Oct 14th, just after the Freetown trip and thread with Shiloh. | wc: 597
The siblings spent two weeks or so scouring the area before concluding they were stuck. The natural formation of the terrain presented them with obstacles -- a mountain to the north, and a wide lake too grand to swim across. In the stretches of land on either side of the lake were two distinct packs, their borders ripe with wolf scent. They had made a foolish mistake, and now they needed to get out of the area and lay low for some time while the dust settled. They just needed to decide their next move. Cosette wanted to try her luck trespassing, sneaking along the coast and taking cover behind the trees until they were free on the other side again. The thought of such a daring exploit was tantalizing to her impulsive nature, but Clopin was her voice of reason, staunchly refusing. This was not their world: it was a pack of wolves, larger and stronger and more cohesive as a unit than the southern dogs they grew up with. If they were caught trespassing, they could very well be executed for their crime. He urged her to take the patient route and scale the mountain; it would take longer, but it would keep them free from any sticky situations with the northern wolves.
Bells jingled as Cosette stalked back and forth, pacing restlessly near the border of the coastal pack. She was tense and achy all over, stinging from the beating she had received at the hands of the wolf with the stick. "We could just shift down, roll in the border scent, and pretend to be new recruits if we get caught," she wheedled, but Clopin's good eye glowered at her, making her huff petulantly. "Oou don' know t'eir rules," her brother slurred haltingly. "T'ey might no' take dogs, only wooves. Or t'ey'll recognize us." The tiny female crossed her arms, jutting her lip in a pout. He was right, of course; her quick wit would only protect her so far, and if she had no prior knowledge of the territory, she could not hope to construct a passable alias. They wouldn't have much time before the stick-wolf would warn her packmates, too. She growled faintly in frustration, kicking a pebble in the direction of the pack. She stubbornly refused to waste her time climbing a mountain. It sounded lonely and boring. Infiltrating a den of wolves was far more intriguing to the young collie-dog, even just after the bruises she had gotten from a con gone wrong.
"Fine, bougre, how about this? We tell them we are here and barter for safe passage. If they refuse, we can still try the other pack, get a second chance before we resort to sneaking. Is that acceptable?" Her plumed tail lashed stiffly behind her, clearly not offering him any other option. Clopin grunted noncommittally, still displeased to deal directly with the pack. What if they were betrayed, or attacked on sight? The wolf they had accosted carried this scent, and if she had spread the word of what happened, they would be in grave danger. Still, it was a better choice than her first plan, and he grudgingly rose from the rock he was seated upon, moving to stand behind her with his hands on her shoulders. She pointed her lean muzzle to the morning sky, high voice singing out in a howl. Clopin joined her, his deeper tone hoarse from disuse but providing an off-key harmony nonetheless. They would take their chances with a direct meeting. They could always flee if they had to.
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