But we still dial 9-1-1

For @Galene - vague, short n sweet

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He hadn't returned home that day. Instead, he had curled up near the roots of a tree and had been granted a dreamless sleep that lasted a few hours. It was rare to find the stormcloak actually sleeping. Though he seemed exhausted every minute of the day, he rarely felt peaceful enough to sleep. An hour or three a day is what he dealt with, if that at all. One could wonder how he kept his mind as sharp as it was.

At the sound of something nearby, his silver eyes opened into small slits to see what had come to disturb him.

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This ended up being a LOT longer than I thought-- please don't worry about matching post length!

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Whorls of thin fog encroached upon Galene’s feet, ferried along by the passing breezes of her hastened footfalls. It grew to a blanket of sullied white up above, smothering the tops of looming conifers in a ghostly embrace. Moistened droplets clung from the air to everything they could reach– grasses, leaflets, fur. They bent gently in submission to its weight, furling like weeping willows.
 
The usual hustle and bustle of springtime had been all but quieted; as if the fog would punish any beings who dared to shatter the sacred silence that had befallen the forest. Even Galene paid some mind to the quiet, sidestepping over dried leaves and twigs cast out from the pines. She heeded the signals of the earth, though not solely for the purpose of guising her movements and rather for any green sprigs that peeped forth from the litter.
 
There was something calming about the methodical search for plants– something to placate the ceaseless whirring of her mind that had been spurred to action by recent events. She shook herself thoroughly as a fleeting glimpse presented itself, of the flashes of red and tattered fur of that crazed woman–
 
Enough of this.
 
Her molars clenched with wrought tension, releasing only at the appeasing flicker of green that emerged from the canvas of brown. Gingerly, her talons swiped at the overlying flecks of debris, sending them flying into a haphazard pile whilst she clenched the plant in her teeth. Rather than uproot the whole batch and spend weeks waiting for new growth, she plucked from the base of the stem– leaving only a pitiful stub of green in her wake.
 
She would have continued on her way, had a distinct scent not stirred something from memory…
 
She could have sworn it was familiar. Her brows furrowed into knots as she sorted through mental files, frowning…
 
Was this not the same scent that had cropped up on Labyrinthian’s grounds?
 
The plants could wait. As it was, they didn’t sport legs and make pinpointing so painstaking.
 
All but abandoning her previous quest, the sparrow cut off-track, weaving through batches of pines and parting through drifts of lofty grass. As the scent grew more pungent –definitely not something of a lone wolf, she thought– her curiosity piqued and she let loose a baying call so as not to startle the perpetrator. She came round a weeping clump of ferns, only to come upon the form of a sleeping man– or what had been a sleeping man, given the narrowed pinpoints of pallid color that now gleamed back at her.
 
This had suddenly taken on a very awkward note.
 
And, really, he could have at least tried to conceal himself– tuck away within a trove of undergrowth or guise his own scent. “A bit out in the open, isn’t it?” She chirped around the sprig, choosing to fill the silence with critique as her gaze swept across the exposed roots of his bed. He was large, and dark– carved of basalt grays and chiseled blacks.
 
She didn’t plan to beat around the bush with her intentions, either.
 
“You’re the one who’s been snooping around Labyrinthian,” she mused, her brow quirking upward. “I recognized your scent.” Her words harbored no venom nor accusation, but rather curiosity– she couldn’t pinpoint what pack held claim over him and if anything, she wanted to find out.

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Strategist

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“A bit out in the open, isn’t it?”

His maw opened in a colossal yawn, exposing a set of teeth that ripped the flesh off anything smaller than him - well, they looked like they did, anyway. Unapologetically he smacked his mouth a few times, blinking slowly and only closing one eye sometimes as his face was reset to an expression of exhaustion. His eyes focused and unfocused a few times, eventually getting a clear picture of the other that had awoken him so rudely. She was a bit tall for his tastes, but her patterned fur and fine bone-structure made up for a lot of that. He smirked, stretching out his large ashen paws in front of him as he drawled;

“I'm not hurting anyone.”

A guy like him had little to fear when it came to other predators and wolves - he was a light sleeper and a trained fighter. Surely no one would dare and do something while he was slumbering, and even if they did he'd likely wake in time to stop something from happening. He took a few steps then stretched out his hind legs as he listened, relaxed and slightly aloof.

“Labyrinthian? Is that what you guys are called?” He responded with a slight raise in his voice out of interest. “Yes I did run into one of you, I think. Small thing, white fur with patches of black?” His head tipped to the side in question, but he straightened soon after, stretching one last time. “Still, I've hardly been snooping. I was simply exploring the forest - barely noticed you were settled here.” He chuckled unoffensively.

But really, he was simply thinking about how well he could use this information and his first impression on them to favor the Nightwalkers in some way. They had set out to claim the Temperate as a whole, but if these wolves shared even a fraction of Vengeance's ruthless insanity, perhaps they were good candidates to become their allies. He gave a little dip of his muzzle, revealing finally; “I'm Almight, Scion of the Nightwalkers. We appear to have become neighbors.”

