Descending (OPEN)

[Snowflame]

The snow was covering Snowflame's body thick and fast. She awoke to see the two bold Draggas looking at her in something that looked to her like annoyance and anger. She felt the bruise on her head, and winced as a stab of pain shot through her skull as fast as lightning.

She gazed secretly at Art, and knew that he was angry at her. She looked down at the frozen ground, sorrow filling her bright eyes. She wished that the memory of her brother would go away. She wanted to tell them the pain in her heart for her probably dead brother, but they wouldn't understand. "Draggas never fully understand she-wolves." she thought bitterly, and she had the sudden urge to strike out at them and run far, far away. She shook her head in disbelief, and knew that she should never think that again.

She slowly lifted her head so that they could see she was awake. Before any of them could talk, she said in her boldest voice, "I am sorry for what I have done. I know I have acted...irresponsibly but it is because my..." she trailed off, unsure how to say it. She looked at the ground, embarrased at finally speaking out.

Finally, with as much gusto as she could muster, she bravely looked at Dax and Art, looking into their eyes for a fraction of a second, then continued, "My family was killed by the...Balkar, and only my brother and myself survived. We fed only on scraps, because obviously we never had the chance to learn how to hunt. That's how my brother went missing; looking for food." she howled bitterly into the snow and closed her eyes, afraid to show the emotion in them to the Draggas.

Eventually, she plucked up the courage to get up, and she carefully crept onto her unsteady legs, and started down the slope towards the cave.

[Arthfael]

Art watched Dax as he spoke, noting the minute changes in his facial features as different words evoked different moods. He watched as disgust for the reasons of the wars flickered across the mann's strong face, and again when that changed to confusion at his finishing of the tale. He wondered what could have confused Dax, wondering if his telling had left something to be desired, but it was then that he was asked the simple question of what his father's faith truly was. For a long stretch of time he could only sit to think on how best to answer the question, and when he spoke it was haltingly at best. "Well... There are many gods and goddesses in the faith of my father. There is Luna, the moon, goddess of the hunt. Sol, the sun, god of anger. There is Hel, god of the underworld who takes the souls of the Varg and gives them a position in the pack of the dead, based on how they lived their lives. I was raised to believe that forgetting just once to offer a share of a kill to Hel was to be made the lowliest of Siklas in the pack of the dead." He shivered with apprehension at the thought, and thanked Fenris that he had been shown the truth in time.

Still with a measure of alertness, of watching everything that was going on around him, Art listened with some amusement as Dax spoke first of the packs, then scornfully and with a pointed look at Snowflame, of getting off the mountain. "The last thing I would like is to be met with hostility on the edge of some packland that would be ideal for the joining." It was with a civil tongue that he spoke, vaguely reprimanding. A tone meant to drive Snowflame from her current state of not knowing what was going on around her. At this moment he was still in a pleasant humor, completely unaware of the annoyances that the future held in store. He allowed the tri-colored brush of his tail sweep away dust beneath him as his amusement gave him a feeling of unchannelled energy that needed release in some form.

Dax snarled in a similarly frustrated fashion as he had not a moment before. There was a look of anger and frustration in he himself, but they only scarcely betrayed the worry that he felt for the fae, though she was a stranger to him. The idea of carrying the fae on his back seemed utterly strange and foreign, but if it was to give them a chance at surviving this chance meeting on a mountainside. He considered the idea for severable moments, wondering how feasible the idea was, then nodded, decided. "My back is more broad than yours, Dax, I'll carry her." In his head he added what slow and arduous going it would be, especially with how treacherous the loose shale lower down was. Choosing his words meticulously, and with an almost apologetic air for the order he had given so thoughtlessly earlier, Art flattened himself against the ground next to Snowflame and asked for help. "If you would help me to get her hindquarters settled," he suggested, "I believe I can get her uppers in order." No sooner had he finished speaking, than the pale she-Varg suddenly lifted her head and her eyes drifted open.

Snowflame apologized for her irresponsibilities, but even in the wake of her obvious sadness, Art felt frustration. Shelter was only a few lengths away, and they could afford no waste of time. He lifted himself to his feet, and his countenence took on a commanding air towards Snowflame, though he was careful to raise his tail no higher than Dax's. He was not about to show submission to the older Varg, but he now knew better than to act in a dominant fashion in regards to the mann. Casting Dax a glance, Art spoke to Snowflame again. This time he was more kindly, though no less firm. There was a lack of insults and profanities at this time. "Snowflame, we do not have time for this right now. There is a cave, just down the mountainside. Let us go there now, or else we will all be carrion in this storm." He felt a stab of pain in his chest when she spoke of the destruction of her family and howled bitterly. But she started toward the cave, nonetheless.

