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Neutral
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(You're all good! I'm happy you're back!) The rumbles of Nezera’s words swung in the humid atmosphere, each syllable etched sharply like claw patterns against the cavern walls. Hart bode where he was, a hulking shadow unruffled by her sudden tone. His gaze glimmered faintly with something indistinct -- humour, perhaps, or intrigue; it was hard to tell. ' Nezera, ' he regurgitated, testing out the name, rolling it over his tongue as though he might pluck some secret from its syllables. ' Ah, Nezera... a name with the bite of cold wind and the grace of morning frost. Fitting, isn't it? For one so keen to fend off her solitude. ' His head tilted barely, his tone alighting somewhere between reverence and amusement, though there was no mistaking the odd rhythm of his words -- disjointed and deliberate like a tune only he could hear. At her accusation, the faintest twinge ran through his jaw, and for a moment, he stilled utterly. Then his head tipped back, and a guttural chuckle rasped its way free from his throat, a sound like dry leaves caught in a breeze. ' Infringe? ' he reverberated, as though the word itself were some cipher carved into bone. ' No, no -- never. I don’t infringe, little sparrow. I… investigate, perhaps. Linger, occasionally. Wander -- oh, quite often. But infringe? That would require intent far greater than my aimless little heart could conjure. ' He leaned forward narrowly, his claws flexing idly against the stone, leaving faint trails in the grit. ' And yet… you’ve scented me, have you? Traced me like a thread through your borders, tangled me in the fabric of your land. Curious, isn’t it, how the paths we walk -- though separate -- seem to stitch together, knot by knot? But forgive me. A peculiar habit of mine, weaving riddles where plain speech would do. A tick, you might call it. A folly. ' His mouth quirked then, a bizarre, self-aware gesture that didn’t quite meet his eyes. At her mention of competition, Hart’s lobes wriggled faintly, though his posture remained that of a creature utterly at ease. ' Competition, ' he murmured. ' That is what you see when you look at me? Oh, Nezera… I am no hunter of streams or prey, no challenger for dominion over roots and rocks. Yours is a realm I could not hope to command. ' His voice dipped into something softer, nearly wistful. ' And yet, here I am, ' he added after a pause, his tone lifting again to a fractured shard of lightness. ' Still standing, as you say. Still harbouring my scent through this little corner of the storm. ' And outside, the tempest had buffered now, its fury retreating to the edges of the horizon. Warbles of birds lilted in the distance, tentative but persistent. Hart shifted then, his great bulk moving with a liquid ease as he rose to his paws. For a moment, he stood there in the dim light, his presence vast but somehow… unfinished, as though he were more shadow than flesh. ' You speak of nerves struck and borders crossed, ' he murmured, his voice low, almost considerate. ' But I wonder, Nezera… isn’t it a peculiar thing, how the earth gathers us together despite our protests? A storm rages, and here we are, wolves beneath the same stone. Foes by nature, perhaps, but by circumstance... ' He let the sentence trail off, a loose thread left for her to pull if she chose. And then, far in the distance, the sound of wolves howling rose -- a mournful, haunting symphony that cut through the sweltering ambiance like the edge of a blade. Hart’s ears tugged, his head turning sharply toward the sound. For the first time, his composure cracked, just slightly; his gaze darkened, and something flickered there, quick and fleeting as lightning. He exhaled a long breath that seemed to carry the weight of some unspoken thought. ' Ah, ' he said at last, his voice quieter now, though still threaded with that peculiar cadence. ' The song of the many. A melody I’ve long since forgotten how to sing. ' He glanced back at Nezera, his expression unreadable. ' I fear... we are not alone. ' |
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Neutral
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Her first reaction was to bristle at his words, his blatant dismissal of her fears. The riddled sentences, carrying far more complexity than necessary left her still, though, her mind racing to connect his phrases. Where she would normally snap a retort, effortless in delivery, she found herself silently listening to the male before her. As her brain churned to understand his words, Nezera felt her ears fall flat. In an odd, twisted way, he was correct - their paths had never crossed until now, yet she had found herself unable to ward off the foe from her territory. Given the... circumstances, she supposed they were allied, for a moment at least, as they waited out the battering storm. As he rose, her tail swished, curiosity piquing at the enigma before her. From her vantage point on the ground, he seemd so vast and yet... lacking, as if pieces of him had been chipped away. "I suppose you're correct," she murmured, head tilting as she failed to decipher him. The sound of baying wolves cut through her haze, sparking both curiosity and fear as she clambored to her feet. She noted five distinctive melodies, but knew there were more, blending into the mournful wail that echoed across the land. She looked back to Hart in time to see his expression, the slightest slip in his facade before he regained his clinically bland composure. Just enough, though, that she saw the edge of something - not quite fear, but a more primal emotion, something derranged lurking within his eyes. A weakness, then. Perhaps he was afraid of being outnumbered, or of the newcomers entirely, as she was. The male before her was the first she had seen in nearly a year, and the cacophany of howls still ringing through the cavern belonged to foes she did not know. There hadn't been a pack so close since she had claimed her stake. She began to pace, tail thrashing as her ears