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Her pink tongue flicked much like a snake, it was a bad habit. Her ears flicked back and forth, just like the prey she would hunt. With each movement she felt the movement of her muscles, too aware of her body to not. Her head was pointed to the ground, her eyes darting about, aware of every movement. She stepped lightly on the bluebell filled meadow, knowing what was ahead.
Then as quickly and fluid as her movements were she stopped. Her head fell to the ground and then slowly he body followed in unison. Her claws dug deep into the soft soil as she began to creep forward. The little nibbling of the rabbits in the distance rang out in her ears. She felt her blood pressure swell as she grew with anticipation.
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Her ears strained, hoping to pick up on another wolf. She had isolated herself last night after the subject of her father came up. Sometimes other members would come look for her but never find her. Not many wolves knew of 'her' stream, other then Bane and a few others. The white wolf was actually slowly making her way back to the pack, allowing herself to get distracted by every sound so she could take her time. Taking in a slow breath through her nose, she left it out in a puff though her mouth. Time to start off again.
Larka wasn't far off from the others, and could hear them. It was almost funny how she could pick out where each wolf was just by their distinctive bark, or a soft whine. Starting off again, she took careful steps to avoid making any noise. The other wolves knew she was coming back, but she liked to surprise them at least a little. Her eyes were alluring but soft, giving off a warm yet slightly flirty feeling. Suddenly she stopped as she spotted a large rabbit in the distance. Her muscles coiling, she went down into a crouch.
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She turned her attention back to Larka. The female had showed up a while ago, and had taken a liking to Bane. Something Wyote didn't like. "Hello," She said softly as she approached the female. Her body stiffened, although she had attempted to relax it. She couldn't help but feel tense when she was around females she didn't like. She was terribly protective over her brother, knowing he would make some stupid decision when it came to the female he chose to help carry on the genetics of Gawain, and their family.
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Bane had no particular destination in mind, no purpose for his brisk walk through the woods. He didn't need one. His nightly walks were a time to think, to breathe and be alone. Slowing his pace, he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as cool air filled his lungs. How good it felt, how pure and fresh and clean. He stopped now, pausing in the midst of a dense grove of pine, relaxing as the scent of earthy moss and minty pine swam in his nostrils. He was perfectly still, yet completely at ease, every muscle gone slack. To do this, to calm yourself so completely, is a difficult task, for your instincts often fight you, force you to remain tense and alert. But Bane, who was plenty tense and alert 99% of the time, found it easy to open himself to the forest, expose himself to the cool air and leafy trees, the branches spread like open arms.
Opening his eyes, he looked around, his muscles returning to their ready state. Again he began to walk, nostrils widening as he scented the air, seeking pack members. Two wolves, not far off. His sister, Wyote, and Larka, a new pack member. He headed towards them, the two faes on his mind. He knew Larka had taken a liking to him, but he wasn't sure why. He was a perfectly likable wolf, and a good leader, but as his sister often told him, not a particularly desirable mate.
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She trotted forward now, long legs carrying her through the thick underbrush. She wasn't sure how long she'd been travelling, but it seemed an eternity, and her paws ached despite the thick blanket of pine needles covering the forest floor. Five more minutes, five more and she would find a place to rest.
Five minutes passed, and she paused again, prepared to smell nothing but trees. But this time, as she tilted her nose skywards, the scent of water- water and wolf, filled her nostrils. Male wolf. Alpha wolf. Lyra leapt forward, stopping herself a moment later. She felt her confidence faltering, uncertainty taking over. After taking a brief moment to weigh her options, Lyra decided to continue forward. Hesitant at first, she slowly increased her pace, legs extending further with each stride. As she grew closer, the sound of running water reached her ears, and the scent of wolf grew stronger.
And then, she was upon it. The trees thinned and the stream became visible through the branches, a ribbon of silver in the moonlight. A single wolf crouched at its edge, fully alert, and Lyra paused once more, bracing her paws in the moist ground. There was no point in waiting; he must know of her presence. Before she could lose her courage entirely, Lyra emerged from the trees, walking slowly and deliberately from the shelter of the forest. Suprisingly, she felt confident, exposing herself like this, as if she had just removed a heavy armor shielding herself from the world. Careful not to let her confidence overcome her, she kept her head level and left her tail low, showing no sign of arrogance as she approached the male.