Art threw another meaningful glance at Dax, then began to scramble unceremoniously down to the slope. The shale would suddenly break into sturdy granite that sent him stumbling, then into the giving shale that sent him sliding. It was with a sigh of the utmost relief that he entered the cave that smelled faintly of fox. He sought out a neat corner of the space and lay down, closing his eyes as if in sleep, but in reality he was just trying to get his thoughts, that were scattered like the shale had beneath his paws. Finally, he spoke. "When the snow slacks off, I'll go hunt. If either of you would like to join, the invitation is an open one." He lifted his head slowly and looked slowly around the space they had now entered. Noting that Snowflame still looked downtrodden, he decided to make an offer. "I know a few stories, though only the ones they tell in my homeland. Perhaps you would like to hear one?"

[Dax Ehzno]

God of anger? God of the underworld? Luna seemed to be a worthwhile goddess, but Daxton couldn't help but feel that Art's father, no matter how great his military prowess happened to be, was mildly ignorant. This partially arose out of Dax's own small-mindedness, and while he about to ask Arthfael to elaborate, his answer was hesitant and he felt that to further pry would be incredibly rude. Instead, he shrugged and offered his own opinion, hoping that art wouldn't take offense. ”Well, from two of three you described, it seems that your father's choice of deities were all very war-oriented anyway. I suppose that if my own faith was any stronger, and if, for some reason, I was led to believe I needed to fight for my religion, I might feel the need to...although it all sounds so pointless.”

It hadn't taken Dax long to understand that Art had far more patience than himself, at least in the given situation. When his own life was threatened, it became true that he was prone to grumpiness. He eyed her bloodied bodice with a look of vague disdain; he didn't know how she had possibly survived the wild for this long, let alone made it to the mountains at all. Beside him, Arthfael seemed to be pondering his proffered idea that they carry her and seemed to come to the decision that it could work. At his reasoning, Dax pinned his ears in embarrassment, when it came to burliness (or lack thereof) it often was a tender spot for the thinner mann, and while he seriously doubted that there were any negative connotations behind it he still felt the sting.

His mental eyes widened as the younger dragga lay down beside Snowflame and tactfully requested Dax's assistance; every wolf, especially males, it seemed, had high amounts of pride and he wondered if it was to make up for the error Art had earlier produced. More than happy to oblige (for they had had no further problems, and he wasn't one to hold a grudge), Dax lowered his head and made his way to Snowflame, getting ready for the tedious task of getting her safely settled upon Art's back; he knew that going down the hill he would need to act as a spotter, making sure she didn't slip from either side and helping to break her fall if Art were to lose his footing on the unscrupulous shale. As he moved to gently grasp a slip of skin between his jowls, the young drappa once again regained consciousness, and her unwillingness to immediately move brought a low, warning growl from Dax. Without forming whole words he raised a paw and pointed it in the direction of the cave.

Finally she began speaking, though it was slow-going and her explanation was unneeded; he would rather have had her not apologize at al and keep moving than to waste further time. He thought that Art was probably thinking the same thing, and he glanced irritably over the silver and ebon dragga. Snowflame pressed her muzzle into the snow and howled, and though it sent a little half-pang of pity for her through him, he was becoming more and more frustrated. Art spoke to her, his voice a mix of let's-move-now and gentleness and he felt some mild relief; the other mann was tolerating her far better (or at least not showing his true emotions) and Dax was ecstatic to see the ivory she-wolf stand on her accord and make her way slowly to the den.

Art followed long behind her and Dax followed behind Art, both the make certain that neither of them received any injuries and decide from their own footfalls where the best places to place uncertain paws were. Brow creased in concentration, he made his way down the slope at a sharply diagonal angle, moving farther from the den but maintaining more balance. As he finally reached the bottom, triumph pulsed through his veins and a happy smile was plastered against his maw. Just behind the first duo the mann entered the cave with an audible sigh of relief and settled down in the corner opposite from Dax, flipping his ginger tails around his cold paws. At Art's offer a hunt he perked his ears. ”I would love to, and with two of us, we have a much better chance of bringing something down.” In his mind, though, he knew that either all of them would need to go or just one, to make sure that Snowflame wouldn't run off for a third time. Still, he desperately wanted to hunt, and he hoped that she could be trusted enough to stay where she was.
Seeing as Snowflame neglected to answer quickly enough, Dax piped up. ”That would be lovely. It's been some time since I've heard a story.”

