Cold and Alone (Open to All)

[Ayame]

The harsh frigid air ruffled the downy pelt of the ebon fae, as she descended down the icy, rocky mountainside. Her coat was the color of the darkest onyx you could ever find, her orbs pierced through the darkness, almost as if the fiery red was aflame itself. The only marking on her pelt was that of scar on her neck down to her shoulder left by the Drappa of Deor, a fight she would never forget. Slowly and steadily she continued down the mountain searching for any form of life of the great varg. Her own packlands, those high in the mountains where few dared to travel especially in the dead of winter, seemed almost abandoned. She hadn’t seen her pack in quite some time, a weak scent of them passed through her nostrils from time to time but for the most part she was alone. Ayame missed them even if at times they seemed to hate her; she knew it was because she was an outsider. List never took lightly to outsiders, in fact the only reason she was even part of the pack was because of the icy Dragga raised her from a pup outside of List territory. If it weren’t for Sudak, she would still be a kerl…or worse, dead.

The snow crunched under her large paws, tiny pellets of ice clung to her fur. Soon she reached a plateau, standing there silently she lifted her nose to the air, her cold wet black nose twitched back and forth trying to pick of any scent of another varg…nothing. She hung her head down and sighed is disgust, “I can’t possibly be the last one in all of Transylvania…” her voice trailed off being carried by the cold wind. Ayame traveled a little further coming to the edge of what once was a flowing waterfall and lake, now it was frozen solid, even the rushing waterfall itself only had very little dripping from the formed icicles. The ebon fae was in luck today, however, the sun was shinning bright, which had melted the very edge of the lake just enough so she could have a drink. Her sharp claws dug at the edge causing chunks to break off, her pitch-black lips parted as her soft pink tongue lapped the icy cold water. She licked her lips to clean her muzzle from the tiny bit of dirt that had attached it self to her whiskers as she drank.

Ayame held her head high was again, her fiery hues scanning the terrain. In the distance she noticed a large pine tree, a yawn escaped her maw and she decided it was time for a nap, it had been a long journey down the mountain and she needed to refresh herself before she continued her travels. She reached the tree and started to paw at the frozen ground scrapping up the soft pine needles to make her self a bed. She circled around and plopped to the ground, dust and dirt made a cloud as her heavy body hit the ground. She curled up and placed her cold nose under her fluffy warm tail, her eyes darted back and forth taking one last look around before they slowly fluttered closed….

[Grell]

(hope you don't mind... Grell lives here )

The young, gray wolf was trotting down a narrow goat path. It twisted like a snowy snake through the thick, white wood, but it was easy enough to follow and the Kerl was making good time. Occasionally, he had to stop and shake his bushy winter pelt, sloughing the ice that clung to his fur; or, more rarely, he paused and lifted his strong muzzle to ponder over some old and distant scent.

He met no one, which was just as well because Grell didn't know what he'd say to someone if he had. He saw no other Lera either, which was far more disappointing, because he knew exactly what he'd do with a large variety of them. A rabbit, a wild goat, some sheep, Herla of any kind, even a boar - so long as it let him kill it. Anything to be rid of this gnawing in his gut, this emptiness in his belly! There was a great hollow space inside him where even the smallest, scrawniest hare would be tremendously welcomed.

'No,' he thought with a soft growl. Thinking about it would only make him hungrier. He had to focus on getting home, to his comfortable little den and out of this arctic weather. The icy air seared his lungs and stung his eyes. It made him wish his thick coat was at least ten times thicker. This weather, in addition to the past few days of fruitless hunting, had made him weak and weary. All Grell wanted to do was curl up and fall into a deep, deep sleep. He was close, but there was still a bit more traveling to do yet. He laid it out in his mind's eye: a few more twists and turns in the wood, and then he would come to the lake. He would follow its shoreline just past the frozen waterfall to a sheltered slope pitted with rocky outcrops, where his beloved cave lay waiting.

He didn't notice the she-wolf until he was almost on top of her. Her sudden appearance was so unexpected - and so terrifying - that Grell found himself face down in a mound of snow with his ears clamped firmly to his head and his tail tucked between his legs. It took him a moment to gather the strength to peek up at her.

She was all swarthy black, but clad in a sort of frosty armor from the cold. He'd never seen her before - and he was sure he would have noticed a new wolf lingering around his home. She must be a traveling scoundrel, a vagabond, or a gypsy. Whatever or whoever she was, he could see that she was awfully exposed, despite the fact that she had curled up beneath a tree. He felt a little worried for her, even though he was still shaking with fright.

