I pay thy poverty and not thy will.

[Ƨγnєrgγ]

       Terra sprawled beyond the lip of a bend in the great mountain's spine. The land's verdant-clad intricacies were stripped bare to the young varg, forepaws perched at the brink of the very earth upon which he stood. A thin breeze tossled crème fur, gliding its way upward across the young male's flanks to his darker hackles, and spinning off into the diaphanous atmosphere that clung about Synergy's form. Such isolation seemed to increase his very gravity, and even as the varg stood humbled by the valley choked in summer green that lay below, Synergy could not help but feel an overwhelming wash of self-importance seize his thoughts.

       It was with reason, he began, that he had taken it upon himself to immerse his young mind in the mysteries of foreigners to his lands, to the intricacies of soothsaying spun in cryptic tales by his pack elder, and to the cold arithmetic of a skilled hunter, even as his littermates drew pleasure from their own tails. Synergy hid nothing from himself, and in such a way he admitted to his own governing soul that his endeavours were perhaps somewhat exaggerated. Nevertheless, it was he who had outgrown his dull siblings and vainglorious and excessively romantic parents to set out on his own. He spoke two languages with ease, and had made his way through the Carpathians from the north with only the help of the rare kerl he had encountered in the wild.

       Shameless narcissism aside, the lands that sprawled before him seeded his young mind with a new-found sense of belonging that he couldn't quite touch. Synergy would at least pause there, he decided, and as he turned to make his way down the winding path to return to the vegetation-choked foothills, the varg wondered if he would stay.

       Cold rock greeting his pads, his mind became clearer and with sure footing Synergy picked his way downward, the distant cry of an eagle hailing his progress. Syn swelled, tan coat bristling. On the wind he could taste the scent of damp air below, and from above, posibly telling of a storm to come. More immediately however, the incense of another varg teased his nares. An undetectable shiver crept down his spine as Syn prepared for an encounter.

[† Demon †]

Bad post; I'm in the ''Iah Zone'' dude. I'll get my fix soon enough. [/size]

Heart in her mouth, tassel held up high; she was ultimate. As dark pads crushed the ground, the black female was slow in pace, lost in thoughts and memories. Her gaze was distant, yet ablaze with emerald green. Her eye masked with a single scar; yet a fresh wound atop her form also. It was recent, infected. Yet the pain was minimal. As she stalked the mountains landscape, panting mildly; pink tongue peeking from dark lips, caked in pearly canines, her nostrils flickered as she licked up every scent.

Demon, as she was known as, crept along the borders like she owned the place; a legend in her own mind. A snarl rolled from the depths of her throat - there was a stone in her paw. "Curse you!" A single spit of words, gaze shifting from distance to angry. Though she had often wondered what it would be like to remain in reality, she never kept herself to it. There was too much hassle, too much pain. Her mind was safer - and a little more corrupt.

As she stopped in her steps, her nostrils flared; hackles rose. Someone was near, and though she couldn't see them, her muscles tensed. As they did so, a flinch. She had lent on her paw; the stone dug in harder. The earth trickled red. "Not another one. It's that damn puppy's fault." Her words were clearly in regards to Iah, a newcomer to the valley, yet a semi-friend nonetheless. Momentarily, the femme questioned whether it was Iah she would meet in the near future; yet the scent told her completely, it was not Iah, nor a relation. This was a stranger.

"Who's there?" A barked question, ordered and strong. Her headstrong nature was out again; never let the guard down. Iah had reminded her of that. And, in a way, she was grateful. "Come out, or I'll tear your throat out." A false threat; the stone in her paw was a restriction. She prayed it was not the Balkar. She would not die by their paws.

[Ƨγnєrgγ]

/*I'm sorry for the slight delay. I've been a bit busy, and a little unhappy with my character. But it's all clear now.*/

The words of the stranger Syn had detected filled the rocky slope as the young varg approached. First they were mumblings, some madness about a puppy. Synergy grinned. The femme's voice was unique, and her words sparkled and popped in the varg's mind. He could see them, bursts of colour, a sick brown-green at first, then growing into an orange as her tone heightened. When the tones were directed at Syn's self, they were a hot-burn yellow. Synergy suppressed a chuckle. It was a little bit exciting to have come across another varg in the space he had held as private moments before. The effect the approaching beast had on Synergy was a little shocking, jarring perhaps.