[Snowflame]

Snowflame sighed as she lay down in the shelter of the fox-smelling cave. She settled down and looked around, curious. Her mind was still buzzing about her family, and she knew the emotion must still show on her young face.

She glanced nervously at the two Draggas, and listened as Art said to her, "I know a few stories, though only the ones they tell in my homeland. Perhaps you would like to hear one?"

She looked down at the ground, embarrased, knowing he was only doing this for one reason. But before she could reply, Dax spoke first. Snowflame nodded in agreement, afraid to talk, and licked one muddy and cold paw.

Abruptly though, she realised that the other two wanted to go out and hunt for some Lera, so she stood up and said carefully, " May I go with you hunting? I do not know how to hunt myself, but I wont be a nuisance and-and i'll just watch..." she faltered, frightened of their reaction. She envied them for being able to hunt, and she felt utterly USELESS.

She blushed in embarrasment, knowing that they did not trust her, and she slowly sat down, staring at them openly, not caring whether they didn't like it or not. For the first time since she had met them, she was angry at them. Her almost glaring eyes gazed boldly into Dax's, and she tried to read what he was feeling through them. She couldn't quite make out the emotion in his cunning eyes, so she turned her gaze towards Art. She stared into his eyes, and she examined them with interest. Snowflame sighed and turned her head away, and stood. She paced through the cave, her banner low. She scented the ground with interest; she could smell the best smell in the world: Herla. Her stomach rumbled and she realised with a pang of guilt that she was ravenous. She turned to face the Draggas and raised her banner high.

"Can we go hunting now?"

[Arthfael]

For the most part it was easy to understand Dax's reply to his further explanation of the gods of his pack. Fighting for those gods seemed a pointless thing, but when he said that it all was pointless, he couldn't help but reply with a sudden viscious vehemence. "It's not all pointless," he snarled, then looked shocked at what he himself had said. For several moments he could only look shocked, and then he ducked his head and began to stammer out several apologies. "I'm sorry, Dax, I did not mean to say that. It's just that there is a little more to it than just my father's war. I'm sorry." He grimaced slightly with distaste, he wondered for a moment if Dax would ask him about it, so, to beat him to the punch, he said in a rush, "I don't particularly wish to speak of it, my friend, if you don't mind. Too fresh." That was all that was left to be said, on his part, to the subject. He took the liberty of a few moments to flatten his fur, breathe deeply, and allow the return of a steady calm and even a shadow of his crooked smile.

Although the majority of his senses were concentrated on the limp form on the cold ground, he did not fail to see the momentary flash of hurt on the other mann's face and began to curse himself violently in his head for making yet another mistake. Dax moved in to help as requested, though it was no longer needed the moment his muzzle touched the fae's fur. The mismatched three soon took up residence in the sheltered cave on the mountain, and Art shared a proud grin with the older fae, now that a good part of their ordeal was finally over and done with.

He was glad to hear that his idea of hunting once the storm had lost its bite was readily agreed to by the older mann. He smiled at him, and continued to keep his looks to a cheerful posture and facial expression in an attempt to keep the mood light. "Good, perhaps we might find some Herla, or some such meal. I haven't eaten since I entered the mountain range." He knew that Snowflame might present an issue when he came to leaving to hunt. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea to leave her on her own, and yet she had mentioned living only on scraps, so he concluded that the fae had no real experience hunting. A reasonable conclusion to reach, so he was glad at the agreement to his story. He began rifling through the stories his mother had whispered to him after exceptionally hard training sessions with his father and syblings. Finally settling on one he opened his mouth to speak only to have the words stolen as the younger fae jumped up enthusiastically.

Again he felt a twinge of annoyance, not only that she'd interrupted the story he was about to tell, but that she had so quickly forgotten the reason they were in that cave to begin with. But also he felt amusement and nostalgia, remembering that he had been much the same when his mother had invited him on his first hunt. With a hearty chuckle that was not unlike the sound of a flowing river over pebbles. There was still laughter in his voice when he finally spoke. "Snowflame, of course you can come hunting, as long as Dax has no objections. But it's snowing like crazy out there, no fit conditions for hunting. Better to sit tight and tell a few stories while we wait it out. The prey is all hiding from the storm just as we are." He smiled, then held his head a little higher and introduced the story.