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“I never said you were,” she countered, watching as the man contorted to a languid stretch and let loose a wide yawn. It felt odd to stand and stare as he grasped for his bearings, shaking off the tendrils of sleep that she had stripped from him moments ago. So she sat, reclined her rear-end against the dampened soil and placed the sprig at her feet– as if she’d suddenly developed a fascination with the thing. Her digits fumbled at its delicate structure, turning over pallid leaves and bending at the pliant stem. It was only until he stood, stretching a second time, that she rose upward on lithe limbs to resume eye contact.
 
“You were just easy to find despite being so elusive earlier.” If he’d harbored as dry and empty a well of luck as herself, she wouldn’t be surprised if one of the less… inviting folk had signaled their true intentions and sent him packing.
 
Namely, Nymeria. A subtle shudder traveled down her spine at the remembrance of what she’d done.
 
“Yes,” she confirmed, curiosity igniting in her breast as she pondered who he had spoken to. Perhaps Madmortigan?
 
Her question was quickly answered as he spoke of just who he’d met– her innards churned and a frown tugged at her lips. 
 
“Nymeria.” A healthy dose of distaste coated her tongue as she spoke; and perhaps a tinge of fear, too, but that was quickly suppressed. “I hope she hasn’t made you think we’re all as… enthusiastic as she is.” Insane, more like. She chose to negate the fact that they were a budding society, newly-formed and still vulnerable to the whims of neighboring groups– she really wasn't interested in tossing herself beneath the scrutiny of her higher-ups.
 
Nightwalkers. She sifted through the names of packs she had heard, but nothing of familiarity came of it. 
 
“Galene,” she returned, pondering the significance of his title. “Persuivant of Labyrinthian.” 
 
Her title didn’t mean much, really. Thankfully. No need to inflict more harm than she already had.
 
“And what does that mean for the Nightwalkers?” She was treading carefully, here– as outwardly fine as he seemed, his stoicism raised the question of his intentions. She was new to this world and still learning of its existing packs– something she wasn’t willing to admit, not to a complete stranger.
 
“I’d like to think we could establish positive ties as neighbors.”

If it was for the greater good and to avoid conflict, then why not?

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Strategist

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Well, at least he wasn't seen as a threat and the girl was smart enough to see he truly meant no harm. It was a relief to meet someone on the same wavelength as him; composed, respectful, conversational... He smirked at her, with a huff and a glance to the forest floor in a rare sheepish moment for the large stormcloak. When met with aggression everywhere, it was almost unsettling to be treated as another living being when on the road.

“Excuse me for being careful - though you must be proud of your settlement, as I was found nonetheless.” He said as if he were really bumbed out about not being able to sneak around quite as freely as he would've liked. He was actually glad they'd approached him - even despite the white lady's... unique way of interacting - as it meant he did not need to barter or brag two inches from a border. Now, on leveled playing fields, they were equals feeling their way through the dark to see what the other had to offer.

Though the seemingly diplomatic woman had some gripes with the other member he'd met, or so her reaction indicated. He was no stranger to not getting along with packmates, being surrounded by a bunch of bloodthirsty animals and all, but still this information intrigued him. He smiled politely and shook his head. “Not at all.” He spoke as he looked at her, a meaningful glint in his eyes. “After all, you can't judge a group by looking at just one member.”

“Well, Galene, you are much more pleasant.” He added after her introduction, noting the word she had used to describe her rank. Though he could've guessed from her unimposing yet respectful way of speaking to him that she was no leader of Labyrinthian, it was nice to have his suspicions confirmed. It seemed she ranked somewhere above Nymeria, seeing as she was not even trying to hide her distaste for the woman, yet below someone he had yet to meet. Or perhaps he was wrong, and her disfavor stemmed from jealousy for the lady in patches. To be fair, if he had to pick between the two, he certainly wasn't lying by calling Galene the more pleasant one.

His silver eyes, that were usually dull with depletion, seemed to light up as she brought up the ties between their group. This was what he had been after. “Well,” He said, rolling a shoulder. “Seeing as we are settled a comfortable distance away from each other, I see no reason for us to be hostiles.” He seemed to ponder, though he had already decided exactly what he wanted to achieve by pursuing the members of Labyrinthian. “In fact, I would like to take it upon myself to establish us as allies in the future. If your leader shares even a fraction of our Warlord's tenets, I'm sure we'll have positive ties in no time.”

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Galene felt her skin singe with an unusual heat beneath the weight of the man’s smirking stare– a self-conscious moment of introspection prompting her to avert her eyes toward her breast, as if to ensure she appeared presentable and not as scrambled as she currently felt. It seemed both wolves had suddenly found a striking fascination for the forest floor, but that interest was fleeting for Galene, who let her eyes sweep across the man’s bulking frame whilst his gaze was averted.
 
“I am,” she confirmed, her chin uplifting with a slight tilt as a smile, feather-light, toyed with her lips. They were gods, after all. “But there’s no need to apologize– I can tell you meant no harm.” She hadn’t ever thought that at first, of course– but if she was to appear anything other than confident beneath this happenstance meeting then she would be a bumbling fool.
 