"Hello," she said, her voice level. Some ten yards from the wolf, she paused, deciding she'd come close enough. She remained standing, ready to run if things took a turn for the worse.
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He sniffled a bit as he looked about. The sun was just setting, or the sun was just rising, depending on the type of person you are. But the silence was interrupted first by the padding of a wolf, female if his senses were not failing him. He lifted his head, adjusting his nose levels and drew in. Aw, yes a female it was. Lyra appeared a moment later as Clutch watched. His claws sunk into the sand as he watched the female. Little interest showed in his eyes, but he was all too receptive of every move, every breath she took.
“Hello,” Clutch answered back before turning and padding toward the water. He waded in a bit again, it was a terrible habit of his, causing pain to himself. Self-mutilation is what one would call it, but he just knew he needed it. He felt his pain being washed away by the water, replaced by the biting ice shards in the flowing water. “What can I do for you,” He asked gingerly, his tone never taking on the crazy, bitter side most had come to know.
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Her eyes were a mix of kind and wariness. She knew the Fae wasn't particularly fond of her, but tried to ignore that little detail. Her rabbit had quickly hopped away, and Larka didn't seem to notice. She stood there for a few moments, fur bristled, eyes seeming indecisive before she relaxed. "I was just on my way back to the others." Larka's soft voice was like a gentle stream, but something seemed just slightly off. Just slightly. Her mostly-white coat and deep blue eyes stood out against dark, making her hard to miss.
When she heard Bane coming, her ears perked up and she looked at were she knew he would be coming out of the forest from. "Hello, Bane." Her smooth voice had gone down a few octaves, without her noticing. Some thought of him as in 'undesirable' mate, but that was what most wolves liked about her. She was so accepting. She knew wolves had their weaknesses, but she overlooked them so easily. Her tense muscles relaxed on their own, without her command. Her eyes got a peaceful, slightly flirty look. She suddenly seemed to be pulled back to reality as she looked at Wyote.
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Now would be the time to ask him...ask to join the pack. But was that what she wanted? It must be. Why else would she have searched the forest, secretly hoping to catch scent of a wolf? Yes, this was what she sought: a pack. A family. Stock still, she stood, the only movement that of her fur ruffling in a quiet breeze. It took only a moment for her to respond, but seemed an eternity, her moment of indecision stretching into infinity. "I'm looking to a join a pack," she said. The voice didn't sound like her own, and she paused, tasting her next words on her tongue. "Am I welcome here?"
Not a particularly direct question, but it was the best she could do. She willed herself to remain still, though she yearned to move, to run, to splash into the stream before her. To run was her instinct, her impulse, but she stayed-- stayed and waited.
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“Close your mouth, Larka. Gawking is a very undesirable trait,” Wyote snapped at the female. She hated any female who took a liking to her brother. Her protective side wanting to handle the situation quickly, but knowing her brother would highly disapprove. She looked toward Bane, her eyes seemingly looking through the male. But she studied the male with a very critical eye. She hmph’ed as she moved away from the two. Her eyes spilled all her secrets to her brother, her discomfort with him being close to any female. She knew it would only distract him from his duty.
She drew in a breath as she moved away from the two. Settling down beside an old pine tree and watched them. She would not let them go unsupervised, she may be the younger of the wolves, but she wasn’t going to let her brother make some mistake. Her lip quivered as she held back the snarl she wanted to let erupt into the forest and into the face of Larka.
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"Hello, Larka. Hello, Wyote," he said, his voice low and even. He spoke with a certain authority, a firmness that, while not unkind, commanded respect. Larka, he noticed, was watching him, eyeing him with those unique, if not unusual, eyes of hers. Self concious, he shifted his weight and averted his eyes, turning his eyes on Wyote. It was new for him, this being liked, and confident and orderly as he was, he couldn't help but feel a bit awkward. Looking to his sister was almost reassuring, her ready stance and pointed stare.
Wyote's tensed muscles communicated an obvious dislike for Larka, and he looked slowly from one fae to the other, guessing his sister's thoughts. Their relationship was complicated, as are mostly sibling relations, but theirs was exceedingly so. Though she had chosen to join the Gawain pack, and therefore live under his leadership, he felt she didn't trust him, which, though it shouldn't have bothered him, was somewhat unnerving. She was particularly critical when it came to females, apparently suspecting he would make some rash decision when choosing a mate. But she need not worry, for he was wary of the game of love, and had no plans in rushing into a courtship.