His voice took on a strange quality when he began. "Now, remember, my friends, I am no bard-oh, you call them storytellers. Let me see... In the ages after the gods had created the earth and sky, the Lera and the Varg, and Man too, Sol and his mate Luna had a terrible quarrel, and Luna hid herself from him. In his fury, in his want for revenge on his mate, he looked down upon the Varg and saw a fae of such beauty and prowess that he decided he would mate with her to prove to Luna that he was Dragga. So that mating season, he walked among the Varg and he courted her and mated her, and she had a full litter of five young cubs. At four of them were not noticibly different from the average wolf, but the fourth had the mark of Luna on him, for at their birth Luna had claimed him as her own, to make a mockery of Sol. His mother named him Grosvenor, meaning great hunter, for he had the huntress's mark upon him.

"As time went on and Grosvenor grew large, Luna led him away from his pack, and in a place of quiet solitude she taught him the secret ways of the hunter. When she left him, he was indeed the greatest hunter all the lands had ever seen. Soon his name was known to every Varg, and always youngsters would follow the Kerl and beg his permission to learn to hunt, but he refused them all, for he had begun to grow proud of his own self, and he attributed all his success to himself. Pretty soon, Grosvenor found himself attracted to a young female, who was beautiful and clever. To prove himself to her, he invited her to come along hunting with him, and soon he had found the trail of a doe in her prime. He told the fae to stay back, and trailed the doe himself, but Luna had cursed him for his pride, and he forgot to be wary of his prey. He cornered the Herla, and showing off all he had learned, began to play with it, first letting it think it had won, then closing in again. In his games he came too close to the deer, and she boxed the air with her hooves, killing him instantly. The female laughed, and finished the hunt quickly.

"'Always the mightiest hunter it is,' she said, 'to fall to the lowliest of prey.'"

He smiled at the completion, though when he looked outside the storm was still going strong. He did not anticipate its hault until morning. He looked around him to see how his friends had enjoyed his tale.

[Dax Ehzno]

Though he forced himself to remain seated, Dax felt his hackles bristle at Art's sudden tone; frankly he was just as surprised as the speaking mann was and in turn he attempted to proffer a series of strangled apologies. ”It's alright; just a miscommunication on my part, Art. I wasn't meaning to put down your father, or your upbringing, or your religion...it's just nearly impossible for me to fathom a war based on religious belief. Forgive me; I won't bring it up again.” Still on edge, the silver dragga waited for Arthfael to return to a state of calmness before doing the same. He mentally reprimanded himself for overstepping obvious boundaries. Dax wasn't a Varg who too his own opinion or self too seriously, but he rarely thought before he acted and it often led to scenarios such as this one.

It seemed that the two were crossing eggshell paths with each other but Dax was aware that once tensions died down and they were safely in the heart of Transylvania he himself, at least, would be far less tetchy. Indeed, from the moment they were safely in the cave (despite his continued wariness toward Snowflame) the mann immediately felt far better and was even beginning to think out some sort of apology to offer Arthfael; despite his young age the thick-pelted Northern Varg was incredibly experienced and his patience with the young Snowflame had been remarkable compared to his own.

Beside the two draggas the ivory fae was nursing one soiled paw but as she stood Dax's eyes followed her movements, ready to constrain her from leaving if she decided she wanted to bolt again. To his happy surprise she merely asked permission to accompany them on their future hunt, and, feeling a sort of embarrassment toward her earlier admonishment, he said, rather gently: ”If the snow seems to be satiated for a while, perhaps Art and myself can give you some tips.” Yet even as he said it he almost regretted it, for the young cub was under the impression that her angry, searching eyes would have some effect on him. He held her gaze, unflinching, letting her know silently that she if she was going to act like a cub, she would be treated as such. He tolerated no disrespect. As she looked away, he did as well, turning his sight instead to Arthfael, awaiting his promised story. ”I hope you're good,” he said lightly, hoping to fix any rifts that may had previously occurred.


It was then that the story began and ended, with Dax holding a grin all throughout except the end; he liked the idea of being a land's greatest hunter but his jealously quickly faded when the wolf's untimely death was spoken of (the grin then fell quite quickly and he looked rather abashed). Clearing his throat, he nodded sharply to Art. ”That was good,” he said at last. ”I wish it were true,” he added, more to himself than to either of the others.