flattened against her skull. Fear warred with rage, creating a riotous feeling beneath her skin that begged her to run, to hunt, to fight. There were not supposed to be wolves in this area - once, it had been occupied, the distant scent of a pack bordering her own. That had been ages before she marked her land, though, nearing years since the pack had called her sanctuary home. Had they returned? Could they not stay wherever they decided to run off to? Rationally, she knew she should not charge into battle; knew she was outnumbered, and that packs were always better fed than she was. The foes would be stronger, more able-bodied, and capable of trapping her. Despite this, she ached to run, to bay her own mournful tune as she charged the newcomers. "They should not be here," she snapped, her control fraying. Disregarding her desire, she followed a more primal instinct, ducking out of the mouth of the cave. To her left, a ledge darted slightly over the entrance, and she propelled herself to its base with ease. Her haunches hit the rock with a soft thud as she sat upon it, back straight and nostrils flared. "Hart," she called, beckoning her newfound acquaintance. "I recommend you join me, if you'd like to be prepared." She didn't wait for an answer, didn't expect one as she watched the treeline. She could see the shadows, edging closer in the brush as the pack made their way towards her. The wind caught their scent, drifting towards her with leisure. She detected eight separate scents - eight wolves, then. A relatively small pack, but still formidable to her and her companion, frail as he appeared to be. The first wolf broke the treeline, slowly prowling forward as he met her eye, darting to the cave mouth below her before returning, lingering on her posture, her expression. He stalked forward silently, solo in his journey. As he drew nearer, Nezera prayed he was not ill-tempered from the storm. She didn't particularly care to die today. |
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Neutral
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Hart dwelt seated where he was, his frame mellow -- still as a shadow etched into the stone. But the lightest quiver of his lobe betrayed him, and the corners of his maw tugged into a fleeting grimace. ' Should not be here, ' he murmured, his breaths sporadic. ' And yet here they are… as though the storm spat them out to greet us. ' His voice was hushed, more to himself than her, but the weight of his words carried, cladding around the tension that filled the atmosphere. Her call to him was abrupt and practical, but he lingered. For a long moment, he didn’t move, his thoughts seemingly enmeshed in some web only he could see. Then, with a slow, deliberate effort, Hart stood. His body uncoiled with fluid grace, though he harboured himself with an air of weariness -- each measure willful, as though he bore some disregarded weight. He padded to the mouth of the grotto, pausing just before the exit. The indistinct rustling of brush and the glint of eyes in the distance betrayed the approach of their unwelcome visitors. ' Prepared, ' he repeated, his gravelly voice dribbling with a bizarre lilt. He snickered, low and dry, though the sound was hollow, tinged with something darker. ' Prepared for what, I wonder? To fight? To run? To charm the storm-wrought devils that come to our door? ' His lips parted, exposing the faintest hint of teeth -- not a snarl, but an unnatural, wry gesture that didn’t quite settle into a smile. ' They will not come for me, ' he said softly, almost absently. ' Not with fangs, not with fury. No… I will give them no reason to tear. ' Hart shifted, pulling his left forepaw slightly as though it pained him. His head dipped, lobes flattening ever so slightly as he drew closer to the cave’s entrance. The movement was subtle but unmistakable -- a limp, like some old wound had resurfaced. He breathed loudly, letting the sound hang between them as he cast her a sideways glance, his eyes twinkling with an obscure spark of mischief stifled beneath the surface. ' They’ll see a broken wolf, ' he murmured, voice low. ' a creature not worth the trouble. ' he coughed then, delicate but intentional, his figure sagging faintly as he played the role to perfection. His voice, when he spoke again, took on an almost remorseful tone. ' But perhaps… they’ll see you -- strong, proud -- and think twice. Perhaps they’ll reason themselves into leaving. Or perhaps, ' he added, with a soft snicker that rasped like brittle leaves. ' I’ll convince them their quarrel lies elsewhere. ' The first canine emerged entirely from the woodline, his frame was extensive and imposing, yet his movements measured as his gaze inspected the scene. Hart caught the brute's gaze briefly, then lowered his own with practiced ease, his posture dipping into one of submission -- just enough to be believable, yet not enough to seem pathetic. As the brute approached, Hart shifted closer to the cave’s gloom, his limp more prominent. His gaze remained lowered, his cranium tilted slightly as if in deference. When Hart finally uttered, his voice carried a faint tremor. ' Storms, ' he rasped, lifting his cranium just enough to meet the brute's gaze. ' They scatter even the strongest among us. Forgive my intrusion… the fault lies with the gale, not with intent. ' his words were prudent, purposely riddled with half-truths, spoken with the deference of a wolf who knew his place -- or at least, pretended to. |
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Neutral
