OOC: Post pack-thread but pre-raid.

Wematin's POV
He had promised punishment for those who had disrespected Maska's authority at the meeting, but in particular he saw the root of the problem--their misguided spirit. He did not, on Maska's orders, make a scene at their pack meeting, but Wematin's orders still stood to correct any...misbehavior...and quite frankly, he was surprised that the downsizing of their chief during the first meeting had taught the natives any better about the change in leadership. Why could they just not accept it? Chief Aatau was their true Kalona--above even Maska--and this tribe had only ever been a branch tribe. Why couldn't they just face the facts that their so-called Kalona had been fake and that Chief Aatau had ordained him unfit? While such a fire was valued within a tribe, it was not to be tolerated if it threatened upheaval. And then that white pup had spoken during the meeting with such a disrespectful tone, he had contemplated punishing her first. But it was her mother that needed to be made a true example of.

The white woman, he remembered, had been a previous Councilman alongside Dawali. If degrading their precious 'chief' had not been enough--and various other tribes members, if he recalled all the recent incidents--perhaps making an example out of her would do the trick? At the very least it would quiet her child. All rebellion and upset had to be quashed at the source, and destroying any hopes of retaliation would certainly make his job a lot easier.

The black-furred man went to the woman's home--a tree hut, of all the unconventional things--and climbed the ladder that was hanging from the platform above. Once at her door he rapped on it hard, awaiting the woman to answer.

One cut for each offense, he reminded himself in his mind.

Ralla's POV
When she heard the knock on the door and smelled the scent of blood, Ralla's own red essence ran cold. Inside were her three young children, but Ayasha was elsewhere, and hopefully far away. She shepherded the three young pups underneath the pile of blankets and pleaded with them to stay silent, and so she went to answer the door. As she had expected, there stood one of the Guardians, but it just had to be the black man--the one who seemed the most heartless of them all. She lowered her ears and appeared submissive, but she was angry and scared for her children, so she did not know if she schooled her features well enough to hide all of this. She quickly closed the door behind her as she stepped out to the platform, praying her children did not make any fuss. The man only led her down the ladder--more like forced, as he only shoved her down and about--but she went along complacently. Better to not give him any reason to do anything worse than what he might do...or was about to. She was so, so scared... If Kemo had been there, he would've defended her and fought, and somehow she thought that would only make it worse, too. She couldn't do anything; like her words before at the secret meeting, she was only one wolf, and she herself was weak.

Wematin led her through the village and to an empty human house near the outskirts of the village--it was decrepit and falling apart, a large hole in the caved-in roof open to the air--and promptly drew out a knife from the hilt of his belt. Had she not been terrified before of being led so far away, she was trembling in earnest now. "Why...?" she asked. He did not respond. Ralla backed herself to the cool stone of the foundation and felt her breath hitch in her throat as the man grabbed her left arm and pinned it to the wall. He brought the knife up slowly...so, so slowly...

The first cut was painful, but shallow, an incision just above her wrist. But he kept going, each cut shallow enough to refrain from major damage but deep enough to make her nerves shatter. Soon her snow-white fur was dyed crimson--an even deeper red than the paint that she wore so proudly--and it dripped to create small puddles beneath her. She gritted her teeth together to keep her voice silent, yet tried to trash. Her other arm she gripped his arm with, her claws digging deep into his flesh. But he did not seem to feel it at all. Fourteen times he sliced her arm, and she had lost so much blood by now that she felt her vision swim and her head float like a cloud. When all was said and down she fell to her knees and wept, gasping for breath in-between. Her voice was hoarse from crying and her arm fell uselessly to her side, an aching pain throbbing within it. He only looked down at her, cleaning his knife on the grass at his feet. But although the pain was deep, Ralla knew that others had undergone far worse than she, and so she gritted her teeth as she gripped her arm to staunch the bleeding.

With forest green eyes she looked up at Wematin and dared him to touch her again. He could do his worst, but so long as her people and family did not suffer she did not care. He left, walking away as expressionless as before, and she let the pain roll over her before she lifted herself up and went to Mizu's. She would not give him the satisfaction of her cries, now that he had harmed her. No longer did she have to hide her distaste for him and his to protect her family--that tactic had failed long before. But she would do something...as soon as she got her children far, far away. The three youngest she would force to go--she would hear no arguments about their staying--but Ayasha... She was a different matter entirely. Would she even listen to Ralla if she was told to take her siblings elsewhere? Maybe, maybe not. She was an official adult of the tribe, and even if Ralla was her mother--albeit an adoptive one--her decisions were her decisions in the end, and with all else crashing down around them, Ralla could not take away her freedom.

Perhaps Leon and Saxif had been right; they needed to rethink their strategy and get prepared fast. They needed help.


Moon walks. "Moon talks." Moon thinks.