[Snowflame]

Snowflame nodded her head as she acknowledged what they said. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore her forever rumbling stomach. She lay down and listened intently to Art's tale.

As he spoke, the young fae felt like she was being transported into the world of tales and stories, and she felt like she was there, with Luna and Sol and Grosvenor, and she grinned until the part where Grosvenor was killed by a doe. She bowed her head and lowered her banner, but she found the ending interesting. She cocked her ears and grinned wolfishly at Art.

" T-that was good." she growled kindly. She sighed happily, finally at peace with her surroundings and more specifically, her mind. The nagging feeling in her head had stopped, and now she knew that her mind had finally accepted that her brother was gone.

Strangely, though, it did not upset the pale grey fae. She shook her head and turned her attention to the worsening snow storm. She snarled wuietly as yet again, her stomach gave her another plee for food.

" Umm..I don't think I can last that long." she stuttered, suddenly feeling weaker. " I haven't eaten in a week or so,"

She trembled furiously, frightened. Would she die of starvation? She dearly hoped not, but would there be any Lera wondering about in a climate like this? She looked at the others with frightened eyes, not for herself, but for them. Would they be able to find food?

[Arthfael]

It was strange for Art to see his own emotions mirrored on the face of the older mann as he muttered swift apologies for his previous rudeness. He couldn't seem to fathom why Dax looked as though he too were guilty of some sort of social blunder, even though it was the ebon and silver young wolf who had snapped angrily at such a mild comment. After several moments hard pondering, he finally concluded that Dax must have figured the moment of anger to be the result of something he shouldn't have said. Quickly, Art tried to explain why it was he who was at fault. "It is no fault of yours, Dax. It was I who snapped, and how could you have known the reaction I was to give? I meant no disrespect, but my brother died for his beliefs. I know he wouldn't throw his life away for nothing, so though my father's wars are unjust, I would die for what Rian gave his life for." His eyes seemed to carry so much pain in them that there could be no result but for them to crack, but he moved on past it, and tried to give a return of his crooked grin.

In that cave in the side of the mountain, Art watched Dax patiently, wondering if he would object to letting the inexperienced fae join them on a hunt. He was surprised, and pleasently so, when the mann voiced that it would be fine for her to come along. Although the tensions between Dax and Snowflame seemed high, at least some effort could be seen to try and relieve that pressure from all of them. Happy to see Dax being cautiously friendly, Art allowed his tail to sweep in the dust of the old cave, and his emerald gave continued to glow, as his own earlier irritation was momentarily cast to the winds. He gave the older mann an approving nod, to show that he noticed the effort that was being made and appreciated it. But the moment was lost when his eyes flickered to Snowflame with the wonder of how long she would remain as normal as she was now. After the ordeal of before, it was no wonder that he didn't know whether or not she would run off again. He only knew that, if she did, the snows would make it impossible to find her again, especially with a coat like hers.

As his companions voiced their approval of his story, Art couldn't contain the low rumbling sound made deep in his chest, reminiscent of some predatory cat's purr, but so much deeper than a cat could manage. The noise was one that could only be made by Art and his twin, Rian, and they had only ever used it on those rare occasions when they had been completely and truly happy. His face pulled up in his crooked grin, and he didn't bother to hide that he was proud for having told it well. He may have been robbed of his childhood, but nothing could rob him of the childish glee he felt among these two other Varg telling a good story. He nodded at Dax's comment. "To be a great hunter is a good dream to fulfill, but the story teaches to remember your own humility, and to respect what prey you take." He nodded again sagely, and wondered at what it would have felt to have been Grosvenor on his first hunt after having learned from a goddess of hunting.

A chill wind created a ghostly moan as it prowled over the entrance to the cave. And like that the moment of cheeful friendliness was broken as Snowflame voiced one more that she wanted to go hunting now. Art's heart seemed to harden and his eyes turned as hard as flint. He was angry with her for interupting the moment of happiness that had been theirs for a moment, and he felt another stab of anger that she had, once more, refused to listen to what two wolves that had more experience than she warned her on. He parted his jaws to speak, but halted himself before anything could be said, looking to Dax to let him speak. Arthfael was too angry, and he didn't want to say something that he would later regret, so he gave Dax his chance to speak, and then speared Snowflame with his own hard gaze.