But then he was forced to do a double take - that mark on her shoulder. It was impressive!… And intimidating. She was certainly one of those great warriors he heard about in stories. One who fought off dragons and monsters, traveled miles through bewitching countries, and had romantic duels with distant strangers. Right?

Grell wondered if it bothered her in this cold.

But it puzzled him immensely, too. What was she doing out here with such a painful-looking scar? Surely a warrior of her status, even just a passing Kerl, would have found more suitable shelter elsewhere. 'Is she dead?' Grell wondered while he took a few cautious steps forward. His ears were up and his tail was straight out. He approached cautiously, figuring he'd be damned if this stranger took him by surprise a second time.

Grell growled softly, doing his best to sound authoritative and strong… "He-hello?" Even as he said it, he grimaced. So much for that idea. His neglected voice was squeaky and tight - nothing even remotely befitting an able-bodied warrior.

[Ayame]

The ebon fae’s eyes had not closed but a moment before the dreams started to flow. First she saw her icy Dragga, his stone cold blue hues looking down on her as a pup, how he raised her and took her in as his own. Her dream then fast-forwarded to being accepted into the List pack, though she never really felt accepted. Back in the real world her body’s actions reflected her dreams, Ayame would huff and puff or whine and whimper as her dreams turned from good to worse. Her dreams didn’t last long as her auds perked as she heard a commotion, a low growl rumbled from deep in her throat as she slightly opened her eyes, her fiery hues piercing into the snow and the grey wolf before her. Her hackles rose and her tail flicked back and forth though she never raised her head, she just continued to growl. When she heard his soft growl she immediately rose to her paws, her hackles still high her head lowered for any attack that might come, unfortunately though she was looking for other vargs, she knew that not all that she might meet would be friendly.

Ayame’s growl and snarl disappeared, her hackles lowered and her whole body relaxed as she heard the mann’s voice say hello. She smiled a little letting her ivory white points of her fangs show slightly as she shook the debris from her onyx pelt. She sat back resting on her haunches, ”Hello” her voice solid and firm, not wavering. The fae tilted her head slightly, trying to take in the stranger, she inhaled deeply her nose twitching back and forth, the mann carried no scent of any pack though since packs had been so scarce that wasn’t certain. She looked at him again, into his golden hues, “My name is Ayame of the great Listern pack from high in the mountains. I have traveled down to find any form of life, varg or lera and you are the first that I have come across. Tell me mann, what is your name?” She was still on alert, with the varg now knowing her name and where she belonged if he was from an enemy pack there could be a fight though she doubted it, for his whole demeanor read sikla, but still she had to be prepared. Nonetheless friend or foe she was glad to find another varg, that meant there was still hope in finding her pack.

The fae stood as she waited for the mann’s answer. Since she was asleep the winds had picked up and the layer of clouds above had started to drops snowflakes from the heavens. Though she was under the large pine branches of the tree the flakes still managed to fall on her ebon downy pelt. As the snow hit her fur they began to melt, she shook again sending the melting flakes from her pelt. ”It seems another winter storm is coming, and it may be too hard for me to return to the mountains from which I came….” She wondered if the stranger knew of any shelter near by that she could seek cover in until the storm had passed.

[Grell]

She rose from her slumber like a bear out of hibernation. Grell fell back, too stunned and frightened to cry out. So much for trying to remain calm. His bushy ears slicked back and his tail curled itself between his legs as if trying to hide.

Right. Warriors were authoritative and strong. Grell was better off running away.

He closed his eyes tightly, waiting for his eminent demise. But when he didn't feel teeth latch around his neck or claws tear into his flesh, Grell cautiously opened one eye. The black drappa was shaking out her coat. Her teeth were sheathed - more or less - and she had stopped growling ferociously at him. Had her attack ceased the moment she realized he was not a threat? If only he could be this lucky in other sticky situations!

"Oh, I'm Grell," he replied hesitantly after she introduced herself. "I, uh, I don't have a pack. But I do live here…" He gave her a sidelong glance. 'So don't think you can claim these woods,' he thought. Although, knowing Fenris and the god's penchant for making him suffer, Grell would undoubtedly be letting Ayame walk right into his den as if she owned the place.

"It seems another winter storm is coming..."