He winced as Wyote turned on Larka, snapping at the fae, and shot his sister look, his eyes communicating disapproval. He was a grown wolf, perfectly capable of making his own decisions, and didn't need Wyote's protection, especially if she was going to offer it so rudely.
He returned her stare with one of his own, daring Wyote to make another remark. Though not confrontational, he did demand respect, and he considered Wyote's words disrespectful to both Larka and himself. He watched as his sister, clearly put off, stalked off, seating herself beside and aged pine. Shaking his head, he turned back to Larka, offering an apology. "Don't mind her," he said, "she's a bit...err...defensive." He sighed, looking back to his sulking sister, and seated himself before Larka, curling his tail about his feat. "She doesn't realize," he said, raising his voice to ensure Wyote heard, "that I don't need her protection." He knew he was only angering Wyote further, speaking like this, but he didn't care.
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“You are welcome when you prove you are worth something,” He said as he paced toward her. His head raised as he strode. It was placed quite a few inches above her, and he used this to his advantage. His eyes looked down upon the female as he watched her. His lip raised slightly as he watched her. She was not answering his question quite quickly enough, setting the already unstable wolf over the edge.
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Wyote glared at her brother as he said he didn’t need protecting. If he knew the truth behind her reasoning perhaps he wouldn’t be so harsh, but Wyote was Wyote and would let the male think what he liked. She stood up as she let out a wolf-ish sigh. “Think what you like, Bane,” She said as she gave her brother a nudge with her head before dipping under his neck and walking away toward the river.
She drew in the fresh air as if it were her last breath. And then lowered her head, letting it all out at once, watching it ripple the standing water. She lowered herself to the ground as she shifted onto her side. Her muzzle dipped lazily in the water as she watched the sun rise over the tops of the mountains.
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When she was forced into one, it wasn't a pretty sight. Although looking fragile and feeble, she packed a punch. Only a few of wolves had actually seen her be forced into fighting.
Lying down and stretching out her lean body, she looked up at Bane. "Your her brother. She probably just doesn't want anything happening to you."
Her white tail flicked like a cat's as she spoke softly to the alpha. Her eyes fell to the ground again, and it seeming like she was trying to figure something out. Her alluring eyes seemed slightly sharper as she gazed off for a few moments.
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Her confidence was fading, losing a battle to self doubt, and she stiffened further, claws sinking into the damp mud of the river bank. She didn't belong here, this young fae blown in from some distant desert. Her long, leggy build and angular features were a sharp contrast to that of the wolf before her, a hulking beast whose keen gaze had begun to wear on cautious Lyra. The wolf spoke, his tone accusing. And what exactly do you provide for my pack? His critical words, sharp and cutting, struck a chord in Lyra, and she bristled, hackles raising. She wasn't worthless, and she would prove it with her dying breath, if need be.
She watched him approach, swallowing the growl rising in her throat. The brute, who was already several inches taller than she, had raised his head, his body language announcing him as her superior. She knew he was waiting for an answer, waiting to catch her off guard. Silent as the grave she stood, watching as his lip curled back, a snarl ready on his snake-like tongue. A part of her hoped he would snap, would lunge forward. It would be so deliciously satisfying to see him lose control, to watch as the powerful, oh-so-clever wolf disintegrated into a wild beast.
Now ready to answer, Lyra shifted her gaze from the wolf's drawn lips to his piercing eyes, her own eyes luminous in the fading moonlight. "What do I offer you? Patience. Control. Reason. My judgement is not clouded by past history, for I have none here, and rarely do I let my emotions get the best of me," Lyra answered, her voice slow and measured. The last part, perhaps her entire answer, was fabricated, her reply used as a chance to further antagonize the Alpha, who had lost some of his authority when Lyra prolonged her answer. Not a wise move, but Lyra's competitive nature had clearly gotten the best of her. She stood now, ready to face her fate (which, at the moment, wasn't looking particularly promising), fairly certain of what the wolf's response would be.
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Mating, especially in the case of an Alpha or Beta, often had nothing to do with love. The female (or male) needed to be a strong, capable leader, someone could direct and discipline a pack. Wolves would have no respect for weak Alpha Female and would, as a result, begin to doubt their Alpha's judgement. Bane could not afford to have the pack's allegiance waver, for wolves were easily manipulated by the scheming Clutch. And if Bane were to father the wrong female's pups, then the future of Gawain would be doomed. For what would become of the pack when Bane and his mate (and Wyote) passed? Their descendants would rule (Bane's before Wyote's), and the lands would soon be lost to Abysol, a pack whose next generation would be as strong as the first. No doubt Clutch, if he ever found a mate, would choose not for love, but for wit and breeding, selecting a purebred with the same cunning as himself.