"This storm is a mild one," he growled, "it will be over by morning. If the hours between now and then are the difference between life and death for you, you would scarcely be able to speak right now. You would be nothing but a sack of skin and bones. You are more likely to die going out to hunt in this storm than of starvation. That takes much more than a week. I have met Varg who didn't complain of not eating in more than half a moon. I am not leaving this cave again until that storm is but a memory." Now that his anger had been vented into the still air, Art felt now only a vague feeling of cold contempt. "Perhaps it would be more prudent if we were to sleep than to waste our time with stories. If you two are tired, I'll take first watch. I wasn't planning on sleeping tonight in any case." In truth Art didn't want to be left alone, but he wanted to be without the annoyance of Snowflame for a time, so he could calm himself. Sleep would only bring terrible dreams, while being alone in wakefulness would bring unbearable thoughts. He longed to unburden his soul, but instead he stood and trotted to the mouth of the cave and plopped down, his head on his paws, watching the storm.

[Dax Ehzno]

OOC: Sorry for the shortness :/

The degree of sorrow that was apparent in Art's gaze was enough to effectively end all questions that had been blooming within Dax's mind. Instead, he gave a gentle smile and nodded, letting Art know that while his explanation hadn't been needed, it wouldn't be pressed upon. The ruddy mann had never really crossed paths with true, emotional pain; as far as he knew his multiple siblings were still in their protective den; perhaps his original littermates were getting ready to birth or sire their own cubs. Despite the vague sense of empathetic pain that Art's recent history caused, Dax couldn't help but feel incredibly grateful that nothing horrific had ever befallen his family. There had been one time that his Drappa and his mother had both birthed entirely stillborn litters in the same season, and while the whole pack had mourned, it wasn't something that he could truly discern. Death. True loss.

It was true, Daxton was making a conscious and sincere effort to act friendly to Snowflame and the nod that he took as appreciated praise for his efforts was reciprocated by a nervous smile. Yet the pale-coated fae didn't seem to have much of an answer to either one of the draggas; she simply nodded his head, feeling rather puzzled- while he was aware that he wasn't any Grosvenor, if he was as young she was, and as obviously inexperienced, he would have been jumping at the opportunity to learn tricks and tips. From beside him there was a sort of guttural purr that rumbled from Art's jaws from deep within his chest, and it caused Dax to raise his brow but as he noticed the contented air that the younger mann held he figured it must have been from some other feeling besides anger. The silver and obsidian dragga spoke wisely, and Daxton alongside him; it was incredibly true and upon hearing it he further realized how very learned Arthfael must be.

As Snowflame insisted that they venture out now, Dax turned on her with a vicious gaze, his tone not entirely rude but definitely icy. His cerulean eyes, typically pale and not unkind, were wrathful. He spoke through gritted teeth when he did finally speak, realizing that Art was withholding his own anger. ”Snowflame,” he began, trying to see her as a little sister to help curb his anger, ”You are in no danger of dying. If you are feeling exhausted, it's probably because you put yourself and us through our paces during your escapades along the mountain earlier. I promise, you can hold off 'til morning. And if you really, truly believe that you will shrivel up and fade away into nothing in the next twelve hours, feel free to go in search of food on your own. Neither Art will myself will be accompanying you, I'm sure, and if you feel like running off again, we won't let you. I won't have a foolish cub's death on my conscience. “ His spiel ended, he turned to Art, who took over with his own words.

Knowing that the two of them both verbally reprimanding her would likely result in the young fae's immense anger, he kept his gaze on her to be assured that, if she were to lunge toward the cave's mouth, he would sufficient time to stop her. As he had told her, running off because of anything at this phase of the storm would not be smart. He was beginning to become not only irritated, but very bored, with her annoying actions and words. Turning to gaze at the storm (which was still raging strong), he winced as he saw the intensity of the snow that was falling at a pace rapid enough to have already added an inch or two (or three) to the previously bare land. At Art's suggestion of sleep Dax nodded smartly, though he was too irritable to even feign sleepliness. ”I think that's a fantastic idea; but if you don't mind, could I join you?” As Arthfael turned and padded toward the opening, he took a few steps after him, tilting his head for an answer.

[Snowflame]

The young fae snarled angrily at Dax, but then realised that he didn't know the only thing she had eaten since her family had been killed, two moons ago, was a few scraps of venison. She growled in annoyance as the two Draggas took up watch at the cave entrance, and she suddenly thought bitterly that she was like a prisoner. She sighed and stood up, and started pacing, deliberatly disobeying them.