"Hm? A storm?" Grell glanced into the sky, which was growing overcast with thick gray clouds. He could smell the coming snow on the wind as surely as he could smell Ayame sitting right next to him, and the idea of more cold weather made him shiver. 'And she won't be able to make it home, she says... You must think this is dreadfully funny.' He scowled up at the sun, which was quickly disappearing behind a gauzy gray veil.

"I have a den nearby. You're welcome to stay until the storm clears if you'd like," he replied softly after a moment. His words dragged out like tiny hostages. Of course Grell would invite her to his den as if she owned it. Fenris would see it no other way.

He began trotting down the serpentine path yet again. They were right on the edge of the wood, as it were, and immediately he came upon the very shore Ayame had traveled upon earlier. With a sideways glance, he began following her old trail toward the waterfall.

But the silence was a little uncomfortable as he traveled, and since his den was still a small distance away, he said hesitantly: "It is strange that the woods are so quiet lately. It's as if the free wolves have suddenly disappeared... Why do you think that is? Surely we're not the only two left." His heart pounded a little heavily as he thought of one particular Varg he hoped hadn't disappeared. Although he hadn't seen her in what felt like forever, Grell was convinced Linnaea had not vanished. She was just... satiating her wanderlust. He hoped.

[Arthfael]

(OOC: Please forgive a small intrusion, also, I'm going to try and likely fail at trying to write the Scots accent I invisioned Art with)

'Have I been lied to?'

The thought carried little weight except that of despair. A full year in the lands of Transylvania, and he had never felt further from finding what he sought. The land seemed to be void of life, except that of the occasional prey, and seeing as the Herla had little to say in the way of conversation...

No, what Arthfael was looking for was a family. The brute heaved a sigh that clouded him the mist of his own warm breathe before deciding on a course of action.

Hardly a scent of Varg anywhere. Where had they all gone? He was new to the lands beyond the forest, but all he had met since his arrival had sent him onward with promises of packs who might take him as a member and serve to forget...

Forgetting was difficult when the shadows of one's past seems to follow him. A shadow appear to his left but he ignored it. He was used to the return and dogged stalking of his brother's fetch.

"I dinna need to hear it the noo," he told it quietly in his husky baritone. "Ye leave me, Rian."

The uncommonly large Varg was running before he had even decided on it, his thoughts turned inward. He was unusual in his looks as well as size. It looked almost as though an artist had taken his darkest black and painted it from the top of his muzzle to his tail, and let it run down his sides until it was no more. Black on his back, silver on his sides, white on his tender underside. His bushy fur seemed to add to his great size, making him seem as much an adolescent bear as a wolf in his third year. His green eyes did not seem to see until he reached a hilltop from which he could espy a stand of pine trees.

It was then that he also noted the cloud cover and the scent of coming snow on the air. Although shelter wasn't a necessity for one with such dense covering, Art welcomed the thought of being contained within the grips of a thick wood, or a cave. He altered his course slightly, noting that the shadow on his left followed. It was but a ghost. He doubted anyone else could see it, yet he absorbed himself in wondering when it would leave him be.

Suddenly a strong scent of wolf assailed his olfactory senses. Fool that he was, he had trotted right into the company of two Varg without even noticing. At first he panicked, backing as though ready to bolt, then settled when he managed to settle his beating heart. He could not yet speak past his astonishment at his own folly, so he waited for a judgement to befall him from the company he stood in.

[Ayame]

//OOC: I do apologize for not getting a post up sooner, time just got away from me with University. I promise I'll try to be faster with responses. Sorry //

The ebon fae had to chuckle to herself, this so called Grell, was a kerl and seemed very comical at that. She had no intention of hurting him or even attempting to. Kerls are those without packs so why would she unless he challenged her. The arctic wind once again sliced through the air ruffling her coat forcing her to hide her crimson glare. Shaking the frigid cold from her coat she looked again at the mann,

“Hello Grell, it is a pleasure to meet you. You are very lucky to call this place home, it holds such beauty even in this hellish winter time.”