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Nezera snarled slightly as Hart began to speak. He had receeded further into the mouth of the cave, and she was no longer able to see him without craning her neck. She heard him, though, the clever bastard. Where she had prepared to stand tall, defiant against the oncoming force, he pretended to submit, lowering himself to that of a frail, injured wolf seeking shelter. She decided to work with him, for the moment - if the pack lingered, she only hoped he would be able to continue the guise. "Don't mind him," she called to the now still male. "We were up the mountain when the storm came; his leg simply won't function under high winds, let alone a slippery mountain trail." The male cocked his head, eyes narrowing in confusion as he processed the scene before him. It must look utterly fascinating - Hart was surely unable to hide the slightly deranged look about him, and Nezera's tail spasmed slightly every few seconds with ill-hidden discontent. Alone, either of them would have proved an unsightly look - battle-ridden, the glint of something not quite there hiding behind a calculating gaze. Together, though, they certainly posed a contradiction. She knew the male could scent them individually, knew he would find only the faintest trace's of one upon the other. Despite this, he made no move to attack, no telltale signs of aggression affecting his features. Instead, he warily lowered his head in greeting, eyes bouncing between the two anomalies before him. "There is a bear nearby," he responded after a moment more of hesitation. "We picked up the scent of two wolves, and then a bear came out of the trees, raging at us." "Yes, she's got quite the temper, doesn't she? I suppose a mother wolf is the same when she whelps, though far less...big." Truth. This was they way she survived - truths upon truths, until she could weasel her lies in. She had lied once already, knew the male had most likely caught it, so she needed to feed him the truth until she could lie once more. "She's been terrorizing the land ever since the cubs were born. I can't do much to stop her, and neither can my friend - what with his limp affecting his walk so." A lie. She couldn't be sure that Hart had even seen the bear, despite his continued reappearance along her borders. He certainly didn't have a limp, though the way the male cast a sympathetic glance in his direction told her that he was still maintaining his faux injury - rather well, if the way the male's own paw nudged the ground was any indication. She glanced away, eyes skirting the treeline as four other wolves began to emerge. They showed no indication of anger, the male before her still calmly chattering away, but her body tensed regardless. They shouldn't be here, shouldn't be approaching - were they going to attack anyways? The lone, stoic female and her injured, sickly counterpart? "We mean no harm," she murmured, voice dipping into something feral. "We'll be going, if that will save us the trouble." |
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Neutral
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Nezera's observations were thoughtful and willful as they rippled through the tension, to which Hart couldn’t help but allow a subtle, almost imperceptible sneer to drag at the corners of his maw. She was nimble on her feet -- shrewd, too -- and he revered that, though he wouldn’t say it audibly. Not here. From his lowered vantage point, Hart observed the brute's posture, measuring every flutter of a lobe, every subtle narrowing of the eyes. The brute cocked his cranium, caught between bewilderment and interest, his gaze bouncing between the two of them like a pendulum. Hart tilted his cranium in mimicry, just barely, as though the brute's bafflement had infected him, his eyes broad and faintly glistening with something illegible. When Nezera’s voice chimed again, weaving truths with lies like a spider in a web, Hart let out a soft, scratchy snicker that rasped like a rusted hinge groaning in protest. ' Ah, the bear, ' he murmured, almost dreamily. Hart shifted somewhat, lowering his frame further, as though the weight of even speaking had exhausted him. His wounded forepaw lugged against the stone as he repositioned himself closer to the cave’s mouth, ensuring the brute's compassion lingered like the overcast rain that still clung to the air. When the brute declared the bear’s wrath, Hart gave a soft pant, his gaze flitting toward Nezera with a glimmer of amusement. She was circling her tale well, providing the pack of morsels of truth and lacing them with just enough falsity to steer their thoughts. He decided to follow suit. ' She found us, ' Hart rasped, his voice subdued and tinged with something sorrowful. ' Near the stream. We had no choice but to flee -- her wrath was… ' He trailed off, as though the remembrance discouraged him too much to articulate. He shook his cranium, allowing the silence to fill the void of his unspoken words. When Nezera suggested they leave, her voice descending into something feral and final, Hart allowed a low whine to flee his throat -- a sound almost imperceptible, but enough to betray hesitance. ' Go? ' he murmured, tilting his cranium toward her, his voice soft and lilting with false concern. ' But… my paw. ' He tugged his forepaw against the stone again, the sound just loud enough to draw attention to it. ' The trail will be slick with rain, and if the bear roams near… ' He let the thought hang, unfinished, his eyes broad and pleading as they darted toward the wolf. The brute regarded him for a long moment, his countenance unreadable, before his gaze softened, just barely. ' We will help you, ' the brute said finally, his voice unshakable. ' It’s clear you’ve been through enough. ' He motioned to the wolves appearing from the woodline, their frames imposing yet their postures composed. ' You will come with us to our camp. We’ll tend to your wound there. ' Hart blinked, as though shaken by the proposal, before lowering his cranium in what could only be expressed as a mockery of gratitude. ' You are… kind, ' he murmured, his voice trembling. ' Far kinder than I deserve. ' He cast a glimpse toward Nezera, his eyes glinting. As the wolves began to circle, herding them toward the forest, Hart craned his attention to Nezera, his voice tumbling to a low whisper meant only for her ears. ' Well, ' he murmured, his tone as light as the drizzle that fell around them, ' it seems my frailty has bought us some time. A small gift, wouldn’t you agree? ' |
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Winter 
Day 
