The Voice of Clandestine

[i a h]

//mrrph, sorry this took so long, BT! I am not even sure if I'm doing this correctly.//

With the soft golden light smearing on the forest floor, as if they were the petals of translucent buttercups, a crisp autumn afternoon bloomed. Foliage of many a colour littered this same ground as well, quickly decaying in the moist sod to provide some of the next spring’s fertility. Though trees had lost some of their cover, hardly any were found bare in these parts, especially upon coming to the border of the Deor territory where the evergreens were thick. However, a lonely maple did stand between the rows of pines, and consequently a pair of seemingly white-hued vargs situated themselves beneath the landmark.

Flittingly, Fantome stole a glance at the femora, noticing the way the ribbons of sunlight hit her in a very flattering manner. Suddenly more eager to get along, the ex-Balkar abandons his furtive tactics for the time being. Things could wait just a little longer… this he knew.

Then a crimson, characteristically shaped leaf slowly broke from the grasp of its home with the slightest hint of wind, and Fantome found himself looking cross-eyed at the splash of pigment on his forehead. “Oh dear, look at that. I fancy the Sigorrla will be looking for me, if there are any few that still live,” and the brute was attempting to be humorous when alluding to Rannoch and his birthmark. “But to be serious,” and his voice was straightening out, “I assume we’re here. I shan’t go much farther without Tratto’s Blessing.” Beguiled still by BT, he managed to keep his gaze before him and off of his escort.


//wooohhoo, crappy.//

[okamiwolf]

BT’s tassel swayed, she was enjoying herself very much. It took a fair bit of restraint to keep herself from pouncing on Fantome and snuggling up close. She was depending on that self control to make sure that he made a good Impression on Chalos, who was the key to entrance into the pack. Of course she knew how fiercely the Balkar were disliked by him, but didn’t blame him. Balkan Vargs had a bad reputation, no matter who was talking about them, and all the wolves of Transylvania had heard of them at least once.

She smiled at his remarks as she turned to face Fantome, a Varg that she cared about quite a bit. Her fur held little black nowadays, as she turned into a white-silver shading. “Right, then we should call to the Dragga,” she suggested, it was a sort of custom to notify those who were residing in the pack lands to arrival. Well, it was for BT anyway. She didn’t like Intruding on other’s homes without at least notifying the Alphas of the pack that she was passing or visiting.

Her black tipped auditive flickered, as if to spook small insects away. She turned her body so that she was adjacent to him, and sat back on her haunches to relax her muscles. Her winter-sky oculars shimmered in the morning’s pale light that dappled the earth and the two figurines.

//I don't think we have to worry about you getting here late or if it is correct or not too much. I myself am just glad that you're back.//

[i a h]

“Yes, we should call upon him, or beg him… whichever,” he muttered between his incisors as he softened his posture. To seem completely passive and obedient was a most strategic move on his part, so he dropped his velvet sonics to his crania. Along with that, his flocculent ivory tassel sunk, although it was never higher than collinear with his spine. After all, the brute was not one to seem overly confident, or confident at all for that matter. “Should you, or should I? Erm, why not together…?” slipped from his jowls in a tangle.

A flick of his silver auditory and Fantome was upright, nervously pacing, for the mere thought of facing Chalos made him quiver. Fantome was not afraid of the physical pain that he may have to endure, but the ridicule before him was daunting – a Balkan varg leaving his ranks to become one with Deor? How improbable! To him, it was virtually unheard of to exhibit this kind of desertion. Perhaps a humble apology wouldn’t even be convincing, for he knew that a former Deor would not be readily trusted back on his old turf. The ex-Night Hunter could feel the shame sagging his shoulders as he tread, causing his now heavy pads to actually leave an imprint.

Contrite as the autumn chill, yet as distantly warm as Fenris above, Fantome shot BT a ready gaze. He was aware of the consequences of his actions, but somehow he was sure that by the end of this, he would have as many passionate enemies as he would pleased pack-mates.

[Chalos Autumn]

It wasn't long before Chalos came bounding after BT, searching for her right after she had called. Powerful legs carried the hulking form over the land, each pounce allowing him to nearly sail through the air. The closer he became, the closer BT's scent seemed to be. He was just about to leap through a patch of thorns when another scent hit his nose hard - it was an unfamiliar scent, but the pack the male was from was evident on his pelt; Balkar, the ones who had so viciously attacked Rokk, one of his packmembers.

Hackles rose, lips curled, and the Deor Dragga became an overall terrifying varg. Without another moment passing, Chalos promptly barreled through the thorns, a blurred flash of rust-and-obsidian, halting before Fantome. Saliva dripped from his jaws as he allowed his throat to emit a low growl, the sound rumbling through the air like rolling thunder. With a grand intake of breath and a puff of his chest, the leader held his head and tail high, accusing eyes of emerald boring through the Balkar varg.

"Who are you who dares to trespass, Balkar? Have you come for another piece of the innocent? Explain yourself!" He boomed, a threatening voice of tenor slicing through the air between the two males. A look of utter violence lay in his eyes, and the alpha took two solid steps closer to Fantome, cutting BT away from him. "Are you hoping to mate this Deor nurse, you dirty-pawed varg? No - tell me your reasons for being here before I grow impatient!"

[okamiwolf]

BT nodded to Fantome, as she lifted her muzzle to the sky. Her black lips parting to sing a song of summoning. Her note slowly rising in hopeful unison, rising to meet the quivering autumn leaves and forward on to the heavens. Only once she was sure the summon had covered the land like a blanket did she lower her muzzle to let the note vanish.

Very soon, the nurse’s winter-sky orbs caught the sight of her Dragga, bounding through the bracken. She smiled to him, but the look on his face made her shrink back with recoil. He looked terrifying, she had never seen this side of Chalos before. Her plume instantly sank, and her auditives lowered to stick to the back of her head.

A single paw lifted tentatively from the ground when he startled her with his growl. And she winced at the cutting sound his voice made, she didn’t want Fantome to get into a fight, she didn’t want Chalos to touch one hair on his silver head. She shrank back slightly, due to the unearthly-seeming anger and ferocity that was radiating from Chalos, so much so that her own hackles raised.