As she mentioned the storm, she could see thoughts racing through his mind, she was sure that this kerl didn’t know whether he could trust her. Ayame didn’t blame him though, if Grell knew anything about the packs of Transylvania he would surely know that List wasn’t a pack to reckon with. Seeing as she hasn’t seen the rest of her pack in some time, however, this mann had nothing to worry about, she might as well be a kerl herself. Her auds perked as he mentioned he had a cave and invited her in until the storm had passed; she bowed her head a little to him,

“Thank you Grell, that is very kind of you. I don’t know many who would offer such a blessing to me. “

She rose to her large paws, bowing down she stretched out, her claws attempting to dig into the frozen ground. A low growl emitted from her throat, though not one of warning or caution, but rather one you would here from a tired varg. Ayame started to follow the kerl down a twisted and winding pathway towards his home, she sighed heavily and looked down briefly as she heard his next question,

“I wish I knew the answer to that question dear Grell, for even my tight knit pack has seemed to disappear. Even the big bad Balkar and my enemy packs have vanished in what seems to be thin air…”

The midnight fae stopped abruptly in mid sentence, her tail rose and her body became stiff, the scent of a stranger immediately entered her senses and not a moment later there stood a large mann. Another growl left her throat but this time of warning. Too many times had she been ambushed and fought for her to just accept any varg, she needed to feel him out. She looked to Grell for a second to see if they knew each other then returned her fiery stare to the stranger….

[Grell]

(no worries, Ayame and i rather liked Art's accent!)

EDIT: seems Arthfael has left TS... should we continue on as if he never joined, or powerplay him leaving? nevermind (:

"It is beautiful," Grell agreed softly as he looked about in reverie. He missed the warmer days of his youth when there was another beautiful creature accompanying him in this place. But the snowy woods were also quite lovely, despite the coming storm. He broke his absentminded daydreaming when his swarthy guest bowed her head a small degree and thanked him for his hospitality. Grell felt his cheeks grow warm. "Oh, well, you're welcome," he replied bashfully.

Together they traveled toward his den, discussing the disappearance of the Varg. Grell felt relieved to hear that the most notorious and dangerous pack - the Balkar - had seemingly vanished as well. And while he was hardly concerned for the wolves who had disappeared, he was terribly curious as to why. Ayame had no answers to offer him, but Grell was suddenly wondering if humans were somehow to blame. He avoided them easily enough, but a larger pack might have more trouble hiding from them. 'Or perhaps the gods are angry with the Free Varg, and have done away with the packs?'

Before Grell could ask his question aloud, another wolf - a dragga this time - suddenly appeared before him. Grell yelped and jumped back in surprise, his yellow eyes as round as harvest moons. He and Ayame shared a glance as they both checked to see if the other was acquainted with this stranger. Apparently not. While the ebony warrioress prepared to face an attack, Grell shrank back and prepared to run away.

Fortunately, the black-striped stranger seemed to be as equally cautious about them as they were of him. Grell finally mustered the courage to tentatively sniff the air and step forward. "Who… who are you?" he asked suspiciously. It would be odd if this stranger was a Night Hunter, considering Ayame had only just mentioned them, but it would be just his luck to meet one now.

[Arthfael]

((OOC: I'll wrap up this thread with you guys before disappearing for good. Don't wanna leave ya hanging.))

Arthfael braced himself as the fae seemed ready to attack. This had absolutely to be the most foolish thing he had ever done, to blunder into the company of other wolves so foolishly. A flicker drew his attention to his left, where he noticed the fetch of his brother chuckling as though thoroughly amused by this turn of events. Were it not for the obviously aggressive female before him, he would have snarled at the spectre, but seeing as neither the mann nor the ebon fae would know of Rian, he decided to ignore him. Turning to the mann, Arthfael judged him the less aggressive of the two, and therefore the better to address.

"Ah am Arthfael," he said, gentling his gruff baritone to further demonstrate his amiable intentions. "Ah mean ye no harm, Ah wis fool enough to stumble upon ye both by accident."

He looked from one to the other, green eyes racing with the thoughts behind them, worrying if he was in danger of attack. He was confident enough in his great size, but he would rather not have to fight. Quickly, he lowered his tail and attempted to look smaller than he actually was in a show of harmlessness. The smaller looked frightened by him, the female also, though she demonstrated it with aggression.

"Ah mean ye no harm," he repeated. "Ah'm but a lonesome traveller at the mercy o' the storm as Ah'm sure ye both are as well."

It hurt the mann's pride to be so submissive, toward any Varg, not just these two. Once again he felt himself at their mercy, and he looked toward the ghost of his brother for comfort, but the fetch had disappeared. Chastened and feeling as though he had been abandoned, the brute dropped his head and looked at his paws, waiting to see if his life were in jeopardy or not.