miss? She asks, even as she resettles herself, her throat rumbling out a pleasant sound of contentment and pleasure as Warcry curls up beside her.

[Warcry] That sound of contentment, that expression of pleasure rather than rejection, does not seem to be what the Galliard expected when she curled up alongside the Philodox. She lifts her head briefly, peering at Kate for a moment, then... licks her.

"I'll tell you later," she rumbles, and lays back down, closing her eyes. It does not take her long to fall asleep. It takes them nipping at her ankles and butting her ribs with their heads to wake her up, later.

[Bones to Dust] She takes it as invitation to leave. She feels tired, she feels a lot of things. There is no love lost between the alpha of one pack and the beta of another, but she leaves with food for thought, and she leaves with almost half of her pack at the bawn.

[Wyrmbreaker] (wrap! thanks for the scene, all!)

[Warcry] [Thank you guys! That was great. :D ]

[Bones to Dust] (*kicks praise to chilltank*)