Wyote's approach snapped Bane from his thoughts, and he caught her last, cautionary words as she brushed past, the fur of her back tickling his throat as she dipped under him. He watched her go, her small frame disappearing amongst the trees, and turned to Larka, who'd since stretched herself out on the ground. "I just wish she'd trust me more," he said softly, shaking his head. The waning moonlight filtering through the thick pines created an intricate pattern on the two wolves, a web of light and shadows, and Bane raised a paw, watching how the lacy light moved over his fur. "She's always been like this," he continued, "ever since I can remember." He sighed dismissively, tilting his head skywards. The inky dark of night was fading, a rosy pinkess mingling with the inky blues. "The sun'll be up soon," he said, changing the subject, "have you eaten recently?"
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His neck bent awkwardly as he looked at her. His eyes breaking her apart, decoding every subtle hint she gave. Her stiffening, he took as a sign of doubt, and the way she spoke to him, covering up uncertainty. He couldn’t help but crack a smile as she spit out what should have been stinging words. His ears darted forwards and he raised his own hackled as he paced back towards her. “What is your name, female,” He asked, his tone splitting, taking a condescending way. He took a step back, as he looked around his forest.
His mind was hell bent on sending this female over the edge. Some would call it a test, others would just point out how awfully screwed up he was. His mind was lost for a moment, watching as the birds fluttered in the air. They fought over nests, their territory. In his mind he owned every organism that stepped, grew, or flew onto his land. His tongue snaked out once more as he turned back around, awaiting his answer. His tail hung limply at his back end, simply from shear boredom. He found this female everything but threatening, and even in a cruel, sadistic way a bit attractive. Simply because she was what one would consider somewhat of a spitfire, something Clutch actually liked, go figure.
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Back he came, moving with the same rapid fluidity as before, like water tumbling over rocks. He moved more like a snake than a wolf, his movement as quick and dangerous as a viper's strike. He questioned, or rather demanded, her name, emphasizing her lower rank. "Lyra," she said, her eyes tracking the wolf. She didn't think it appropriate to ask Alpha his own name, but then, their meeting had hardly followed pack standards. "And you, Alpha?" she questioned. "What is your name?" Her previous mockery had had no effect on him, and she chose this time to maintain her level, measured speech, refraining from mimicking his patronizing tone.
His gaze left her, and Lyra, inwardly relieved to have the attention off of herself (if only briefly), followed his eyes to the treetops. The trees here were so different from the short, scrubby ones back at home. Here the trees towered, their great green limbs piercing the sky. She could've looked at them forever, but all too soon she felt the Alpha's glare on her once more, and she pried her gaze from the forest, giving a curt nod to acknowledge his stare. Secretly, Lyra had begun to enjoy their meeting, this strange game to which she had not yet learned the rules. The brute, she knew, was impossible to decode in a single meeting, and she hoped to be accepted, if only to further study his bizarre take on leadership. What had made him this way? Why was there such darkness in him?
Lyra had always liked competition, pushing herself to the limit. So far, the brute's verbal abuse had proved to be a difficult, but bearable, mental test. If accepted, she knew tensions would be high, and that wolves would be, in some cases, pitted against each other. It was a way to shine, to prove herself in a way she'd never been able. So, on the most superficial of levels, Lyra actually liked this twisted brute.
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“Lyra,” He said simply, testing the name out on his tongue. He shook his head, drawing in a yawn. His eyes darted from the ground up to Lyra’s face. So suddenly it startled him for a moment. “Clutch,” He said, giving the female some answer. She had stuck around this long, he figured she deserved something. “Do you like the taste of blood,” He asked outright. His eyes once again taking on the edge of being judgmental.
“Some wolves enjoy the taste of a kill,” He said as he brought his head up fully to look at her. “They enjoy the taste of the adrenaline that flowed through the animals body before they were killed. The bitter taste,” He ended his statement before looking back to search her eyes. He was sure he would find a stunned look, she didn’t seem like a wolf to truly take the pleasure of death to any extent.
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