At once, the flits, twirls, crescendos, and throws of the insect inhabitants of the scree died both in pitch, and velocity. It were as if the intruder's brightly coloured words had pulled the varg up from the depths of his own trance. At once he felt silly, and was reminded of his previous encounter near the waterfall that had ended rather unsatisfactorily. Synergy steeled his voice the best he could, and returned his words to the approaching femme like a small hail of pebbles from the earth upon which he stood.

As his syllables rained upon the new guest, he could hear them himself. «You sound startled, maybe. A threat like that betrays a little fear.»

Synergy inched his muzzle first, around a large boulder obstructing his vision, and followed it with his head, tan fur brushing softly against the bare orogenic stone. The Carpathians' Mesozoic skin was cold against Synergy's own. The form of an ebon she-wolf met the young varg's auric stare. The femme, however, was several metres away from Synergy's neck, so brown paws led his form onto the stage that the two now shared.

«There,» Synergy remarked on his now-bared form, «I'm no threat to you.»

Upon further inspection of the subject below him, Synergy discovered that she appeared to be wounded. Her blind threat seemed to come into context. A fresh wound traced along one of the femme's eyes, and she favoured a paw. The thought that the beast had crept up into the mountains alone to die crossed Synergy's mind, and it amused him for a moment before he decided that her form appeared strong yet.

After a pause, azule waves danced up from Synergy's diaphragm and beyond ivory dripstone. «You are injured, I see.»

[† Demon †]

As the male swallowed her line of sight, the muscles of the puissant female relaxed a little. It was clear now that this stranger had spoken the truth; he was no more a threat than the birds that flew in the sky, or the wind that swept across her ebony pelt. She felt a little more at ease now, thus allowed her gaze to fall drearily toward her paw; she frowned. It throbbed in unison with her heartbeat, her pupils dilated from the injury. It was like a legal high, sweeping through her veins at high speeds and stealing her soul like opium's dragon. She sighed. If bothered, this black female could remove such a stone without any hassle, but as she lingered there, it was clear that the pain was some-kind of release. It was a release from thoughts of Iah; he was plaguing her mind, and though she blamed him for any event that brought misfortune atop the ebony female, this mild fix of pain removed such thoughts momentarily.

"Yes," she muttered sourly toward the male, "it would appear I am." To Demon, this was not how things were supposed to go. Though her hatred for the Balkar wolves was strong, when she had lingered in their pack as a cub, hidden gender and hidden future, she had learned a great many things that she could not rid herself of. She, like them, believed that weakness was not an option; the stone was a weakness, thus there lay the problem. She was in two minds. Keep the weakness and enjoy the fix, or remove the weakness and thrive off your ability to send fear into the weak and useless. She was undecided, thus continued conversation with the stranger until her mind chose its path.

"I see you noticed my scar," It was blunt, her tone sharp and in-your-face. She smiled, reveling in the fact she had noticed his gaze slip upon it and away from it, though it was obvious he would look. They all look; wonder about its history, and whether it was deserved. She licked her maw casually, her tassel flicking side-to-side; she was relaxing well now. "It was made by a wolf named Shatocwnn." The name was spat out; eyes winced, that was pure hatred. "We didn't get along much." She scoffed at her own words. That was an understatement; yet in her mind it threw enough scraps for the stranger to feed on for a while. No awkward questions meant no awkward situations. She was in no mood to repeat that feeling today.

"And the reason I'm home to an infected fresh wound," she continued, her words more breathed than spoken; charismatic and calm, "..Iah." It then occurred to her, she had not given this stranger her name, nor asked his. She would tell him eventually; if he asked. She wasn't as forward on this day, the high was too great.