"Sleep? How can I sleep when in the past two moons all I have eaten is a few scraps of Herla?" she said this to herself, but made sure the other two could hear her. She stretched, and cringed as her belly rumbled. She suddenly felt light headed and dizzy, but this was not because of her wound on her head, this was because of her hunger. She nearly collapsed, but managed to weakly sit down, and then eventually lie down on the hard ground.

Snowflame didn't look at the others to see her reaction, and even if they did see her nearly collapse, then they would probably think she was faking it to get attention. She was about to voice this thought out when suddenly she remembered a story her father had told her. It was about the hungry Varg cub, who lived on only a few scraps (like herself) and found two friends. They found food, but was too late to save the cub, for he had died in the shelter they had left him in. Snowflame gulped, afraid, then felt light headed again and fainted.

[Arthfael]

((Sorry for delay, and suckishness. My muse low on fuel.))

It was quite the frustration that after being advised and reprimanded by two Varg who clearly knew what it was they were speaking of, Snowflame still refused to see reason, that it was far too dangerous to go out there in this sort of weather. From where he sat, Arthfael could no longer find it in him to treat Snowflame with the kindness that he had shown previously. Without warning he leapt to his paws and snarled visciously. The thought crossed his mind that, due to his upbringing in the unforgiving north, he could traverse this storm without a surplus of issues. But he was compassionate enough to not leave Dax to this alone. Still, he needed to vent his spleen somehow, and thus he turned his harsh gaze on the focus of his fury and began to growl. "Listen here, you foolish little fae, and listen well. Dax and I have been around for some time, and we know something of the world. And we know that going out in this weather would be a fatal and useless mistake. You and Dax would not last out that storm, for sure, and I might not either. I do not know about Dax, but I am not about to risk my life for you after you've already caused such trouble. If you are so hungry, then go out there and witness for yourself what we were trying to tell you. This storm is too harsh, no Lera will be about. I swear by Fenris that if I hear one more word out of you of leaving this place before the storm is finished..."

It was there that he finally stopped, his anger halted by the simple fact that he could think of no proficient threat to give. He wouldn't attack her; that would be murder. He was not going to leave, and leaving her to the will of the storm would be just as bad, if not worse, as killing her outright. And with this he began to see how foolish he himself had been for losing his temper the way he had. He looked to Dax helplessly, then muttered, "Never mind. My apologies." He gave Dax a look that left it open whether or not to join the guard on the cave front. He was shaking with yet unchanneled furies, but knew that to further take out frustrations with his father on this two would be a great injustice. Instead, he leaned towards Dax, with the apologetic air of having made the most grave of mistakes and seeking in vain for retribution. He spoke, mostly towards Snowflame's ghostly shape. "I am sorry. My temper got the best of me in this sore weather and rough situation. I will keep it in better check from here on, you can trust me on that."

There was a sense of exhaustion and surrender in the demeanor of the yound mann as he lay at the entrance of the cave. He bore the look on one who had braved much sadness only to find that happiness was not on the other side after all. He felt immeasurably guilty for having laid into Snowflame with the rough side of his tongue, and it was now that he began to feel the effects of having betrayed a friend. He began to sing in a halting voice, trying to shake off the effects of his anger. The song was an epic which told of a pack Varg who had let his emotions rule him, day and night. It came to pass that his pack grew to hate him, and eventually drove him out. He wandered the world for five years following, and when he was nearing death he tried to return to his pack, afraid to die alone in the same way he had lived alone. But though he spoke with the utmost kindness, the other wolves could not forgive him his crime, and so he died and went to Hel, where the god of the underworld doomed him to be apart from the Varg for eternity.

Finally feeling calm enough, Arthfael trotted to the side of the prone she-wolf, and nudged her gently with he enormous paw. He whined softly and low in his throat before speaking hesitantly. "I am truly sorry, Snowflame, and beg your pardon. I am only a wolf, and cannot help myself. I wish there was something I could do to allay your hunger, but there will be no prey about in this. Morning is not far off, and the moment the snow begins to slacken I will find you a rabbit, to pay the debt that I owe you. Will you accept that for an apology, from a mann who has nothing more to give?" This being said, he tilted his head and awaited an answer while the snow continued to fall in swirls and eddies at the mouth of the cave.

