How did it come to this? OPEN

[Arthfael]

A stumbling walk was not what one would expect from the burly beast that picked his way, oh-so meticulously, over the deserted landscape. Over the past moon or so he had finally grown into his full size, although there was little of the quiet vigor usually held in a Varg of just over a year. There was blood being spilled from his left hind leg, and though it was not large, neither was it deep, it was still bleeding profusely as the clotted blood over it was cracking despite how he favored it. His eyes held a tired weariness, yet, in contrast to all the signs that he was reaching the end of his stamina for the time being, a steady stream of speech flew from his mouth, though most polite, family wolves would be appalled to hear. The ebon fur on his back was brushed by the winds, as were his silver flanks, though the ivory underside swayed only by his walk. Finally, checking his surroundings with military precision, he dropped into a sit to monitor his wound.

"May many curses descend on that river," he growled, licking at the wound. The source of his wound: a current of a river pounding him into a small, but sharp, rock. It didn't cross his mind to whine in self-pity, only to care for it. Although it caused him an amount of more pain, he ripped out some of the surrounding fur to inspect the skin for possible infection. The skin was healthy, not the angry red he had seen on many a wound. After, finally, skirting the lands of what Dax Ehzno had called "the Balkar" Arthfael finally found the way across the river and into the areas of pack he would like to consider as his own. Dark green orbs were constantly checking on his surroundings, and though young it was second-nature to him to follow the teachings of warriors. He figured that would be his lot in whatever pack he chose, and he was quite content with that. He looked forward to fighting for kith and kin rather than ideals.

Now he had only to rest before he moved on to the first pack he would investigate. The wound sufficiently cleaned, he lay down for a short time of relaxation. He didn't need sleep, he thought, only a time for his body to prepare for another mile or two. With a detachment that suggested greater age and wisdom than he truly possessed, he noted he was quite a bit more lean than he had been, his puppy fat seeming to morph before his eyes into well-formed muscle and sinew. He liked it, although he could never quite look at himself with any sort of vanity or pride. Suddenly, before his eyes, his tri-colored form was that of his dying brother as he uttered his last words. Abandoned by his family to die for his beleif in another way of being.

And with this simple thought the calm was broken. The twilit area, in the time he most loved, now seemed unfamiliar and hostile. He decided it was time to move on. As he did so, and the moon and stars stretched above him, he could not help but think that a palor lay over this area, like the presence that some Varg called ghosts and spirits. He gave little credence to such things, but the feel of this place almost made a believer of Arthfael. And on he walked, unwittingly, into the abandoned lands of Frecne.

[demondevil]

Rogue's bihued orbs darted back and forth over the empty landscape of the land of Frecne. He had never been here before. Actually, he had never been anywhere in Transylvania before. He was new and didn't really know anyone. He was looking for a lone varg that he could toy with when his eyes spotted a black dot on the vast land.

He smiled despite himself and stood from his laying position. He started out at a slow trot, gaining speed as the time went by. The trees flicked past, but he ignored them, keeping his eye on the varg. As he approached the varg, he paused and thought about what he was going to do with this wolf.

If the wolf was nice enough to him, he might spare its life. If it came across bitchy and rude, he would take its neck in his jaws and kill it. He longed for the blood of another varg. He had never had the full experience of cannabilism, though, for he had never tasted varg meat. He continued on, and when he was within a few feet of the male varg, he stopped.

"Greetings, fellow mann. My name is Rogue. And may I ask who I am addressing?"Rogue dipped his head semi-low, for he didn't know the varg yet. He smiled coyly to himself, hoping the other varg didn't see.

As he waited for a response, he noticed the smell of fresh blood. He sat and studied the varg closer. Then, he realized there was a pool of blood underneath him, and the source was a small gash in his leg.

Rogue felt happier as he realized that if the turnout was a fight, he had a slight advantage. Not much, though, considering it was only a little gash. The wolf could probably still put up a good fight. But Ro decided to let everything play out as Destiny would want it.

[epitaph]

Someone Looks For Me;

The young fae padded through the rocky terra. The ground was uneven, and as such she would carefully weave around large stones, and mind her pads around the smaller ones. She would greatly like to avoid wounding herself. But as she wandered, something curious passed the young Varg’s mahogany orbs. Little red dots that cut across the path she was making. She thought to turn and follow, to perhaps find the source of the thing she now recognized as blood. She lowered her muzzle to the ground, her nose drifting merely millimeters above the harsh surface; she could identify the musk of another like her, a wolf. It was clearly wounded, as the blood must have belonged to its host’s body.

The fae of white, brown, and grey moved forward, her thick pelt tousled by the wind, her path adjusted. She would deviate from meeting up with Amira – her sister could wait – as someone was in trouble. The urge to help a stranger seemed a much stronger pull than that of family ties and punctuality – well, perhaps not family ties, but certainly the idea of being on time. Amira would excuse tardiness.

It had not been long before the tireless searching of mahogany spied the posterior of a large wolf – though about the same size as she was currently, she was quite bulky herself for a common grey. Not that this bothered her, if the other was dangerous she could adequately protect herself from harm, though she would greatly prefer not to get involved in a battle of brawn. It was certainly easier for her to solve problems with her mind rather than her teeth.
“Excuse me, are you alright?,, she was hesitant to note that she had followed his bloody trail to this point, though it was difficult to hid something so pungent, and particularly when it was displayed as a red carpet for those famous idols that humans often adored. Leif’s voice was soft, tentative, but not at all hiding the strong sense of kindness that she carried about her, an air that swathed the large fae’s body in a gentle embrace to which she would share with any who might need a helping paw.