And for the first time, a quizzical – and genuine – smile spread wide across her countenance at his insinuated statement. If only Nymeria could see her now. “No, you can’t.”
 
“I’m glad you think so. I don’t know how I’d be able to live with myself knowing that a reputable man like you thought otherwise.” This time, it was her turn to feign finding a sudden interest in a distant object whilst heat tinged at her ears. She had never found herself to be a wolf of some other’s fancy, and she quite liked the feeling– so much so that she was willing to shed her wary skin to play in this fickle game.
 
“I like the sound of that,” she nodded, pondering the means to which this Warlord might find an alliance valuable with her homeland. “And our Harbinger would never turn away an opportunity to extend an olive branch. What do you have in mind, Almight?”

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Strategist

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Almight, pretty much unknowingly, was a charmer - he was honest in his feelings, which made him blurt things out others might not say aloud. Having no filter for meant compliments had its uses when faced with important figures, be it a possible ally or the leader of a pack he came across in his many excursions to the North. Even on Galene it seemed to have an effect, and though he did not feel the flutters in his abdomen like when he had run across the white ghost in the Pasture, he could not deny her beauty nor the fact she had earned his respect simply by granting hers to him. There was so much she could be, if only she'd join him - but that proposal would have to wait until he could be sure the Labyrinthian leader was receptive to his offer of an alliance.

Reputable. She found him reputable? He supposed that was another descriptor he could place next to the "fucking annoying" one he had gotten from his half-brother. He liked Galene's better. His expression softened, a wag of his tail covered up by another couple slower waves to create the illusion it was out of habit or boredom - but he was afraid he might've shown "happiness". “And me, if one such articulate lady as yourself would've labeled me a danger.” He returned bordering on bashful - though he quickly found his composure again, getting back to the topic at hand... err, paw.

Ah, a harbinger. He guessed that whoever wore that title around Labyrinthian was the equivalent to their Warlord or Boss. He found the title imposing, and quite liked the sound of it. He pursed his lips in thought then. “I suppose I would have to speak to this Harbinger of yours and bring his message to my own Warlord - not that I doubt your proficiency and competence of course, my father is just very strict.” He explained rather innocently. He looked at her then, a bit more intensely. “Though perhaps you could vouch for my intentions?”

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She watched as his ashen tail swayed back and forth, galvanized to motion by his own volition as both wolves partook in this now not-so-subtle parrying of compliments. One could have almost called it flustered as an unsure smile played on Galene’s lips and warmth seethed perpetually beneath her skin– relenting only when both wolves returned to the business that had been the catalyst for this entire meeting to begin with.
 
“I understand,” she consolidated, bobbing her head in brief acknowledgement to his confession. She certainly would have preferred to be the one who sat at the helm and toyed with the strings of the whole ordeal– but she was no higher-up as Almight was, and she supposed her gleaning of information would be ample enough for the Harbinger.
 
Though she hadn’t missed when the Scion had proclaimed himself as the son of the Warlord– and that was when the bulbs lit anew. Yes, this man was a wolf seated on a throne of power and it seemed she’d made a friend of him, of sorts– and perhaps something more, she thought with an invigorated and internal quiver.
 
“Definitely. I’ll relay the relevant details of our meeting, and should your Warlord seek council with him, we can move forward with this alliance.” A subtle smile tinged her features as she placed a particular emphasis on the word, though it was quickly dashed to convey, in all seriousness, the enormity of this predicament.
 
“If you’ve scrapped up enough energy from your rest, I can take you to him before the moon is at its peak.” His eyes were so strikingly pallid against his dark coat, it was hard to make out whether sleep still tinged at their edges– but assuming it didn’t, the sparrow was more than willing to bring the Scion into the heart of her homeland.
 
“But if not, you’ll know where to find us when you are ready.” A knowing arch of her brow followed as she waited for his decision.

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How often had he shared in her feelings of wanting to be the one in charge, but instead be just a pawn for someone higher to use? It was only recently that he had unbuckled the leash around his neck and took matters into his own hands, like now with this alliance - but even then, if Vengeance did not want them, he was powerless. Perhaps if he shared his plan of spawning more Rache's in places they shouldn't be, that would make him a bit happier about it all.

“Ah - I function as a messenger really, which is why I should probably return home before seeing the Harbinger - See what wisdom the Warlord grants me.” He spoke after her generous offers - and yes, he was going to check with his father before moving forward, if only to stop himself dead in his tracks should this have all been part of a giant mistake. After all, the Warlord never did openly state that he didn't want all the wives he could get.

“But the journey isn't long, and I am fully rested.” Or, at least, rested as far as the insomniac could be rested. “I will return before the third sundown, you have my word.”

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A messenger– that certainly explained how such a bulking man like him sported a strapping, articulate vocabulary. “I’ll forgive you someday,” she quipped, though in jest– beginning to make way through the pliant ferns to the path on which she had arrived.
 
She had a horde of news to divulge to the Harbinger in preparation for his self-proclaimed arrival. “I’ll be counting on it. Safe travels, Almight.”
 
And with that, the sparrow bid the raven a final farewell as the forest swallowed her whole.

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