[Dax Ehzno]

What had once been but a lurking gruffness had been nursed into something far more callous. Voicing his own snarl of rage, the Kerl whirled around, little beads of spittle showering his nearby surroundings. This stupid, thick-headed, jaw-dropping-ly ignorant cub was not going to treat himself or Art as if they were of the same class. With large paws he advanced on Snowflame, brusque snarl varying in pitch as he lowered his head below his shoulders and raised his tail, hackles bristling in a perfect line along his back. He lunged, aiming to miss on purpose, and slammed his powerful jaws on the air before the drappa's face, all hope for her becoming anything but an eyesore dissipating. ”Don't you snarl at me, you indignant little whelp!” Knowing full well that Arthfael might find his reaction a bit extreme, he thought momentarily about sending a watchful glance his direction but decided against it, blue eyes glinting with a feverish anger. ”I have had enough of your stupid, nonsensical demands and this idea that we owe you something.”

He jerked his head up, red tail lashing side to side. ”If you hadn't done what you had, all three of us would be down the mountain, warm, with food in our bellies and not wanting to tear you apart! I'm hungry as well, so should I eat you? No. Do you that I would demand that we leave now to go find me food, if I was not going to be of a god level of help to bring down anything?” He glared at her before continuing, voice deepening just a tad. ”The answer is no. Now, I promise you- if you treat either me or Art disrespectfully again, or you demand something from either of us, Art here will have to physically restrain me to keep you safe. I am both larger and older than you. If I wanted to hurt you, I would. So, please, shut up, and stay quiet until we are able to leave. I promise that, even if Art were not obviously a skilled wolf, I am at hunting, and when it comes time, your hunger will be satisfied.”

He had no more kind words to the fae, but as he turned back toward Art, his hackles finally smoothing and his tassel lowering, his gaze was tired. It wasn't often that Dax was pushed to his breaking point and a surge of acidic bitterness rose in his throat like bile. A look of mild surprise crossed his features as Art, too, verbally laid into Snowflame, though this look strengthened when the onyx and silver mann apologized. Dax felt his ears droop; he, too, should apologize, but he seriously doubted that he could bring himself to do so. Besides, Snowflame was of no importance to him; he didn't see her as a friend; as far as he knew, she wouldn't be joining Deor; she was of no high rank- essentially, he had very little about her.

As Art seemed to feel rather ambivalent about his joining the vigil, Dax approached cautiously, lowering his head to the younger mann before straightening up and allowing himself to sit beside Arthfael. As he was about to open his mouth, the other's deep voice rose, faltering a bit, into the air and bloomed into a song. While Dax couldn't understand parts of it -who was Hel again? (Oh, yeah, the God of the Underworld), the epic ballad created a thick sense of sadness. Once he ended, Dax quickly spoke in muted tones, his voice sad and nearly inaudible. ”Did I go too far?”

[Snowflame]

Snowflame opened a bleary blue eye to suddenly see the four year old Dragga lunging towards her as fast as lightning. She yelped in surprise as his sharp jaws clashed together inches from her pale grey face. She was so surprised that she didn't react at once.

The snow storm was still pounding on outside the sanctuary of the safe cave, yet the snow, which usually held so much beauty to the young fae, felt now like a curse, a bad omen.

Snowflame snarled and glared as Dax stalked away from her. She hadn't really paid attention to what he had said, so she shrugged it off and put it down to strain from being stuck together in this small cave, until the snow storm passed.

Snowflame warily eyed Art as he leapt to his paws and snarled angrily at her. Snowflame lowered her head in shame and her eyes brimmed with sadness. So they did blame her for being stuck here, so it was her fault that they would starve. The pale grey faemme pondered at her thoughts, thinking rapidy of a reply to say, but it had to be smart and not silly.

Snowflame's mind clicked as the answer came, and she knew what she should do. She wasn't mad at them, but she wanted to show them how she felt and that she was sorry. The Drappa was about to speak when Art apologised to her. She blinked in surprise at the bold Dragga, and then, afraid her voice would speak something else, nodded.

An eerie feeling came over the Drappa as Art began to sing in a halting tune, a song about a Varg. Snowflame shivered at the thought of being alone forever, and dying and going to a place called Hel. Snowflame growled sadly as Art finished, and bowed her head, staring at her muddied paws in deep thought, wondering...

Just then, as the snow still continued, Art trotted up towards her and nudged her with one of his paws. She gazed up at him and sighed happily. She growled happily as he said he would get her a rabbit after the snow died down. She had to resist the urge to howl in hope.

"Thank you, Art. I accept your apology, but I think I owe you both an apology." Here she glanced cautiously at Dax as apologetically as she could, before adding, "I am also sorry for being such...such an idiot. Will you accept my apology?"