Even in the dark she could tell he was moving, for all Varg possessed the wonder of night vision, she needed only the moon’s dim light and the stars that dotted the sky above the two. Though, in comparison, she would be easier to see than the male, as most of his upper body was wrapped in the darkness that was night and the hours of twilight that did follow as there was still indeed the thin strip of the sun fading behind the great Carpathians in the distance behind her back.

These lands were so strange and new, and she knew not what to think of them or those who might inhabit. But a strange and spectral feeling hung like mist above her head, causing her hackles to rise in unease as she looked slowly around her. What if the male – and she could see it was a dragga now – indeed decided that she would make a lovely feast for scavengers? But no, if he was indeed the wounded one then she would have an easier time escaping the male, as it were she could not see clearly any sort of limp in such dim.

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remarks; I’ll replace Rogue seeing as he’s left TS, if you do not mind.

[Arthfael]

((I will just go ahead and post as if Rogue hadn't))

Just his luck. The wound, which had had plentiful time to form a strong barrier between it and the outside world, cracked with the small movements he made in order to move through the lands. If he went on like this he would bleed himself dry. "Damn that river," he snarled. He knew that, in part, it was his own fault, for the river had not picked his point of crossing. Nevertheless, he found a small amount of comfort in passing the blame onto the waters themselves. There was no choice but to stay for the night here, though it meant halting long before he had planned, and continue in the morning after ensuring that his body was doing its duty of keeping him healthy. Such was life, that, just when he thought himself to be making progress, he should falter and be put behind schedule by the plotting of a mere rock.

Arthfael turned a slow circle, gazing about himself and trying to see through the thick twilight into the lands. If there were any dangers, he would see them, but it took two glances behind him to see that he had been followed. Little surprise that one of his own kind would follow a trail of blood. There was always the possibility that the Varg was simply one seeking easy prey, one of those whose only joy in life was to cause death and destruction. But there was also the possibility that this Varg would be capable of telling him which herbs could help him to heal his wound. Although injured, and that the fae was his own size, he was confident in his abilities. Should the encounter turn for the worse, he would be sure to at least cause some damage before making as quick a getaway as his injured leg would allow.

About to call to her, he was stopped by still, quiet voice asking after his well-being. A little disappointed in the lack of adventure, Arthfael comforted himself by thinking that his gamble would have gone well had he had the chance to take it. By the way the lighting was, the sun to the fae's back, he knew he could see her better than she saw him. He moved a little more into the light before replying. "Just a small injury. Ran afoul of a rock in that river back the way I came. The accursed thing won't stop bleeding," he called in his husky baritone. "You may come closer, I mean no harm, and you are, in no way, trespassing, to my knowledge. Then again, I am new to these lands." The failing light was hardly conducive to looking over a wound, so he could no longer check to acertain that it was doing well.

Resigning himself to the fate of being delayed, Art sat comfortably, feeling that lying down, at the moment, would be asking too much of this polite fae. Taking the time to look her over, he had a strong feeling of well-being near her. "Glad to meet you, by the way. Arthfael, of the northlands. Most call me Art." He smiled his characteristic crooked smile, one side of his face pulling up more than the other. He stretched his other limbs, leaving the left rear one to sit and scab over. The less moving he did, the better it would heal. However, being an energetic young wolf, being completely stationary for any activity besides hunting or sleeping, he moved slightly, here ducking his head, there licking his lips. He wondered what she called herself. He'd leave it to her to say, and if she didn't, then he'd ask.

[epitaph]

Someone looks for me;

As the brute mentioned his misfortune she listened intently, her audits pricking and stretching forward to listen to every word from his maw. She padded slowly forward, raising her head slightly, though her tail remained dangling behind her. She wasn’t much to press dominance on others; she made it a point actually. To her rank didn’t matter, well so long as you weren’t the Sikla. When she neared her mahogany eyes took in the wound, crust had manifested in the soft fur, but she knew what could help it. But did the plant grow around here?

“An honor, Arthfael, I am Leif.,, She dipped her muzzle slightly in a nod, or maybe it was a bow. Then her eyes searched the earth around, perhaps luck would be upon them and she would find it. No such luck existed in the world, no convenience would befall them. She would have to make a trip around a bit, actually search for it. Maybe it was back along the path. But wait, it was spring, those plants were everywhere. Poppies were so common in Transylvania, and any would do, for he would just need to eat one. At least that would relieve some of the pain. She licked her lips in thought and then regarded the male. “I’ll return in a moment.,,

She turned her thick plume and dashed off; the last thing he would see for a while would be the black spot on her tail and her hind paws vanishing into the distance.
She bounded over rocks, until she found a little red flower; carefully she uprooted the thing with her teeth, gingerly holding the healing treasure in her jaws. She would return to the male as quickly as she left and place the plant at his forepaws. “That should help the pain, if you eat it, I promise it doesn’t taste that bad.,, she smiled lightly, her eyes soft and warm and her black lips gently curved. She nudged the plant with her paw, slightly closer. As if to encourage him to eat it – of course she’d lied about the taste, it was a bitter plant, but he didn’t need to be thinking about something that was unpleasant. She just hoped he wasn’t a puppy and spit the thing out once he discovered the real essence of poppy. “If you ever get the chance, find some dill. It grows near the river bank – though far enough away from the waters that you won’t have to fight, and it has a smell that will make you drool. Chew it up and spread it on your wound, it’ll help keep the infection away and help close the cut.,,

It would’ve been difficult for anyone to learn this sort of information, of course a wolf who’d grown up in a pack where knowing how to heal wounds was necessary, well it just came in handy from time to time. She’d had to learn this, just as her sister had – though Amira didn’t take to healing as much as Leif did, but it was her way of repenting for the sins committed by her mother and father.

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